The Billionaire's Seduction (Billionaire Bodyguards Book 5)

by Avalon,Kristi

  Sophia sought revenge against Todd. She wasn’t looking for a stand-in or a replacement. Yet she’d agreed, because everyone else had considered the plan smart.

  At her less than enthusiastic response, Liam reminded, “Hey, you’re supposed to be totally into me. It’s our honeymoon, for all appearances. Eye rolls come way later, once we’ve gotten sick of each other, so that would be…never.”

  “I can be annoyed without being sick of you,” she said.

  “Can you be happy, even marginally cheerful, instead of annoyed?”

  The pilot set their luggage next to them and wished them luck. As though assuming they’d need it. She probably did, Sophia admitted.

  She sighed. “I’m trying to get into this roleplaying mindset, I promise.”

  “Try harder, sweet thing.” He dropped his forehead against her temple to whisper in her ear. “Cause right now, I ain’t feeling the love.”

  A car pulled up to them, an older sun-faded blue hatchback with dingy windows, the sides revealing a spray of dried mud. Its muffler rattled against the undercarriage.

  “And we go from luxury to dumpy.” Liam exhaled. “This was the best they could do? I’d expected something where I didn’t need to lay a towel down on the seat before I climbed in.”

  The ebony-skinned man in the driver’s seat rolled down the window and spoke to them in rapidly swirling French. His smile reflected bright white teeth with a small gap between the front two. His cheeks sprang up high with his smile, and he seemed to contain boundless cheer. She wished she could borrow a few ounces of his overflow to settle Liam’s concerns about her blowing their cover. She wanted to reach out and touch the hand he extended.

  The man nodded and adjusted his language to include a few heavily accented English-sounding words. A New Orleans Creole accent time ten. Sophia still couldn’t understand him and felt bad.

  Lifting his eyebrows, Liam went silent for a second. “Uhh…mmm. I’m at a loss.”

  “Same.” She shrugged apologetically. “I thought the point of Devon asking Logan’s wife, Allison, to make all the arrangements was so she’d talk to islanders in French and find people for us who spoke English. Fluently.”

  “Yep, me too,” Liam said, his voice terse.

  Another car, cleaner and more luxurious, pulled up behind the one with the cheerful islander.

  A tall, pale, bald man stepped out of the follow-up vehicle. He wore mirrored sunglasses, but she suspected the eyes beneath were cold and dark, like a reptile’s. He looked military, all business.

  “Are you Liam and Sophia Soren?” he called out above the sound of idling jet engines.

  She startled. A different last name attached to her first name sounded surreal.

  “Get used to it, honey,” Liam said under his breath. “As far as the world knows, you’re my wife. You can’t act surprised when people confirm it.”

  Just because he was right didn’t mean she wanted to go with the scary bald guy. She preferred the smiley man in the dirty car.

  “Sorry.” She waved and sent him the first driver a sweet smile. “Merci. Thanks anyway.”

  Mood unaffected by his lost revenue, he maintained his grin and waved back. He drove off toward the other end of the landing strip. She supposed if she lived on a Caribbean island, she wouldn’t have so many cares, and smiles would come easy.

  “I think I know what would help,” Liam said, his hand on the small of her back as they approached the correct car. “I’ll make a request to stop, if I see the right place along the way.”

  “What kind of place?” she asked, as she climbed into the leather backseat and scooted right to make room for him.

  “I’ll let you know when I find it.” He slid up alongside her, until their hips touched. He put his arm around her like it had suddenly become a permanent fixture there, and let his wrist drape casually over her shoulder.

  Would he scout for a place that sold over-the-counter valium? Her nerves were locked so tight a six-hour massage wouldn’t knead away the knots or stress.

  Something else might.

  An uninvited image slid into her mind of Liam laying her down on plush sheets, naked, the Caribbean breeze wafting over their bare skin. Him coming over her, his face in shadow as their lips met. Him dipping his tongue into her mouth as his hips sank between her thighs.

  Heat radiated through her veins. It felt like tiny flames danced on her cheeks. She sucked in a breath.

  When he turned, his exhale brushed her cheek. She became strikingly aware of his fingertips hovering too close to her breast.

  He sent her a sidelong glance. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” she said in a strangled voice, too high-pitched.

  “Uh-huh.” He stroked his thumb along her jaw line.

  Not helping!

  Why had her body suddenly decided to go all-in with him? Mentally, she wasn’t anywhere near ready to engage in any kind of relationship, sexual or otherwise. The pheromones pinging between them told a different story.

  Just one night…

  Flustered, she pressed her palms against her knees.

  No, she told herself, no matter what her newly activated sex drive wanted.

  Though it made sense, in a base way. Her battered ego and disappointed heart craved physical attention, affection, reassurance. Why couldn’t her logical mind could push past those desires?

  His thumb traced her earlobe, the touch tender, gentle and comforting, yet provocative.

  I hope it can.

  Fresh doubt emerged, about the fortitude of her brain to ward off the uninvited tendrils of lust unfurling inside her. She swallowed hard.

  Was it the freeing island atmosphere? Or being removed from her staid comfort zone? Or that they had to pretend to be newlyweds, in love and all over each other?

  She didn’t know. Except that in her current state, she might not have to pretend as much as she’d thought.

  Shaking herself from her internal argument, she listened in to the conversation going on between the bald man and Liam.

  She noticed the stranger in the shady sunglasses, sitting in the passenger seat, had an accent. A little like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Was he of German descent?

  Then she noticed the driver had the same glossy dark skin as the first driver who’d tried to give them a ride. He kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror. Was he a partner in business with the bald man? A fellow investigator, sizing her up the way Liam would? Noticing her every action and reaction?

  The driver’s eyes were the richest color of fine dark chocolate. He had high, broad cheekbones, and his lashes curved like scimitars.

  Good grief. Since she’d been hauled away by Mr. Atlas’s cronies, she’d found herself surrounded by insanely gorgeous men. And she’d thought Todd was attractive? He didn’t begin to compare. None of them compared to her attraction for Liam.

  My attraction?

  This was getting out of hand.

  Refocusing again, she listened into their discussion. For real, this time. Take two.

  The Arnold guy talked about receiving the dossier on Todd, from Soren Security Bodyguards, and how he’d done his own investigative research. Ah. This was the man whom Allison had spoken with, the Soren equivalent of a private investigator. They had those on islands? Well, they had law enforcement, so why not a resident PI?

  It made sense. No doubt there could be spouses or significant others who take a trip to a Caribbean island, with someone other than their spouse or significant other. A disturbing thought, but it probably happened more than she’d like to imagine.

  The bald man seemed to know what he was talking about. He explained how he’d been watching, since Allison had first called him, for men who fit Todd’s profile. He’d found several.

  Great.

  More than one Todd on the planet was one too many.

  At least Arnold had found leads for them to follow. More than she and Liam could’ve accomplished on their own, in such a short time. They had exactly one we
ek, preferably less, so Liam could fly home in time for his brother’s bachelor party and wedding.

  “Thank you, my friend.” Liam leaned forward and placed a wad of cash into the man’s hand. Oh geez. How much had that information cost his company?

  Then again, she’d witnessed Liam receiving cash from “the safe.” Adam had retrieved untold amounts of it and handed the funds to Liam.

  Even as an accountant, she’d never witnessed so many hundred- and thousand-dollar-bills exchange hands between two people. She worked behind the scenes, not at the cash teller desks of the casino. She dealt with figures on spreadsheets, not actual bills.

  Knowing Liam carried around that volume of cash made her incredibly nervous. If people within a confined island city like Forte-de-France caught wind of an easy mark…well, like anywhere else, it could be a free-for-all.

  They’d become a target in no time.

  She hissed in his ear, “You shouldn’t have given him that much.”

  Sending her a smug look, Liam replied, “I know how the underground works. Give people enough incentive to talk, and they will.” He peered at her. “Do you doubt that I know what I’m doing?”

  “That’s a conversation for later, in private,” she said.

  “Really?” He grinned. “I look forward to our conversations in private.” His too-close hand brushed the top curve of her breast. Her nipples tightened, visible through her thin, summery top.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered. Though she didn’t remove his hand where he continued to casually strum his fingertips across her curves. She couldn’t—it might look suspicious, like she didn’t want her “new husband” touching her intimately.

  “Yes,” he said as if he were unspooling seduction. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  I can’t wait.

  No. No! She could wait.

  The tempo of her pulse called her out as a liar.

  This whole endeavor was not going according to plan.

  Though, she’d barely had time to register their loosely conceived itinerary. Which Liam seemed to have a better understanding of than her. She needed to have all the information, too.

  “Here,” Liam said, instructing the driver to pull over. “We’ll get out and walk for an hour. Meet us back in this spot.”

  The driver nodded.

  Liam grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the car.

  The bald man spoke to the driver in French, and the two sped away, likely dropping the PI off at his base of operation.

  Her fake husband drew her into a busy throng of people. She found herself in the midst of the most amazing open-air bazaar. She’d though thought of these bustling marketplaces as occurring in foreign, exotic lands, like India or the Philippines. Okay, even New York City.

  Here, the scene took on a life of its own.

  Gripping her hand tightly, Liam led the way through a maze of endless, crooked, directionless passageways, stands of goods funneling them along. Rows of tables and boxes and carts offered everything from hand-picked fruits and vegetables, to fresh fish and eggs, to handmade trinkets and jewelry.

  The noises and smells assaulted her senses. Some pleasant, others not so much.

  At a table covered by a colorful orange and fuchsia scarf, woven with sparkling beads, he stopped. “We need two rings,” he told the woman seated behind the table.

  Rings? She tried to tug her hand from his. He refused to let go.

  The woman nodded happily, though she didn’t appear to understand him, other than the word “ring.”

  After she glanced at them, taking in their fresh-off-the-cruise-ship vibe, she revealed a box beneath the scarf, cluttered with the best of her offerings. She monitored it carefully, while Liam tried on several until he found the right fit. A band of woven metals, gold and silver, resembling a Celtic design.

  “This one, for me.” He made a show of poring over the cheap, possibly second-hand pieces, selecting several of the least gaudy ones for her to try on. She also found one the right size. “And this one, for her.”

  “Wait,” Sophia said, reaching for the box. “I like the one with the sapphires.”

  “They’re not real, sweetheart.”

  “I know.” She shrugged and tried it on anyway. Luckily, the one she wanted fit, if a tad loose. But she knew what happened during the brief weeks of rain and humidity in Vegas. Her hair frizzed and her fingers swelled a little. In this climate, the ring would probably fit by the end of the day.

  The woman snatched the jewelry out of their hands, demanding the Euro equivalent of a thousand dollars. What?

  “Liam, don’t spend that much.”

  “Done.” He doled out a grand, without bickering down.

  The woman in the chair nearly swooned. As soon as the money exchanged hands, she swiped up everything on her table into a bundle within the scarf, and she abandoned her table. No doubt absconding with her small fortune before anyone else noticed the cash she’d come into made her ripe for robbery.

  That dug under Sophia’s skin. The bargainista in her couldn’t help it. “You’re supposed to barter with these people, Liam. Nothing here sells for the asking price.”

  He shrugged and sent her a knee-weakening grin. “For my wife. Because you deserve full price, if not the best I can give you, on short notice.” He slid the ring on her left finger. “You’re right,” he said. “The sapphires—or whatever stones these are—look beautiful against your skin.”

  Sophia stared at the ring on her finger. Although counterfeit, it was quite pretty. “Well, no one will question if we’re married.”

  “My point.” He kissed her forehead, slid his ring onto his left finger, and moved on through the market. “Keep your eye out. Todd could be here.”

  Oh, right. Todd.

  The bald man hadn’t been their only contact. On their behalf, Allison has spoken with several investigators on the island. One in the northern city St. Pierre—a barely-revived town recovering from a volcanic eruption in the early nineteen-hundreds. Another investigator resided in the southern part of the island, a town called Sainte Anne.

  Both too remote for Todd, she’d figured. Not enough action. He was a guy who liked to be noticed. Especially as a freshly minted millionaire. He’d bask in all the unearned glory that would give him.

  She tamped down a wave of bitterness. Back at Soren Security Enterprises, she had insisted they focus their efforts on the capitol city of Forte-de-France.

  The lure of the limelight, countless restaurants and hot spots serving French-Creole cuisine, and plenty of shopping would appeal to Todd. He never could separate himself from the finer places, the finer things.

  So she’d recommended they center their search in Forte-de-France. Apparently, the German PI had come up with possibilities that confirmed her hunch.

  As Liam guided her through this amazing market, his fingers laced with hers in an easy, companionable grasp. Safe with Liam, after a while she let go and allowed a little of this island atmosphere permeate her senses.

  Ripe fruit abounded. The scents of bananas, kiwi, and dragon fruit treated her to an abundance of exotic scents. They made their way through the fish market, the odor so pungent she held her breath.

  Totally surprising her, Liam requested that the freshest catch be delivered to their hotel room. First in English, then in French.

  She shook her head. “How did you know to ask for that?”

  He grinned. “Allison gave me some pointers.”

  “But…will they really deliver this seafood to our hotel?”

  “Yeah, they will.”

  Acting like Warren Buffet, Liam threw tips around carelessly.

  Would these items actually be cooked and delivered to order, right in their room? If they were, would the desire for quick cash lead someone to rob them at gunpoint?

  The foreignness of everything caused her to lean toward the worst outcomes.

  Unable to resisted the urge to knock sense into him, she pulled him off to th
e side. “Liam,” she said, her eyes flashing. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t toss money around like it’s nothing. We’ll be beaten and robbed by morning.”

  “Maybe,” he answered vaguely. “Maybe not.”

  She shook his arm, but he held steady. “What are you trying to do? Trying to prove?”

  “I’m mimicking Todd,” he said, staring at her with a stony gaze. “Isn’t this the kind of shit Todd would do?”

  “Well, yes,” she admitted.

  “I have most of the money pre-stashed at our hotel. Wire-transferred.”

  “So, you’re really trying to be Todd.”

  “In every way, shape and form. If someone tries to rob me, trust me, he won’t get far.”

  Okay, she believed that. She doubted any who attempted would get away unscathed, maybe with a few broken bones if he got away at all. “Why didn’t you tell me your intention?”

  “How much do you need to know, to accomplish our ruse?”

  She blustered. “As much as I should!”

  “How much is that, baby?” He stared down her protests. “Please, trust me. I know what I’m doing. Can you? Will you? Trust me?”

  As first she opened her mouth to protest. Then she realized she had no ground.

  For the first time in her life, she had to rely on someone else. Completely.

  “I’m not comfortable with it.”

  “But you’ll do it? You’ll trust I’ve got your back?”

  She wanted to kick something. “Yes, I do.”

  “Good.” His eyes hooded. “Because we’re being watched.”

  “What?” Suddenly vigilant, she glanced around. “How do you know?” she whispered.

  “I feel it. I sense it. Have almost since we stepped off the plane.”

  She gathered close to him. “By whom?”

  “Not sure yet.” He exhaled a tense sigh. “But I’ll know within twenty-four hours.”

  “So…we just wander around, pretending to be oblivious? Like sitting ducks?”

  “Pretty much.” He tightened his grip on her hand, a gesture of reassurance. “This patroller could be looking for Todd. Or he could be looking for us.” He pulled his sunglasses down to shade his eyes. “Do you think Todd has the foresight to hire someone to protect him, stand guard, be on the lookout?”