The Billionaire Bundle

by Michele De Winton

  “I missed you last night, Helen.” His dark head turned slowly as she approached. “I had hoped you’d visit me under cover of darkness, put me out of my misery.”

  “You did? Sorry to disappoint.”

  “I took a cold shower.” Ricardo pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit down. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she lied, and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She shot him a tight smile. “But poor you, obviously.” She held his gaze for a second or two as he considered her over the rim of his coffee cup, and then lowered her eyes. His sexual pull was so powerful. The fire in his eyes would make the coldest ice maiden sizzle. She wondered if he suspected that she’d been thinking about him all night too, wondering how she would be strong enough to send him packing if he came to her room. In spite of everything she’d said to him, she knew in her heart that she’d have given herself to him without much persuasion. Her treacherous body burned from wanting him and it was becoming difficult for her to ignore.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Ricardo said as he tore a fresh bread roll between his fingers. “As it’s our last day of freedom, I’d like to take you out for the day. Or do you need more time to prepare for the wedding?”

  Her wedding day. Helen swallowed her rising anxiety about the coming event. She had chosen a dress and accessories from the selection the designer had offered, and the wedding planner had taken care of all the practicalities. The legal paperwork was in order, and her parents had been very understanding about their wish for a quick, quiet wedding. The Marshalls had no desire to be spread all over the European gossip magazines. All Helen needed to do was ensure she arrived at the town hall by eleven on the day. So what more was there to do?

  “I don’t see why not,” she said with a shrug. “Is it going to turn into some hack photo opportunity?”

  “Not until dinner time. Until then we’ll take a car with blacked out windows, so you don’t even need to put any make up on if you can’t be bothered.”

  She pursed her lips and tried not to feel self-conscious about her bare skin and distinctly mascara free eyes. “I’ll do my face in a minute, don’t worry. My bag’s inside.”

  “We’re only going for a drive up into the mountains to have a quiet lunch and some good air. To settle your nerves, hopefully. I want you to see the view, all the way to Gibraltar and the coast of Morocco if we’re lucky.” He took another sip of coffee and stared hard at her. “Believe me when I say you’re beautiful as you are. Leave the make up off if you want to. You don’t need it.”

  Helen felt peculiar all over again at his silky words, and her skin tingled under the fine silk of her bathrobe. She followed the direction of his eyes as her nipples grew hard and formed sharp peaks through the delicate fabric. Her voice was husky as she sensed he knew exactly what she was feeling. “Yes, good idea. I think we really should get out of the house for the day.”

  .

  The centre of Marbella was a bustling frenzy that evening. As Helen watched the spectacle, a flutter of red silk and a smooth, tanned female thigh on the back of a moped caught her attention. She wondered if the man the young Spanish woman was clinging to was her fiancé. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling as her face pressed in against his shoulder blades. They weren’t well off. His faded polo top and battered trainers bore testimony to that, but they still looked happy and carefree. Were they in love? How would the senorita in the red dress have reacted if she’d been presented with a huge, ostentatious diamond in the last twenty-four hours? Most likely she would be on Planet Delirium, showing it off to anyone who would look, kissing, hugging, and ruffling her coltish lover’s dark hair.

  So why did she, Helen Marshall, Ricardo Almanza’s new fiancée, feel so flat? She knew why, it was obvious, and a small part of her was disgusted that she should have any feelings about the situation at all. She felt horrible because none of this was real. She was no more than a business arrangement to Ricardo—a chattel—a playing card. She twirled the heavy band on her ring finger as she watched the battered moped weave through the orange trees and disappear in the crowds. The metal was smooth and cold, the stone as hard as Ricardo’s heart.

  “Not hungry?” Ricardo said pushing the remains of his fritura Malaguena aside.

  The air between them hung as thick and heavy as cold honey. Helen shook her head. “I’m still full after that huge lunch you made me eat.”

  “You only had a lobster salad. You should eat more.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Ricardo shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Anyway, I’ve seen at least two photographers catch us out in the last ten minutes, so our mission is accomplished. We can head back.”

  “Mission?”

  “The whole object of sitting in La Plaza de los Naranjos in the middle of Marbella, in front of one of the world’s best restaurants was to get us seen.” Ricardo rose from his chair and proffered his arm. “Why do you think that hulking great rock on your finger is so enormous? It can be seen from fifty meters and is unmistakably an engagement ring. That’s why I didn’t let you choose one. I’d bet my life you’d never agree to something quite so vulgar.”

  “It sums our whole arrangement up quite well,” she said with a glance at her left hand. “Vulgar. I’m surprised you haven’t forced me into some inappropriately tight dresses as well.”

  “Soccer player’s wives are not my style, Miss Marshall,” he said abruptly, and pulled her by the hand into the crowd outside the restaurant.

  “We haven’t paid the bill!” Helen shouted over the noise of the street as Ricardo dragged her reluctantly along behind him.

  He stopped walking and looked at her in surprise. “You don’t need to worry about things like that now.” He suddenly pulled her tightly into his chest, his arms trapping her by the waist and he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Judging by how much money you had to ask for when all this began, paying your bills is something you’re not that accustomed to anyway.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “As my future wife, it is my business, but just to reassure you, I never pay in Juanito’s. We go back a long way and we have…an understanding. Besides, money is a man’s responsibility. A woman’s role is to seduce it out of him.” He brushed a lock of golden hair from her shoulder and lowered his mouth softly to brush her lips with his own. “And right now, Helen Marshall, you’re doing a very, very thorough job.”

  “You’re an abysmal chauvinist,” Helen whispered crossly, as he pulled her even more tightly into him, crushing her breasts against his chest.

  “And if I wasn’t so rich, you’d absolutely hate me?”

  “I do hate you.”

  “I can tell.” He slid the tip of his tongue under her receptive top lip. “You’re making it so obvious.”

  Helen felt dangerous heat pooling between her thighs. “I should slap you for this.”

  His voice was a husky whisper. “Then slap me hard, because right now I don’t think I can wait until our wedding night.”

  “You must. Otherwise, it’s a breach of contract.” Helen shivered as his hand slid beneath her top. “If you don’t I’ll have to put the price up again.”

  Her knees were like jelly and the breathlessness of her voice did little to hide the effect he was having upon her. His lightest touch sent her up in flames. “It’s just as well the wedding will be sooner than later, then,” he whispered against her trembling lips.

  “What do you mean sooner?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear the answer or not.

  A smile creased Ricardo’s face as he stroked the bare skin of her back, feathering light strokes around the clasp of her bra. “I’ve pulled out all the stops on this one. The civil ceremony in Gibraltar is booked and paid for. We will be husband and wife the day after tomorrow.”

  Chapter Five

  “Prisa! Hurry up! Senorita Marshall!” Luisa, the wedding planner, panted anxiously. “Senor Almanza does not like to be kept waiting.
Not even on his wedding day!”

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Helen said as the middle-aged woman fiddled with the exotic flower she was fixing onto her hair. She’d felt quite numb all morning, oblivious to the luxurious surroundings of the five star Gibraltar hotel she had been booked into the previous night. She hadn’t realized how much she would want her mother there to help her get ready. Since waking early, her feelings of isolation had been acute. Even though she’d been fussed over, fed and preened by the ecstatically excited Luisa for three hours now, it wasn’t the same.

  Luisa left her to check on the cars. Helen stared at her reflection in a full-length mirror and she thought back to the evening she’d spent with Ricardo in Marbella. The memory of him stroking the palm of her hand in the warmth of the night made her shiver. She was as scared, yet excited, about her wedding night as a real bride would be, which was beginning to worry her. Did Ricardo feel the same way? It was unlikely. This wasn’t a real marriage. It was a cold, hard business deal. Helen crushed her teeth together until her jaw hurt.

  She needed to get a grip. Part of her was already out of control, skipping towards her marriage vows. Her subconscious was drifting into a theoretical fantasy of what their children would look like—his dark hair and skin, her blond hair and pale skin, so different from each other. She had to stop it, snap out of this ridiculous behavior. It was an impossible situation, and it was hopeless to imagine any good feelings would come out of their corrupt union. She sank her hands into her hair and gripped hard until the pain seared through her head. The whole situation was turning out to be a mega disaster. It was her wedding day to a gorgeous billionaire. She had no right to be thinking about what it would be like to be his wife for real. She had no right to yearn for anything beyond the financial security she’d extracted from Ricardo. She shouldn’t be secretly looking forward to their wedding night.

  The sound of a telephone ringing made her come back to reality with a thump, and she suddenly felt cold with apprehension. Thank goodness it was a tiny wedding, but it would still be impossible to avoid this Capella person. She and Ricardo hadn’t agreed on a cover story, like how they’d met, how long they’d known each other, the sort of questions you would naturally ask a bride and groom. Where would she stand if he realized that Ricardo had faked the whole thing? She wished now that she had read the small print on the documents she’d signed.

  “Senorita! Your mamma is on the phone! Quick!” Luisa rustled through the dressing room door, her thin cheeks bearing a little more color than her usual smudge of rouge.

  Helen took the wireless receiver and closed her eyes against the high-pitched, chirping that was audible from at least a couple of feet. “Yes, Mum, I miss you both too. Yes I’ll do my best. Thank you, yes the flowers are perfect. I’m wearing the orchid in my hair.” She pressed two fingers against the bridge of her nose as her head slumped gradually forward under the barrage of questions being fired at her. “Photos, yes, I’ll get some sent to you as quickly as I can.”

  Photos!

  You couldn’t have a wedding without photographs! The sham would be obvious. Had Ricardo thought all this through properly? This had disaster written all over it.

  As Helen finally cut the call, Luisa pushed her face around the door. “We go now?” she nodded urgently as encouragement. “You get dressed and come and get in the car? No more lateness?”

  “Of course,” Helen said softly. “Um, do you have a camera?”

  .

  Emptiness gnawed at Helen’s stomach as the black Mercedes sent for her pulled up outside the Registry Office. Baskets of flowers and freshly scrubbed stonework did nothing to lift her spirits, and Luisa’s agitation was beginning to rub off on her. “We’re here now, Luisa, and we’re only a little bit late.”

  Helen forced a reassuring smile. The wedding planner visibly relaxed a little. She could guess what was going on in the older woman’s head. Even though her charge had been safely delivered to the wedding, she would be fretting until the deed was done.

  A bitter twist under her diaphragm reminded her that what she was about to do was madness. As a parade of camera flashes heralded her arrival she wished that her dress was long and white and that she had a trio of giggling bridesmaids. Each click of a shutter and shout from a reporter made her wish that her mum was there to hold her hand, and that her dad was here to give her away. Climbing gingerly out of the car she wished that Ricardo loved her and was feeling anxious that his bride was ten minutes late. Her bodyguard’s thick suited arm shielded her from the physical crush of the press pack and she wished she didn’t have to go through with this terrible deception. She might as well wish for the moon.

  …

  Ricardo clenched his jaw muscles and checked his watch again.

  “Not to worry, Almanza,” a snide male voice rang out into the silence. “If she’s jilted you, you’ve still got six months to get hitched, and I get to see you humiliated like this all over again. It seems money and good looks can’t guarantee even you a loving, faithful bride.”

  Ricardo felt revulsion roll over him as he turned to stare into the coldness of Jerardo Capella’s eyes. “I don’t remember either of those words being used in your repugnant deal,” he whispered harshly.

  “Loving? Faithful? All superfluous, surely?” The man standing next to him sneered and lowered his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Marry before thirty was all I stipulated, and I must say, even thus far, it’s been well worth it. Get the vows over and I’ll sign. Immediately. It would be cruel to gloat over your discomfort any longer than that. I’m not a monster.”

  “You are scum of the earth,” Ricardo said. “And keep your voice down.”

  “Almanza blood still owes me for my humiliation,” Jerardo hissed. “Your name should be dragged through the streets like stinking rubbish for what happened to me. I curse your family birthright and your heirs. If you’re man enough to produce any.”

  Ricardo swore violently under his breath as Jerardo’s high-pitched snigger bounced off the walls. Any gentler feeling the older man may have felt towards him had clearly been suppressed or brushed aside. He squeezed his eyes shut. Helen was now fifteen minutes late, and the official was beginning to fiddle awkwardly with the ledgers and paperwork in front of him. The clerk took off his wire spectacles and rubbed his eyes anxiously and then stared at his polished shoes with embarrassment.

  The thud of wood impacting on plaster made all four heads snap around to see Luisa rushing through the doorway. Ricardo felt adrenaline flood his body as she froze like a rabbit in the headlights. The breath held in his chest was beginning to hurt. The whispering, the footfalls, the soft movements, all seemed to be reaching an infinity pitch as Ricardo’s hands gripped the back of the administrator’s chair. He stared blindly down at the cream and green upholstery, and sent up a prayer to God. Not his god. Any god who would listen would do. He needed his bride here now.

  Kitten heels clicked on the tiled floor, and when he looked up he saw her staring at him, framed in the doorway. Her eau de nil silk shift dress shimmered across her curves as she began to walk towards him, setting off the rich golden glow of her hair and complimenting the sparkling chartreuse of her eyes.

  He’d been furious that she was so late, but the light violet scent she always wore dazzled his senses even at a distance. There had been a real possibility that she wouldn’t turn up, or even worse that she’d taken the opportunity to flee overnight. The worry that had left his throat feeling sandpapered wasn’t just down to the situation with Jerardo Capella, either. There was now more at stake than their ancient wager.

  Ricardo didn’t want to spend another night away from Helen. It was crazy of him to feel like that about her so suddenly, but he couldn’t help himself. Thoughts of her had invaded his mind the previous night. He hadn’t slept a wink, and that had given him far too much time to think. He wanted her, there was no denying it, but shame had finally consumed him at the thought of forcing her to sleep with
him. What had he been thinking when he bullied her into that deal? It wasn’t about the money—two million meant as little to him as one, but she had challenged him in upping the stakes and he just couldn’t help himself. His cutthroat business instincts had kicked in and he had as good as demanded that she prostitute herself. He’d made a mistake there, shot himself in the foot, because he wanted her to come to him willingly.

  She must think he was a monster—she had good reason. He could fix that, but later. For the next ten minutes he needed Helen’s full cooperation and he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. His stomach muscles clenched at the thought of the solemn legal commitment he was about to make. A commitment he had made clear to her he wouldn’t stand by in three months time. He had never broken a promise in his life, but then that was part of the reason why he was stood there now.

  …

  Helen hesitated when she saw Ricardo in the tiny square salmon-colored room. He was clutching a chair back with knuckles as white as bared bone. There were dark hollows under his eyes and his mouth was set in a hard thin line. His ink-black hair shone from being freshly washed, but was tousled, a sure sign that he had been raking his hands through it, with frustration, probably. And anger. She’d kept him, and the other man, waiting. She held her breath, waiting for him to erupt.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Ricardo muttered as he strode towards her and took her by the hand adding, “And you look beautiful, by the way.”

  It was nice of him to say so, even if it was an afterthought and intended more for the benefit of his “guest” than her. She glanced nervously at the man she assumed to be Jerardo Capella. He was short and wiry with a thick slick of white hair that was muted to a greasy battleship gray with strong hair product. A small mouth parted to send her a nicotine stained leer, his attempt at a smile. His eyes were masked by ostentatiously large sunglasses, but she’d bet his gaze was cold and nasty behind them. How did Ricardo get involved with this unsavory character? She’d assumed the bet was with one of his young playboy contemporaries, all flashy cars and fast women, not an older man like this. But what did she know? Ricardo was no ordinary man and Jerardo Capella might be a perfectly pleasant individual…