A Bride for a Billionaire

by Lauren Hawkeye

  I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. She knows I’m here. She’s playing games.

  I seat myself in a cushy armchair that faces the fortress of a door, and cross one leg over the other, wishing like hell that I was wearing something else.

  I wish that for twenty long minutes, before Emilia finally deigns to appear. My head snaps up when the door slides open almost soundlessly... she must have some sort of remote opener, because she is standing in the middle of her office, revealed like a wicked witch dropping in from the sky.

  She poses for a moment—there’s no other word for it—allowing me to take in her undeniable beauty. Tall and model thin, she shows off that body in a severe black suit that probably cost more than a car. She’s not wearing anything beneath the blazer, and the combination is both intimidating and ridiculously gorgeous.

  Her dark hair is in some kind of sleek updo, her skin and makeup are flawless. And her eyes sparkle with cold amusement as she saunters toward me, seating herself primly in a chair that faces me directly.

  “Oh, look at those leggings. So cute. I remember wearing those back when they were in style.” A plastic smile on her face, a cruel glint in her eyes, the woman crosses her legs, smoothes a hand over her hair.

  Every movement she makes is... sensual. Like sexiness just seeps out of her pores. Sexiness, and a razor sharp perfection.

  It makes me, in my Walmart discount clothes, feel fat, ugly, out of place. But if there’s anything growing up in a trailer park taught me, it was how to fake it.

  I stand abruptly, which should startle her, I think. But she just looks up at me with those jet black eyes, and for a moment I’ve thrown off of my tirade.

  Anger, amusement, derision... something should be showing in those eyes, right? But there’s nothing. They’re just... dead.

  It’s creepy as hell. She reminds me of a snake poised to strike, the way she sits there, so still and perfect. Goose bumps pop out along my skin, a bead of cold sweat tracing my spine, and suddenly I question the brilliance of confronting this woman.

  I don’t know for sure, but... somehow, I think she could do a lot worse to me than try to get me thrown in jail.

  In for a penny, Tremaine.

  I look down into those dead eyes and swallow past the sudden knot of fear in my throat.

  “Don’t fuck with me again.”

  There—there is a spark of something, a tiny light that has been nearly swallowed by black. But it’s gone so quickly that I might have imagined it, absorbed back into the darkness as those perfect, glossy lips curve into a smile.

  Leaning forward, she places a finger against the line of my jaw, slides it downward in a touch that can only be described as... seductive. My heart thuds in my chest and my words catch in my throat as I wonder what the hell she’s doing.

  “So sweet. So... untouched, am I right? I can see why Matteo is so drawn to you.” Emilia leans forward, and for a frantic second I think that she’s going to kiss me. Instead I feel a sharp stab of pain when she digs her glossy burgundy nail into the tender flesh of my chin.

  I swallow back a cry of pain. Back home we have wild dogs that live just outside the trailer park. If you look them in the eye, speak to them with authority, they’ll leave you alone. But if you show even a hint of weakness, they’ll go for your throat.

  This woman is like those wild dogs, and I refuse to let her scent blood.

  “I understand why you don’t want Matteo to get married,” I say carefully, making a point of maintaining eye contact. Too bad you don’t have any scraps to throw, I think, and barely suppress a hysterical giggle. “But trying to get me thrown in jail when I haven’t done anything wrong isn’t any way to do things.”

  The dark eyes narrow to fathomless slits, and the nail on my chin presses further. I can’t quite swallow my hiss as she breaks through my skin, and the rich, coppery scent of blood reaches my nose.

  Holy shit, this bitch just drew blood. I rear back, unable to keep a leash on my temper any longer, but Emilia follows, standing and grabbing my chin in her fingers. She twists it until I cry out in pain.

  “You jumped down the wrong rabbit hole, sweetheart.” Her breath is hot as it fans out over my face. “Let me enlighten you. Matteo and I belong together. We are part of the same world. The same world that won’t bat an eyelash if a delicious, untouched morsel like yourself gets eaten alive. In fact, we would enjoy it.”

  My spine stiffens and my temper flares. I’m already quite aware that I’m out of my league here, but to hear her lump Matteo in with her? The man who took care of me for no reason but the goodness of his heart?

  I won’t have it.

  “Just because Matteo is part of this world doesn’t mean he’s anything like you.” And in that instant, I relax about my impending nuptials.

  If Matteo has shown me anything over the last two days, it’s that he won’t hurt me. Quite the opposite, in fact... he defended me against this woman, right here.

  And then it hits me.

  “You didn’t just want me out of the way,” I say slowly, backing further away from Emilia as she tilts her head to the side, examining me as though I’m a bug she’d love to squash beneath her stiletto. “You want him for yourself.”

  Oh man, that’s fucked. I may have hillbilly blood running through my veins, but even the people I know don’t get it on with their stepsiblings.

  Though I assume that if there had been any actual getting it on, Emilia would be a lot less cranky.

  Without warning, Emilia springs forward a step, landing her right in my face again. I want to flee, but lock my knees in place.

  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, little girl.” Emilia gets right in my face, close enough that I can see a very thin sheen of perspiration film her forehead. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away before something very bad happens to you.”

  I may have little reason in my lie to believe in fairy tales, but one thing my past has shown me is that taking the easy road doesn’t lead to rewards. I’ll be honest and true to myself until I die.

  “I didn’t steal the money.” I annunciate every word. “And Matteo knows that.”

  Emilia smirks, and damn her, looks gorgeous even though she’s quite clearly half crazy. “No, but you could have.”

  “Does he know?” I back up a step. Even though retreating goes against everything inside of me, I calculate in my mind how far away I am from the elevators, or even the stairs... she can’t follow me in those heels, I’m sure, and I want the hell out of here.

  But not before I’ve made my point.

  “Does he know how you feel about him?”

  Emilia rears back as though I’ve struck her. She looks at me, wild eyed, beautiful lips party. She stares at me wordlessly for a long moment—I’ve struck her dumb.

  “Get out of my face.” She whispers, gesturing wildly toward the elevator. I back up quickly before she decides our chat isn’t actually over.

  Turning, I walk briskly toward the elevator. She repeats herself, her voice growing louder each time.

  Hurry up, hurry up. The elevators take entirely too long to arrive, and when the clear glass doors finally part, I all but throw myself inside. I don’t dare slump against the walls with relief the way I want to, but I do cast one last look over my shoulder as I try to counter the adrenaline that has surged into my veins.

  But Emilia is gone.

  Chapter Nine

  MATTEO

  I AM UNEXPECTEDLY NERVOUS.

  It doesn’t sit well, as I pace the floor in my office, the box containing my mother’s ring tucked into my pocket, pressing against my leg.

  I am the son of Carmine Benenati. I’ve been wrapped in wealth and privilege my entire life, and have rarely had to ask for anything.

  But I’m asking today. And despite the fact that I’m fully willing to tie Riley up to ensure that she stays—to get my way—this feels strangely real.

  I can’t hold back the
grin or the stiffening of my cock at the mental image of Miss Riley Tremaine, tied to my bed, her pale skin luminous against the sheets.

  Tomorrow night, I’ll have everything I want—the company in my hands, and Riley underneath me in my bed. Emilia even went to the trouble of putting the money in Riley’s account, and a few well placed calls this afternoon have ensured that it will stay there... and I’ll let the girl keep the bonus, for what my stepsister tried to do.

  It’s the most successful business transaction I’ve ever lined up. Why, then do I care so much what Riley will think when I put my mother’s ring on her finger? Why am I even so set on doing just that?

  Scowling, I stride out to my balcony, look out over the city. It’s midday. I’ve arranged for a romantic dinner to be set out here later today, complete with candles and roses. After Riley is sated with food and wine, I’ll give her the ring. To my way of thinking, just because this is business, doesn’t mean it can’t be pleasurable for us both.

  Just because she’ll be my wife for only a month, doesn’t mean I can’t do my best to counteract the idea of marriage that was planted in my head by my father and how he treated my mother.

  I can’t wait that long. We will still have the dinner... and maybe I can seduce her into my bed a night early... but I want my ring on her finger now.

  And what I want, I get.

  “Get a hold of yourself, man.” I sneer with disgust, all directed at myself. Real men don’t have nerves—my father drilled that into my head long ago. And I hadn’t thought I had any left.

  I won’t deal with this sensation a moment longer. It’s appalling.

  Digging my cell from my pocket, I dial the maid’s line. “Escort Miss Tremaine to my room.”

  The woman—Alberta? Annalisa?—hums with displeasure.

  “Signorina Tremaine, she has not returned yet.”

  I am stunned into silence for a full moment. “What do you mean, she has not returned? Where did she go?”

  The maid continues in my ear, but movement from below catches my eye. The sleek black town car that I use when Franco drives me places appears from between the thick olive and lemon trees that shield the house from view at the front gate. I didn’t give Franco any orders...

  But I did tell Riley to make herself at home.

  For the briefest of seconds I second guess my decision... what if the police had it right? What if she was ready to try to take me for every penny? It wouldn’t be the first time or, I’m sure the last.

  But my mind is already rejecting the notion as the car slides to a stop in front of the fountain that graces the front courtyard. I watch Franco exit the driver’s side, but before he can make it around the car, Riley shoves out of the back.

  Shading her eyes from the sun, she looks up at the house. Like magnets, our eyes meet, and I know that my worries are not possible.

  She is in need of money, yes. But I have known many women.

  And this American art student, with her cheap clothing and no bullshit attitude, is different from all the rest. No woman I’ve ever known would have taken a knife for me, not even my own stepsister.

  Emilia.

  Yes, this straightforward little American wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for what she thinks is right. And now I know where she went.

  Pushing away from the terrace, I stalk out of my room, down the stairs, shouting her name. I find her in the kitchen, Alberta/ Annalisa dabbing at her chin with a cloth, the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air.

  “What were you thinking?” The maid moves aside at one look from me, and I close in, catch Riley’s chin in my hand. The cut isn’t big, but the fact that it’s there at all infuriates me. “Emilia tries to get you sent to prison, so you confront the dragon in her den?”

  Riley studies me with a furrowed brow. “Your stepsister wants to marry you.”

  I wince, thinking of the night before, of how Emilia offered herself to me so blatantly. “She doesn’t want me, she just doesn’t want to lose Benenati Enterprises.”

  There is a sharp intake of breath from the maid; a narrow eyed look from me sends her scurrying from the kitchen. Inwardly I roll my eyes—this news will work its way through the staff within the hour, if it hasn’t already.

  Riley snorts, a hugely inelegant sound which is nevertheless adorable I her. I tilt my head in question. “And why is that so amusing?”

  She arches an eyebrow in return. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

  Unease trickles through my gut. “What do you mean?”

  She simply purses her lips and shakes her head, then continues on as though I haven’t asked anything.

  “You believe that I didn’t steal from you.” Her words are matter of fact. “Even though I very well could have.”

  At this I grin. “Surely no bride of mine would behave in such a fashion, cara mia. Not when I’ve offered to care for your every... need.”

  Rather than responding to the flirtation with a breathy sigh, Riley rolls her eyes. “I’ve decided that I won’t fight marrying you.”

  I’m slightly taken back by her tone. Yes, this is a business arrangement, but... still.

  “Since Emilia put you in danger, you no longer have a choice.” Tracing a finger over the small cut on her face, I narrow my eyes in warning.

  And she rolls her eyes again.

  “Whatever makes you happy.” She smiles up at me wickedly, and my fingers tighten on her skin.

  This woman is clear mountain air in the stale castle of my life. I want her. Now. But when I lean in to kiss her, she pulls away.

  “I’m doing this for you.”

  Wait... what? Her expression tells me she’s deadly serious. “When I went to see Emilia, I fully intended to just walk away. But that woman... I’m sorry, I know she’s your sister. But she’s fucking nuts. And it’s small of me, but I’m happy to help you out if it means thwarting her.”

  “Stepsister,” I correct automatically. I’m not sure what to make of Riley’s pronouncement.

  No one has ever wanted to... protect me... before.

  It’s rather strange. And I’m not sure I entirely believe it.

  “That’s the only reason, hmm?” Testing her, I let my fingers stroke down from her chin to her neck, then further to her shoulder, bared in the loose T-shirt. Bending, I press a kiss there, and savor her sharp intake of breath.

  I slide my lips up the smooth column of her throat, marking a path to her lips.

  “I’m a virgin!”

  I accidentally nip her chin as she all but shouts. Incredulous, I pull back to look her in the eye.

  Her chin is raised defiantly, her chin flushed.

  “I beg your pardon?” She must be joking. No woman her age could possibly be untouched—it’s unheard of in this day and age.

  “You heard me just fine,” she shoots back, squaring her shoulders. “Still want to marry me?”

  Heat is a tsunami, washing me over, pulling me in. It’s all I can do not to bend her over the counter, strip those ugly clothes away, and mark her as mine right in that moment.

  With more control than I ever thought I possessed, I pull the ring box from my pocket silently. Her eyes blur a bit when I open the velvet case to reveal the ring that once sat on my mother’s finger, the one my father chose for her before money ruined them, when they were still in love.

  It’s old fashioned, a flower constructed of small diamonds, on a white gold band. Emilia would never be caught dead with it on her finger.

  But Riley... when I silently slide it on her ring finger, I find that it suits her perfectly.

  “Are you sure?” Her mouth parted with shock, she holds her hand between us. I admire the way the diamonds set off the creamy skin of her hand. More than that, I admire the flush that still sits on her cheeks from my kiss.

  “You’ll be Riley Benenati by tomorrow night.” I smirk a bit at her small, cute squeak. “If you think you can wait that long.”

  “Ah. Speaking of waiting.” Her face flushing cr
imson, she places the hand with the ring on my chest. When her eyes meet mine they are wide and full of nerves. “I don’t want to. Can we... just...”

  To demonstrate, she slides off the counter, her body rubbing against mine the entire way down. I stifle a groan as her women’s heat, her belly rub against my cock, which by now is rock hard.

  She can’t seem to spit out the remaining words, but I understand. She wants me to relieve her of her virginity before she loses her nerve.

  I can feel my face splitting into a wicked grin. No way in hell am I depriving myself of the pleasure of a virgin bride on our wedding night.

  And it will be her pleasure too, I’m sure. So I shake my head, kiss the hand that wears the ring—my ring.

  “Try not to get in any more brawls with my stepsister.” I stroke a hand over the small cut, still furious that Emilia—that the taint of my family—has already left a mark on her.

  But it has begun, and it cannot be stopped. So I step away, even though my cock shouts a protest, and smile at my soon to be bride.

  “I will see you at our wedding. And I look forward to seeing you in white.”

  Chapter Ten

  MATTEO

  I WAS FULLY AWARE OF what money could accomplish in a short span of time, but seeing Riley’s face when she stepped into the wonderland that Italy’s most expensive wedding planner had created on the estate overnight was well worth it.

  My initial thought had been to have a small civil ceremony. There was no need for frills with a sham of a marriage, after all.

  But Riley... tonight she will be giving me something very special. And though the feeling is a new one for me... I want to give her something in return.

  And so I gave the wedding planners free reign, with one stipulation only... white. The constant reminder of Riley’s gift to me has me excited beyond measure, and I know that she will be thinking of it all day, as well.

  I would gladly skip the entire party, eager to rush on to the evening’s planned activities. But in addition to knowing that Riley would be stunned, I knew that having an actual wedding, complete with paparazzi at hand to document the nuptials of Italy’s most eligible bachelor, might set Emilia back on her heels.