At the Billionaire’s Wedding

by Maya Rodale, Caroline Linden, Miranda Neville, Katharine Ashe

  Nerves zipped right up the center of her body. “We’re alone now.”

  “We are.” His voice sounded low. “And I’m suddenly thinking I’m not prepared for this.”

  “But I think I am.” Taking two quick steps forward and balancing on her squishy toes, she pressed a kiss on the sexiest lips she’d ever seen. Sexiest she’d ever felt. Soft and angling instantly to meet hers. The scent of him. The flavor. So good. Too good.

  She started to pull back.

  He wrapped his hand around the base of her skull and took over.

  He kissed her like he’d had this in mind from the start and knew she would be okay with it.

  She was. She so was.

  Urging her lips apart, tilting her face up, he fit their mouths together perfectly. Slow, deep, and bone-meltingly good, he kissed her like he planned to kiss her all day. And he tasted like a god. And smelled like heaven. His hand on her neck and the expensive scent of his skin—so incredibly good. Her whole body woke up, hot and trembling and delicious. He slipped the tip of his tongue along the inside seam of her upper lip, then came inside her, stroking her tongue and making her ache where she hadn’t in ages—except in her dream last night.

  But this was no dream. This was his fingers sinking into her wet hair and his tongue in her mouth and his lips making her want to taste even more of him. Her shirt felt far too tight and the impulse to press her breasts against his chest felt totally natural. The impulse to press her entire body to him felt even stronger.

  She broke away and gulped in air.

  His gorgeous blue eyes seemed unfocused. Like he was floored too.

  Wrong. This wasn’t how wedding party hookups were supposed to happen. When she was all done up in a sexy dress, she was supposed to get tipsy and have irresponsible sex in a coat closet. Not perfect kisses in the middle of the day, wearing soaked running gear.

  But he was looking at her like she was sexy now. And like he wouldn’t need a coat closet.

  No.

  Not this man.

  Not her.

  What did she know about wedding party flings anyway? She preferred to get to know a man before she slept with him. That this man didn’t feel like a stranger was an illusion caused by his unexpected reaction to her harangue and by his good looks. And his scent. And his flavor. And the way he kissed her as if he knew just how she wanted to be kissed.

  Impossible.

  “What am I doing?” she heard herself utter.

  He nodded. “Kissing me.”

  “This doesn’t happen in reality.”

  “It just did.”

  “Not to me,” she insisted.

  “I repeat.”

  She backed up and tripped down a step.

  “California.” He reached for her, but she turned and jerked into the rain.

  “I’ve got to go… Now… Bye.”

  She bolted. She’d only ever run from Dick. Now she ran from Piers Prescott for the opposite reason. But both came down to fear.

  She tasted amazing. Like honey and salt and heat. And she kissed like she wanted sex. Like she wanted sex with him.

  That had not been his purpose in buying her the plane ticket. Not entirely. Now she’d gotten spooked, just as Jane had warned. Possibly because she didn’t know what he wanted from her.

  He didn’t know either. A few weeks ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to give her the vacation she deserved. And to meet her.

  And to tell her. He’d wanted to tell her how he’d funded the bookmobile, but tell her in some place that she couldn’t run away from as soon as she knew. He hadn’t realized it until now. He’d wanted to trap her into liking him, to launch a hostile takeover that looked appealing on the surface, so he’d be sure to win.

  Now she’d run away. And he still hadn’t told her.

  He walked down the hill to the house through the wet grass, passing another poor soul on his way to get cell service at the gazebo. Archer Quinn, Duke’s lawyer, was a good guy even if his father, venture capitalist Ted Quinn, reminded Piers too much of his own grandfather.

  “Hey, Piers,” he said as they passed. “You might want to be on guard for paparazzi. They’re eager to get photos of the wedding, but I’m sure they’ll snap pics of anyone they can sell.”

  “Typical. Thanks for mentioning it.”

  “I suspect you’re missing as much work this week as I am. Prescott Global never sleeps, hm?”

  “Unfortunately not. Heading up there for the signal?” He gestured to the hill’s apex.

  Archer glanced at the gazebo. “Up there. Yes. Right. See you, Piers.”

  Piers started toward the house again. Damn paparazzi. Not ideal if they got wind that he was attending this party. He’d counted on a little more time to remain off his grandfather’s radar.

  Fortunately his grandfather didn’t read online gossip news. The business gossip blogs had covered every detail of Piers’s relationships with women. He and Caroline had occasionally fed the bloggers information, to keep them satisfied and because Caroline liked to be in the spotlight. She liked full disclosure.

  Full disclosure wasn’t necessary with California Blake. She was getting what she wanted: the bookmobile plus an all-expenses-paid vacation, and she seemed happy about it. If she wanted sex, he’d give her that too. Since seeing her tight little curved body in that wet shirt and shorts, he looked forward to it.

  He told himself she didn’t need to know what went on behind the curtain, that his methods weren’t wrong.

  And he knew he was telling himself the same story his grandfather had been telling him for years.

  Chapter Six

  The Town of Melbury

  On Tuesday morning, Jane told Cali that Roxanna needed pictures of the wedding dress for her boyfriend, publishing mogul Damien Knightly, who wanted to scoop his competitors on the wedding of the year. But Jane and Duke had promised exclusive photos to People, with the proceeds going to an animal rescue foundation. So Jane came up with the idea of staging a fake bridal gown shopping excursion, and Roxanna would release pictures of that instead.

  Cali gladly went along to Oldwart’s Bridal Shoppe in the village, eager to be far from anywhere she might accidentally bump into The Best Kisser in the World.

  As they watched Jane pirouette around the shop in a series of tacky polyester gowns, she and Roxanna laughed till their sides hurt. One dress was so covered in feathers, Jane looked like a chicken—albeit a pretty chicken.

  But it was bittersweet fun. Unless she won the lottery, she’d never be able to afford even a cheap gown like these. She loved Jane. That her old friend might have paid for her trip made her love her even more. But she had nothing in common with the rest of the people at this party. She wasn’t a computer genius or a publishing mogul or an ace lawyer or a popular journalist or a best-selling novelist or a successful wedding planner throwing the party of the year.

  And she was so far from the society debutantes and hip Indie rockers that Piers Prescott dated, it made her laugh.

  Thinking about his kiss made her hot all over, but she just couldn’t get near him again. One-night stands weren’t for her, and anything more had Wrong Side of the Tracks Tragedy written all over it. Because it wouldn’t turn into Pride and Prejudice, where she ended up with the rich stud. Instead, it would be Pretty in Pink, with the original ending they’d shown test audiences before they switched it, where she ended up with the poor goofy boy, not the rich gorgeous boy. Except in her scenario, there wasn’t even a poor goofy boy waiting for her at home, just medical bills and gross Dick.

  They left the shop and crossed the street to a quaint little pharmacy, and Roxanna went inside to buy something.

  Cali turned to Jane. “You are a truly beautiful bride.”

  “Even in polyester?”

  “In anything. But I’ve got to know: Did you pay for my trip here?”

  “No. Didn’t you?”

  She shook her head. “Someone sent me the ticket.”

  “You
don’t know who?”

  “It had to be my friends at a park I visit every week. We’ve gotten pretty close and they knew how much I wanted to come.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Roxanna came out of the store and gave her a quick once-over. “Cali, did you bring anything sexier? All I’ve seen you wear are those loose slacks and boxy shirts.”

  “I don’t own anything sexier. But I have a nice dress for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “This party is a week long. You shouldn’t be hiding what you’ve got until the end, especially when Piers Prescott is interested.”

  Her dumpy wardrobe hadn’t stopped him from kissing her in the pouring rain. And he’d said she was beautiful. Beautiful.

  “Thanks, but I don’t think—”

  “It’s not about thinking. It’s about doing, and doing it now so you don’t waste a minute of fun.” Roxanna gave her a saucy grin. “I brought lots of extra clothes. I know just what’ll look fantastic on you.”

  Cali bit her lip.

  “Trust her,” Jane said. “What’s the worst that can happen if you let loose for once?”

  Roxanna dressed Cali like Zoe used to dress Barbie dolls, trying her in every outfit imaginable before fixing on one: white camisole, silky shirt that didn’t close at the front, and Cali’s own hip-riding jeans. Roxanna threaded the belt loops with a filmy scarf and left it hanging to either side of the fly.

  Cali fingered the imported silk. “Why untied?”

  “Quick access.”

  A zing went right through Cali’s quick-access area. She attempted breathing. “We’re not going to have to go through this every day, are we?”

  “Ingrate.” Roxanna stepped back to assess her work. “You look hot. Aren’t you even going to check yourself out in the mirror?”

  “I trust you.” She couldn’t bring herself to look. It was too weird. Too much something she’d never do. She felt like an alien in her own skin. An alien terrified of going downstairs now. Earlier, when they’d returned to the house, she’d seen Piers across the foyer and felt like giggling. She never giggled.

  But she’d never been much of a hider either.

  “Thanks, Roxanna. This is really great.”

  “I’ll have a porter deliver those to your room.” She pointed to a pile of clothes on the bed. “Wear them. Piers will go crazy.”

  When Cali went down to cocktails later, the room was already full of guests, except Piers. Cali had time to take a few sips of wine, to check out the antiques and paintings and brocaded draperies, and to feel her nerves loosen before he appeared. He stood in the doorway talking to Duke’s lawyer, Archer. They were both handsome men. And at least one of them tasted like heaven.

  “How do you like the hors d’oeuvres, California?”

  The wedding planner, Arwen, stood beside her.

  “Hors d’oeuvres?” Was that what the kiss in the gazebo had been? An appetizer? Should she consider it a foretaste of what she could have? Was she an idiot for shutting down that possibility when she wanted it so much that she’d let Roxanna dress her up like a paper doll?

  “One of the new ovens wasn’t properly calibrated. It burned the hors d’oeuvres.” Arwen pinched her lips. “But please don’t tell Jane. We fixed it in a jiffy.”

  “The hors d’oeuvres were…” She glanced at Piers. “Absolutely delicious.” He was looking at her. “I want more.”

  “Excellent,” Arwen said with satisfaction.

  Piers didn’t approach her. But he didn’t stop watching her. Cali chatted with other guests and tried to relax. She failed. Eventually she ended up in a group of Duke’s friends who were talking about the huge success of his new start-up. Nearby, Roxanna caught her eye, then looked meaningfully to Cali’s side.

  Cali turned her head. Piers stood beside her.

  “Hey.” His voice was warm and low. Then he lifted his drink to his mouth and said something to the others about the TSE versus NASDAQ. He wore a gold signet ring and his hands had the pronounced veins of a man in excellent physical condition. She knew this already. She’d seen him in a swimsuit. In the library, she’d had her face pressed against his chest. Still, seeing his hand at such close range after it’d been on the back of her neck to hold her mouth to his, she got shaky inside.

  No. This was just wrong. She was a grown woman, not a dizzy teenager. And he was a corporate monster, no matter what he’d said in the rain. Actions spoke louder than words. Cliché, but true. She didn’t need a fling with him. She needed a nice, relaxing vacation and to watch her friend walk happily ever after down the aisle.

  Piers turned his head to her, smiled, and Cali nearly dropped her drink.

  She fled.

  She couldn’t go outside. It was raining, and as much fun as she’d had in the rain yesterday, she couldn’t chance that again. She glanced back. Piers was moving away from the group. Toward her.

  Scuttling down the hallway she went through the first door she saw, and found herself in the biggest half bath she’d ever seen. Also, the most gorgeous, with a marble countertop, bronze fixtures, Italian tile, and a Hollywood salon style mirror. She fell back against the counter and covered her face with her hands.

  How had she come to this place where she was simultaneously lusting after a man and running away from him? She wasn’t this person. She was insanely busy and constantly stressed. But she wasn’t a ditz.

  The door opened and Piers came in and shut it behind him.

  She sprang up. “What are you doing?”

  “Cornering you.”

  “What if I’d been…” She gestured toward the commode.

  “The door wasn’t locked. You were trying to escape me.”

  “I might not have been.”

  He lifted a brow.

  “I’m a lousy liar,” she admitted.

  “Hey,” he said, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

  “Really?” She crossed her arms. “You followed me into a bathroom.”

  “You ran away into a bathroom. After running away from the gazebo.”

  “Who follows a woman into a bathroom? Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

  He offered her a skeptical look. “Do you think this personal space thing might be coming a little late?”

  The edge of the marble counter cut into her butt. “Would you have believed it before the gazebo?”

  His smile was slow and assured. “What do you think?”

  She thought that from the moment he’d walked down the steps of Brampton onto the drive, she’d been doomed to spend the week lusting after him.

  “Look, there’s something going on here,” he said. “I just want you to know that I’m available.”

  “Available?”

  “For whatever you want.”

  He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. Not so directly. But guys like him probably did everything this way. No one would tell them not to, and they probably always got whatever they wanted.

  Which was exactly what he was offering to her now.

  “Whatever I want?” she repeated.

  “Anything. You call the shots.”

  “Anything?” Apparently she could not find original words.

  His smile went from tempting to devastating. He meant the kind of anything she’d been fantasizing about last night.

  She couldn’t speak. This was her chance. A wedding party fling. A brief hookup. Simple, uncomplicated fun. Release.

  She sucked in courage. “I do have something in mind.” Straight from her dream.

  “Do you?”

  “I’d like you to feel me up over my jeans.” She’d said it. “Now.”

  His Adam’s apple shifted under smooth, tan skin. His surprise was incredibly sexy. “That’s it?”

  Her courage plummeted. “Yes. Why? Isn’t that enough for you?”

  He came three steps forward, right into her space the same way she’d stepped right into his at the gazebo.


  “I get to touch you,” he said. “How couldn’t that be enough for me?”

  Why did he always say the right thing? Did he have a stockpile of lines to get women in bed?

  Don’t think about it, Cali. Just enjoy.

  He smelled like heaven. It was his outrageously expensive cologne, she knew. But it was also him. His scent. She recognized it already and it made her knees weak.

  “Are you going to do it?” She sounded breathy. Like the ditz she wasn’t.

  “Yeah. I’m going to do it.” He didn’t sound breathy. He sounded really certain.

  Then his hands were sliding around her hips, strong and as certain as his voice. She gripped the counter to either side of her as his fingertips strafed her bare skin above the low-cut waist of her jeans, flicking under her camisole. It felt good—his skin against hers. It felt amazing. She liked his hands on her hips. She liked it how he held her gaze, as if he wanted to see how she enjoyed his hands on her.

  “I have one condition,” he said in a low voice.

  “You didn’t say anything about conditions.” His hands were curving around her butt, the way he might try out the steering wheel of a Ferrari for the first time. A Ferrari he knew he’d own soon.

  “You’ll like this condition.” He cupped her butt on both sides, his hands encompassing her.

  She liked it already. “What is it?”

  “I want you to turn around.”

  “Turn—?” Her throat caught. There was a mirror behind her. The lights around it were some kind of softly brilliant bulbs, and they were all blazing now.

  He wanted her to see him touch her.

  She’d never made out with a man in bright light. Something about it seemed wrong. Embarrassing. But she’d never made out with a man as gorgeous as Piers Prescott either. She could just look at him and forget everything else.

  When she shifted around and her thighs came up against the edge of the sink, she didn’t look at him, though. She was too floored by her own reflection. Cheeks flushed, lips soft, hair tumbling over bare shoulders where the silky shirt had slipped away, jeans riding her hips and nipples poking through the thin white camisole, she looked like a sex kitten.