The Wedding Rescue, Book One (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance)

by Wilder, Alexa

  The Wedding Rescue, Book One

  An Alpha Billionaire Club Romance

  Alexa Wilder

  Contents

  About The Wedding Rescue, Book One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thank You

  Sneak Peek

  Also by Alexa Wilder

  Copyright

  About The Wedding Rescue, Book One

  She thinks she's not his type. He's determined to prove her wrong.

  Leigha Carmichael is used to the quiet life. A junior accountant by day, she knows girls like her don't have exciting lives. She's smart, shy and her curvy body doesn't fit in among the beauty queens of Las Vegas. Still reeling from her ex-boyfriend's betrayal, Leigha's sworn off all men. Except she has a huge problem, and only the right man can solve it.

  The moment he sees her across a crowded bar, Dylan Kane knows he wants her. And Dylan Kane always gets what he wants. Especially when the object of his desire is sitting in his own casino. She's nothing like the skinny, overly made up women he's used to. From her clear gray eyes to her luscious curves, Leigha is the real thing. Exactly the change of pace he's been looking for. And even better, she needs something from him. With the bargain he has in mind, they'll both get exactly what they want.

  In the few days she's his, Dylan plans to take control of every delectable inch of Leigha's body. But when the weekend is over, will he be able to let her go?

  1

  Dylan

  I saw her across a crowded room. It’s such a cliché, especially for me. I see beautiful women across crowded rooms all the time. The Delecta was my casino, and she was sitting at my bar.

  It’s hard to say what made me stop. She wasn’t a showgirl or a model, and nothing like the tall, skinny, overly made up women I was accustomed to. No, she was something else. She was real.

  When was the last time I’d had real? Real curves, generous enough to have her hips straining the seams of her navy blue dress. I wanted to sink my fingers into those hips while I fucked her from behind. Real tits. Had to be. They were soft and full, even from a distance. They, too, strained against her dress. Mouthwatering. And her lips. Plump. Perfectly shaped to wrap around my cock. I had to see more.

  I eased into the bar, busy enough for six o’clock on a Thursday, but not as crowded as it would be in a few hours. I needed a better angle to see her face. From the door, all I got was long, shining, dark hair, streaming down her back in loose waves, a hint of her lips, the curve of an eyebrow, and nothing else. Did her face live up to the promise of her body? I was going to find out.

  I crossed the room to the bar, nodding at a few people as I went. Sliding into the seat beside her, I raised a finger for the bartender.

  “Sir,” he said with a deferential nod. I waved it away. This wasn’t the time to impress her with my status. Not until I knew if she’d be impressed. She might be one of those anti-corporate types, in which case being a billionaire wasn’t going to help me get her in my bed. And the closer I got, the more certain I was. However her night had begun, it would end with me.

  I ordered a Manhattan. At the sound of my voice, she turned to look at me. Fucking perfect. Her face was as real as her body. No dramatic cheekbones or startling blue eyes caked with mascara. No, she barely wore any make-up. Not even lipstick. Her grey eyes were clear and intelligent, and her sweet, rosy lips had a natural pout. Her dark brows matched her hair. When her eyes met mine, they widened. For a second, she looked like a deer caught in headlights. Or one who’d spotted a predator far too close and knew he’d locked on. Her instincts told her all she needed to know. She was in danger and there was no escape.

  Then I saw it. The red rims of her eyes, the streak of moisture on her cheek. A primal part of me felt a bolt of satisfaction. She’d been crying. The tears were a weakness, and my way in. With all the resources at my disposal, whatever problem she had, I would fix it. Then she’d be mine for however long I wanted her.

  2

  Leigha

  I was well into my second appletini when I heard the chair next to me slide back. I kept my eyes on the bar, not interested in company or polite chitchat. My calm, orderly, sedate life was in a shambles, and I had no interest in talking to anyone except the bartender. That is, until I heard his voice. It was low and dark, like hot chocolate with caramel drizzled on top, and it sent shivers down my spine. He had to be hot. No one with a voice like that could be anything else. I snuck a peek and froze. Holy crap. Hot didn’t begin to cover it. Our eyes met and I couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away.

  His eyes were the crisp, fresh green of a Granny Smith apple. I’d never seen eyes like that before. On anyone else I might have wondered if they were contacts, but not on this man. His eyes were extraordinary, but serious. This man didn’t put up with bullshit. Not one who’d wear colored lenses. His face could have come out of a magazine, with his thick, dark hair, those bladed cheekbones, and that full lower lip. But he lacked the empty blandness of a model in an advertisement. No, his face had character. He had fine lines around his mouth that suggested he laughed a lot. A tan that said he liked to be outdoors. His gaze was assessing, evaluating me. I wanted to tear my eyes away and look anywhere else, but I couldn’t.

  He wasn’t just a regular guy. I knew that already. Spinal shivers from his voice aside, the bartender had called him ‘Sir’ when he’d come in. And that suit. I didn’t know a ton about fashion, but it was too well tailored not to be custom made. He was way out of my league—way, way out.

  “Bad day?” he asked in that chocolate and caramel voice. More shivers ran down my spine. A suspicious heat grew between my legs. Women would pay just to hear this guy talk.

  “Bad week,” I said, my mouth moving before I could stop it.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The bartender delivered his drink, and he took a sip, eyes still on mine. He waited with all the patience in the world to hear my pathetic story. Suddenly, I was less depressed and more ashamed. How had I let my life come to this?

  “I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to a stranger’s problems,” I said, not wanting this beautiful man to know what a mess I was.

  “I’m never too busy to listen to an attractive woman,” he answered. I snorted a laugh, choking a little on my appletini. He must be working an angle. Men like this didn’t hit on me. Maybe he thought I was, easy, or maybe he was another scammer. I’d had enough of that lately. I couldn’t afford to be taken in again.

  “Smooth,” I said, still giggling a little. “But whatever you’re selling, I don’t need any. I’ve got enough trouble as it is.”

  “I’m not selling anything.” He actually looked affronted, as if I’d insulted him. “Really. I just got off work, wandered in here, saw you, and wanted to get to know you better.”

  “Why?” I challenged, tossing back the rest of my drink.

  Sure, this was the most beautiful man I’d seen in real life. However, his sitting beside me and starting a conversation just because he liked the way I looked was a little hard to swallow. Girls like me did not attract men like him. I was too plump, too boring, and too plain. Besides, I was not having a lucky week. Or month, if we’re being honest.

  “Because,” he said, leaning in so his lips almost grazed my ear, “you’re the only real thing I’ve seen in this place in months. You’re gorgeous, and you don’t even k
now it. And I want to know you better.”

  I snorted again. Not the most elegant sound. Maybe I’d had one drink too many—no, I’d definitely had one too many. I just couldn’t buy it. I had decent self-esteem, but come on. This guy could get any woman he wanted. I was a somewhat overweight accountant who lived in a tiny bungalow, drove a beige sedan, and contributed regularly to her retirement account. All I was missing was a few cats, and I’d be all ready to become a little old lady at twenty-five. I might live in Vegas, but it could have been the small midwestern town I’d grown up in for the all the excitement in my life.

  “Sorry. Not interested,” I said. “The last hot guy who told me I was gorgeous ended up cleaning out my savings account. That was after telling me how hard it was to date such a fat ass long enough to get my bankcard and pin. I’m not looking for a guy like you.” I waved my hand in the air in a gesture meant to encompass all that was him. “I need a nice, boring guy. Maybe another accountant. Or an actuary. Someone like that.”

  “How much did he get?”

  I sat back, startled. All the smooth had drained from his face. It was like looking at a different man. His arresting green eyes were narrowed, his lips tight. He looked pissed and even though I knew it wasn’t directed at me, he was a little scary. Why had I told him that? My most humiliating secret and I blurted it out to a complete stranger? I had second thoughts about ordering another drink.

  “Ten thousand,” I mumbled, flushing with embarrassment. I’d been stupid, and I’d paid for it.

  “How did he get it?” His voice was hard. Uncompromising. I thought about not answering, but I didn’t have it in me to stay silent, especially not with that commanding tone in his luscious voice.

  “It was a back-up savings account. Not the one attached to my checking. But it had a bank card. I never used the card, and all the info was in a file in my office. He found it and stole the card. Then he made the maximum withdrawal every day until it was empty. I only check the account once a month, so I missed it. I feel so stupid.”

  To my horror, I felt another tear escape from the corner of my eye. He reached up and brushed it away with one warm, gentle fingertip.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “Did you go to the police?”

  “They weren’t that interested. He said it was a gift, he had the card and the PIN, and we’d just broken up when I reported it. So they filed it as a domestic issue and suggested I sue him.”

  “Did you?”

  My shoulders slumped. “I started to. Then my lawyer found out that ‘Steven’ wasn’t actually Steven. And he’d disappeared. So there was no one to sue. And I was out the lawyer’s fees, which I couldn’t exactly afford with no savings to fall back on. I have a good job, but not good enough to replace ten grand overnight.”

  I changed my mind about the drink and raised my hand to get the attention of the bartender. If I was going to get through this night, I needed another drink, stat. Something stronger than an appletini. Tequila? To my surprise, the god of a man sitting beside me took my hand in his and pulled it down before the bartender could notice.

  “You don’t need another drink,” he said. “You need something to eat. I’m taking you to dinner.” He slid off his chair, apparently assuming I’d follow right behind.

  “I do need another drink.” I tried to raise my hand again, but he hadn’t let it go. “And I can’t go to dinner with you. I’m eating dinner in an hour.”

  “Date?” he asked, eyes narrowed. This time, I really couldn’t help my snort of disgusted laughter.

  “Are you kidding? It’s going to be a long time before I’m dating again. No. My sister is getting married here this weekend and I have to meet her, my other sister and my mother for dinner.” I scowled at the thought of the other reason I was having a miserable week.

  “Fine. Then I’ll take you for appetizers.”

  Before I knew it, he’d tucked my arm in his and was leading me out of the bar. What was going on? Was I just going to let him drag me out of the bar? When I didn’t jerk my arm away or tell him off, I realized I was. Why not? I’d missed lunch and I could use a snack before dinner. God forbid I actually ate anything in front of my sisters. I’d never hear the end of it. Even so, I put up a token resistance.

  “I can’t go to eat with you.”

  “Why not?” he asked, easily.

  “I don’t even know your name,” I protested. He stopped walking and turned to face me.

  “Dylan Kane.” He held out his hand to shake, watching me carefully, as if waiting for something. When I didn’t respond, except to take his hand, he smiled. I almost missed the smile, jolting a little at the touch of his skin to mine. His hand was warm and strong, the touch sending tingles all over, settling in my breasts and between my legs.

  That was a lot of impact for a simple handshake. A few more of those, and my panties would be soaked. This guy was dangerous. I wondered what it would feel like if he touched me. No. I was not going there. Thinking with my hormones was how I got into trouble with Steven. I was not going to make any more lust driven decisions.

  Instead of drifting off into fantasies of those warm, strong hands all over my body, I squeezed his hand back and said, “Leigha Carmichael.”

  “Leigha,” He repeated. “A beautiful name.” Pulling me close to his side again, he led us further into the casino. We headed for the bank of elevators, away from the restaurants. I tried to reclaim my arm. I’d said I’d go eat with him, but it didn’t seem like a great idea to disappear into the upper floors with a man I just met. Cautious, that was me. Except I’d been cautious with Steven, and here I was, broke and alone. Before I could protest, he asked,

  “Is there anything you don’t eat?”

  I shook my head and said, “No.” He lifted his mobile to his ear and hit a button before he spoke.

  “Cheryl, order in a selection of appetizers. I’ll be there in a minute with company.”

  Now I did try to pull my arm away. “I’m not going to your room with you.” He grinned at me, relaxed and amused.

  “No, you’re not. At least not right now. We’re going to my office. It’s private, comfortable, but you won’t be completely alone with me.”

  “Your office? You work here?” I asked, glancing around the floor of the casino.

  The Delecta was one of the newest casinos on the strip. Sumptuous and elegant, it was not a family casino. It was on the small side, with more suites than the average hotel, all of them luxurious and expensive. So expensive, I’d told my sister I’d rather stay at home and drive in for the wedding events. But, as usual, she pitched a fit, the rest of the family took her side, and I found myself convinced to spend money I didn’t have on a pricey hotel room in my own city. I’d managed to get one of the single rooms and stuck it on my emergency credit card.

  The Delecta was a casino for adults. The spa was extensive, the decor designed to seduce, and everywhere I looked I saw couples, exquisitely dressed and beautifully groomed, gambling away their money and laughing with delight as they did it. This place was the ultimate scam. Didn’t they know the house always won? And here I was, wandering off with a man I didn’t know, just because he was beautiful and charming. So who was I to judge?

  I looked up to see that he was smiling at me, an almost fond expression on his face.

  “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked. Should I? I could tell now that I should. I didn’t get out a ton. Was I making a fool of myself? Probably.

  “No, I don’t,” I admitted. “Sorry.” I shrugged apologetically.

  “I own the Delecta,” he said. “Well, I’m part owner of the conglomerate that owns the Delecta. But, for the last few years, this project has been my baby. I do most of my work from here.”

  “You own the Delecta?” I felt my jaw hanging open. So not just panty melting hot, but a billionaire? As in, actually having and controlling assets worth multiple billions of dollars? I was so completely out of my league. I was a junior accountant in a modest
ly-sized firm. This man could have his arms draped in supermodels in the blink of an eye.

  “I own Kane Enterprises, which owns the Delecta, yes.” He steered me into an empty elevator while I stared and tried to absorb this information. What was he doing with me?

  3

  Dylan

  She didn’t get it, and why would she? That just made my task easier. I understood women, got their strange thoughts about men and food and their appearance. I knew way too much about the affect money and power had on some of them. I knew the grasping and the lies, their need to take. I’d see soon enough if this girl was one of those.

  I doubted it. She probably thought she was overweight and boring, wondering why I’m not calling up a showgirl or a model instead of her. By the time I was finished with her, she’d know the truth.

  She was luminous, her creamy skin soft under my hand, her grey eyes clear and honest. Her tits jiggled a little with every step, her rounded hips moved with a natural, sensual sway. Just the idea of getting her naked, seeing all that sweet flesh bare, was enough to get my cock half-hard. She had to be in her mid-twenties, but she radiated innocence. I missed innocence. Lately, I’d come to crave it, to need the clean feel of someone who wasn’t scheming. I missed people who weren’t trying to get something from me.

  I looked her over as she shifted from one foot to the other, too shy to meet my eyes. Delicious. I couldn’t decide where to start—with those soft, full, perfect tits? Would she be one of those women who could come just from having her tits sucked? From the way she shivered when I touched her, I bet she would.

  Or I could shock her, and go straight for that sweet pussy. I guessed it saw little use. If she’d seen a lot of action, she would have been more at ease with her body. This girl was barely a woman, and she had no idea what she was, and what she could be.