Sexy Billionaires

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Won’t your parents find it strange?’ Tabitha chewed her lower lip, simply refusing to believe it was all that simple.

  Zavier shrugged. ‘Why would they? Aiden only ever passed you off as a close friend; it was all innuendo. Just remember: we met at the wedding…’

  ‘…fell head over heels in love…’ Tabitha continued as Zavier raised his glass to hers.

  ‘…and are as stunned as we’re delighted,’ he finished as their glasses chinked. ‘Good girl—you’re getting the idea.’

  Strange that any praise from Zavier made her blush.

  ‘Look, Tabitha, as long as we keep pretending they’ll believe us.’

  ‘I’m just nervous, that’s all. I can’t quite believe it myself; I guess that makes it harder to believe that everyone will fall for it.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Does anyone fall in love so quickly?’

  For once Zavier was off the mineral water, and he took a long sip of his Scotch before answering. ‘Who said anything about love? The fact I’m getting married will be enough for my parents.’

  ‘Speaking of your parents, how are we going to tell them?’ Tabitha ventured, but her words trailed off as a beaming, smiling man appeared

  ‘Is everything to your satisfaction Monsieur Chambers?’ The owner, obviously thrilled at his clientele, appeared at the table.

  ‘Actually, now you mention it, Pierre, no! Everything is not to my satisfaction.’ His haughty upper-class tones filled the restaurant and Tabitha slid down in her chair as every face turned to the impromptu cabaret.

  Pierre clicked his fingers and a multitude of anxious waiters appeared. ‘What is the problem, monsieur? Tell me now and I fix it this instant.’

  Zavier’s face broke into a smile, and Tabitha’s blush only deepened as he reached across the table. Taking her hand, he kissed it deeply, and the coolness of his tongue instantly replaced her embarrassment. In a flash her audience was forgotten as the liquid silk of his eyes met hers, the velvet of his lips slowly working its way over her palm.

  ‘My problem is…’ Zavier drawled between kisses, his eyes never once leaving hers.

  ‘Oui?’ Pierre answered, desperate to please.

  ‘That there’s no champagne. Tell me, Pierre, what’s a wedding proposal without your best French champagne?’

  It was all clicking fingers, corks popping, bubbles fizzing and congratulations being offered as Zavier dug in his suit, producing a tiny black velvet box.

  ‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ she whispered furiously across the table, but her indignation at his brazen presumption was brushed aside as he took her hand and closed her fingers around the box, his voice a low drawl and for her ears only.

  ‘You can dump me tomorrow.’

  The surprise on Tabitha’s face when she fiddled with the tiny gold clasp and the box finally opened was genuine. As the ring caught the candlelight and glittered mockingly in her face she found herself staring at the darkest, largest ruby—beautiful in its simplicity, perfect, even. Everything this relationship wasn’t.

  ‘You look surprised.’

  She swallowed, then grasped his hand back, aware of their audience. ‘Isn’t that what you’re paying me to look?’

  ‘There’s a necklace that goes with it.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘I’m supposed to give it to you on our fortieth wedding anniversary.’

  As he leant over to whisper in her ear they looked for all the world every bit a young couple in love, on the threshold of the universe with all their lives before them waiting to be lived and loved together. Even Pierre’s eyes filled with tears as Zavier pulled her closer.

  ‘This ring is on loan. I’ll replace it with one of equal monetary value when the deal’s completed. Just don’t go getting too attached to it; this stays in the family.’

  There was no malice in his voice, no offence meant, just a coolly delivered statement of fact.

  The only thing Tabitha had to comfort her was the fact that the tears that inexplicably formed in her eyes had Zavier almost gasping in admiration. ‘You’re wasted as a dancer, Tabitha; you should try your hand at acting.’

  It was only when their main meal had been served and Zavier had waved away the attendant waiters, insisting he was perfectly capable of pouring his own wine, that they started to talk again.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question. How will we tell everyone?’

  ‘That’s already been taken care of.’

  ‘You mean you’ve told them before I’ve even agreed? Are you so sure that I will?’

  Zavier shrugged. ‘No to the first; yes to the second.’

  She stared at him, nonplussed.

  ‘You’ll soon see.’

  And despite the initially strained atmosphere, despite the awful lies that bound them, sitting there across the table from him, gleaning tiny details about him, watching his features soften in the candlelight, hearing his voice, his occasional laughter, she saw another side to him. Learnt about the man instead of the icon. Discovered that he could be nice and funny—sensitive, even.

  Maybe it was the champagne, the crêpes dripping in dark chocolate and raw sugar. Maybe it was the company. Whatever the explanation, as she sat running her spoon in the rivers of chocolate sauce on her plate, when the bill discreetly arrived in its velvet folder, Tabitha felt like a child watching the Christmas tree being taken down. Automatically she reached down for her bag, ready to pay her share, but as soon as she had done so she immediately righted herself.

  Of course Zavier noticed. ‘Good girl. You’re learning fast.’

  Pierre was back, positively beaming. ‘I am so delighted you chose my restaurant for this most special night. May I say, Monsieur Chambers, what a beautiful fiancée you have, sir. You make a very handsome couple. Tell me, how did you meet?’

  Zavier took her hand before he answered. ‘At a family wedding, Pierre. It was only a few days ago, yet I feel I’ve known Tabitha for ever. She swept me off my feet.’

  Pierre clapped his hands together in delight. ‘A whirlwind romance. How romantic.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Standing, he offered Tabitha his hand, which she accepted.

  As the night air hit them Tabitha let out the breath she had inadvertently been holding. ‘Do you think he believed us?’

  ‘Why not? I think we did bloody well, actually. Anyway, Pierre can only benefit, so it’s in his interest to believe us.’

  ‘Why?’

  He turned, the light from the restaurant enhancing his strong profile, his eyes unreadable. ‘You’ve got so much to learn, little one.’

  ‘But what’s Pierre got to do with it? He seemed genuinely delighted at the news.’

  Zavier gave a cynical snort. ‘Genuinely delighted at the publicity, you mean.’

  She opened her mouth to question him further, but before the words even formed in her mind a great weight came upon her, the force of his body literally pinning her against the wall. Her breath literally knocked out of her, all she could do was stare in surprise as his hungry mouth searched for hers, his body pushing, pressing against hers in unbridled passion. Amazingly, she wasn’t scared—not for a single second. Even though there was nothing gentle about the way he was holding her, nothing restrained about his searching mouth and hands, the scratch of his chin against her cheek like a million tiny volts coursing through her face.

  He tasted of champagne and decadence and danger, his kiss a symbol of the very real danger of the man, the inexplicable thrill of the reckless desire that blinded her. How she would love to resist him, to coolly push him away, but it was an impossible feat. Her hand instantly jumped up, grabbing at his hair, pulling his face closer as she kissed him back deeply. His manhood pressing into her left her in no doubt that he was as aroused as her. For a crazy second she thought he might take her there and then—and what was crazier was that she would have let him. In one swoop he had rewritten her values, the very standards she lived by. Her morals, her inner rules were discarded
as she kissed him back. But just as suddenly it was over. He pulled away, barely breathless, triumph blazing in his eyes.

  ‘It’s all been taken care of,’ he said slowly.

  They walked along the river in silence, her face raw and tingling from the weight of his kiss, her body a twitching confused mass of desire. Every few steps Tabitha slowed, lifting her hand to her face, the sheer beauty of the jewel a necessary reminder that she wasn’t dreaming.

  ‘Look at that.’ The wonder in her voice stopped him momentarily and he joined her as she gazed at the chalking on the pavement. His eyes briefly flicked to the self-portrait, a mirror image of the young artist who sat beside his work, torture in his eyes, the pathetically thin body a mocking reminder of the unjust world in which they lived. An abundance of raw talent reduced to begging on the street. She half expected Zavier to deliver some derisive comment, to pull at her arm, discourage her from lingering; instead, to her infinite surprise, he nodded at the artist.

  ‘This is quite beautiful.’ There was no patronising undertone, no superiority, just genuine admiration. ‘Can you draw my fiancée?’ No price was discussed, no figures traded. Zavier’s word was his bond and the young man sensed it, gesturing Tabitha to sit down.

  Embarrassed, she wanted to refuse, to walk away now, but it was too late for that. Already bony fingers were sharpening charcoal, those tortured eyes were studying her face, and Tabitha knew that leaving now would probably deny him a meal.

  More than a meal, actually.

  When Zavier took the rolled-up sheet she watched as he shook hands, then, peeling a large amount of notes, handed them to the artist without a word.

  ‘Can I at least see?’ she asked as Zavier motioned her to go.

  Briefly he unrolled the work, deigning to give her the briefest of glances.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Tabitha flushed. ‘I don’t mean I’m beautiful, just the drawing.’

  ‘That’s talent for you.’

  ‘Aiden sold a painting.’ His step quickened at the mention of his brother’s name and Tabitha had to half run to keep up with him. ‘He’s talented as well.’

  ‘Rubbish. Some no-name who probably knows nothing about art happened to buy a picture.’

  ‘Why are you so scathing of him?’

  ‘Because I hate waste,’ Zavier spat. ‘I hate to see him throwing his life away, chasing dreams, not facing up to his responsibilities.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ He spun around then, his hand gripping her arm. ‘Don’t you think I have dreams, Tabitha? Do you really think that sitting in an office staring at stock markets is where I want to be every day?’

  ‘But you love your work,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Says who? Aiden? My mother?’ His eyes flashed and his hands moved in unusual animation. ‘They’re wrong.’

  ‘Then why do it?’

  A small hollow laugh escaped his taut mouth. ‘My father put his life into that business, but even when he retired, lucrative as it was, it wasn’t going to keep my family in jewels and furs and mansions for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t going to keep Aiden in Scotch and designer suits. I’ve turned it into a bloody empire, ensured my family have carried on living the lives they’re used to. If I’d walked away, bummed out like Aiden did, sure we wouldn’t have starved—but there wouldn’t have been the trappings there are now.’

  ‘So?’ Her words seemed to incense him, but Tabitha carried on talking quickly, determined to have her say. ‘Money’s not everything. I know you think I’m a gold-digger, but I know this much—if you didn’t want to do it you wouldn’t be there.’

  ‘You mean I should walk away and watch my father’s dream evaporate, along with my parents’ marriage?’

  ‘Surely there’s more to them than just money?’

  ‘Maybe, but my mother has never looked at a price tag in her married life, never thought twice about refurbishing the house, putting in a pool or a tennis court, and somehow I can’t quite picture her sticking around if the going gets tough. If Aiden had just met me somewhere in the middle, put in a couple of days a week, maybe we both could have had a life outside the business.’

  There were two sides to every story, Tabitha realised. Aiden’s bohemian lifestyle didn’t sound quite so romantic now. Chasing his dream had cost his brother dear, and she could almost see the selfishness in her friend’s actions.

  Almost.

  ‘He’s got talent, Zavier,’ Tabitha said urgently. ‘It isn’t just a dream.’

  ‘Said the dancer to the stockbroker.’ His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Tabitha refused to be deflected.

  ‘I’m a good dancer,’ she started slowly. ‘But not a brilliant one.’ Her hand reached up to his face and turned his taut cheek to face her. ‘I can’t believe I’ve just admitted that. I’ve always kidded myself that one day there’d be that nameless face in the audience, the one that was going to whisk me away, ask me why I was wasting my talent in the chorus line. It isn’t going to happen for me. It never was, and that really hurts to say.’

  His eyes moved slowly to hers, the pain and honesty in her voice forcing his attention.

  ‘But Aiden… He’s got more talent in his little finger than I have in my whole body. His paintings are so beautiful they make me cry. And not just me. You should see them—go to the gallery and look at his display, watch people’s reactions when they see his work. You should take your father as well,’ she added. ‘Maybe Aiden was selfish, chasing his dream, but with raw talent like that I don’t think he had a choice.’

  Zavier didn’t answer. Her heartfelt speech was left hanging in the air, without comment or acknowledgment, and Tabitha could only wonder if it had even registered as he took her arm and they carried on walking. Zavier was so broodingly silent that she knew the end of the night was imminent, that her allocated time slot was over.

  With terrifying clarity Tabitha knew that she didn’t want it to end.

  Idly she stared at the casino as they passed it, watching the huge gas chimneys blasting flames into the air in their half-hourly performance, lighting up the night sky in a huge phallic show of power. But of course Zavier misconstrued her vague interest.

  ‘Is this where your money goes?’

  ‘What? Do you think that I’m going to dash back there once you’ve taken me home?’

  Only Zavier wasn’t joking, she realised as he glanced over, a look of contempt curiously interlaced with pity on his face.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’ Under the brightly lit forecourt it was as light as midday, but his expression was unreadable. ‘Come on, let’s go in.’

  ‘I thought it was out of bounds,’ Tabitha remonstrated, realising her lie by omission might very easily be exposed once Zavier saw her attempts at gambling. Still, the relief that flooded her at the prospect of prolonging their time together made her protest audibly weak.

  ‘We haven’t signed the contract yet. Anyway, if you’d been paying attention you’d know that you’re allowed to come to the casino so long as you’re with me.’

  ‘But why on earth would you want to bring me here? And why tonight? Is this another one of your bizarre tests?’

  ‘I’m afraid so!’ A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. ‘A lot of my clients like to be entertained here when they visit Australia; sometimes you’ll be expected to accompany me.’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you want to be sure I can contain myself, that I’m not going to pull out a pack of cards at the dinner table or descend into a catatonic state at the poker machines in front of your important clients?’ She snapped her mouth closed as his grin deepened.

  ‘I think they’re a bit too high-rolling for the poker machines. Is that where you spend your time when you’re here?’

  Tabitha gave a half-nod, consoling herself that at least she was telling the truth—or sort of. Her friend Jessica’s hen night had ended up at the casino, and Tabitha had fed a whole twenty dollars into the machines—she was hardly the addict Zavier
so clearly thought she was, unless they were talking about shoes!

  They were walking through the casino’s arcade now, row after row of designer shops, their wares glittering invitingly in the window, their doormen insuring only the truly well heeled even made it past the threshold.

  ‘You know they’re expensive when there’s no price tag,’ she said, pressing her nose up against one of the windows and letting out a low moan. ‘Did you ever see anything more heavenly?’

  Zavier took in her glittering eyes, the rosy cheeks flushed from champagne and the tendril of red hair cascading from her ponytail and working its way down her long slender neck. He was about to agree when he forced himself to concentrate on the focus of Tabitha’s attention.

  ‘It’s a pair of black slippers,’ he drawled in a bored voice.

  ‘They’re not slippers,’ Tabitha corrected knowingly. ‘They’re mules…’ She eyed the petite shoes with the cheekiest little kitten heels, the heavily jewelled uppers winking back at her. ‘And they’re divine.’

  ‘The dress is nice,’ Zavier mused, looking at the simple full-length velvet with its shoestring straps. ‘It would suit you.’

  ‘But not my bank balance. And, no, I’m not fishing. This is just window shopping, at which I’m an expert.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. Right, where do you want to go?’

  Tabitha had no idea, but she took his offered hand and they wandered around for a while. People looking, she mused, would think that we were just an ordinary couple. Stealing a look at her escort, she corrected herself—no, they wouldn’t. There was nothing ordinary about Zavier. Such was his aura, his effortless grace, even the most groomed and sophisticated heads turned when he walked past.

  She was enjoying herself, Tabitha realised, really enjoying herself. Back at the river she had thought the night had almost ended, the fairytale was over; but here amongst the bustling crowds, clutching her picture, walking beside him, his hot dry hand around hers, in the false day the casino created Tabitha felt that the night might last for ever.