Vacation Bride: A Billionaire Marriage of Convenience (Brides of Paradise Book 1)

by Loebel, Vicky

  “I don’t deserve it. I never expected to get money.”

  “Me neither.” Chris shrugged. “Don’t make the same mistake I did and run away.” His face grew serious. “The money’s breathing space, Anna. So while I’m gone, you can consider what sort of life you want.”

  “I want….” Anna wanted to stay with Chris. She hated the thought of going home alone. “I want….” She bit her lip. Chris had asked for six months, and she needed to respect that. Six months while other women try to steal him. A flame of jealousy lit Anna’s heart. “I want to rip out Tiffany’s hair.”

  Chris laughed. “Don’t worry. After tonight, she’s not interested in me.”

  “But other women will be. A lot of women! And I won’t be around to rip out their hair.”

  Chris looked surprised, first, and then flattered. “Are you jealous?”

  “A little.” Totally. “I wish we had more time.”

  “Me too. But we’ll make time. This summer, if you still want to. I promise.” He squeezed her hand and glanced at the production crew. Only one of them was still on the pool deck, and she was sleeping, sprawled on a picnic table. Chris pushed his lounge chair next to Anna’s, forming a single love-seat. “Come here.”

  Anna scooted under his arm. It was chilly. The ocean mist had risen, flooding the beach and boat dock, changing the lights below them to flickering wisps.

  “Cookie?” She lifted the plate and then stopped Chris before he took a bite. “No, not the fluke! You’ve got to do it right, so he won’t know what’s coming!”

  “How’s that?”

  “First, Mr. Dolphin enjoys his freedom.” Anna picked up a cookie and swam it through the air. “Then you kiss him.” She demonstrated. “And then….” Anna nipped off the head. “A quick, clean, merciful death.”

  Chris eyed his dolphin. “I hope you’re not that merciful with husbands.”

  Husbands. Anna flushed with unexpected pleasure. “Husbands can keep their heads. At age three, when I patented my system, I didn’t know what husbands were.”

  “OK.” Chris swam his dolphin, kissed it and, locking eyes with her, bit off the head. “Oh, crap!”

  “What’s wrong? Egg shell?” Anna asked.

  “Oh, damn. This is the best cookie I’ve ever eaten.” Chris munched the dolphin’s body. “And I can’t have any more because I’m never doing that again.”

  “Never?” She couldn’t really blame him. “Well…I suppose you can skip the kissing part.”

  “And swimming. And ritual decapitation.”

  “Maybe.” She frowned. “Your way seems a little cruel.”

  “We’ll make a deal.” Chris placed the plate in Anna’s lap. “You swim, and kiss, and bite their heads. I’ll eat what’s left.”

  “Perfect!” They worked through the remaining cookies, Anna performing her childhood ceremony with each dolphin and feeding the rest to Chris. When they were done, she reached up and traced the hint of stubble on his jaw. “This night’s really our last.” Anna yawned tiredly. “That’s good, I guess. At least the contest’s over.”

  “At least.”

  “If you could do anything. I mean, right now with me. If we could make one perfect memory to last six months, what would it be?”

  Chris nuzzled her fingers. “Gobble another plate of cookies?”

  “I’m serious.” Anna shivered.

  He kissed the center of her palm. “That’s a dangerous question to ask a guy.”

  “Not that.” She pulled her hand away. “But not parties, either. What’s your dream date? Boat ride? Line dancing? Pizza and video games?”

  “I don’t know. What would you do?” Chris put both arms around her. “And please don’t tell me it’s line dancing.”

  “I’m more a polka girl, myself.” Anna thought of her lost sketchbook. “I’d like to draw you again. Pure and untroubled, the way you were before this started.” Before she’d betrayed his secret.

  “That wasn’t untroubled, Anna. It was lost.” He touched her cheek. “I wouldn’t take that life back for a billion bucks.”

  “Maybe.” His answer warmed her inside. “But I still want to know.” Anna cuddled closer. “What’s your idea of a perfect date?”

  “If we could do anything, go anywhere, except to bed?”

  “Except for that.” Anna’s eyes drifted shut.

  Chris kissed her hair. “I’d want exactly what we’ve got, right here, right now.”

  She sighed, happy. “Me too.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  There were advantages to living like a billionaire. Chris opened his laptop in the salon of the Tordensky and entered his password. For one thing, he could afford to pay his relatives to keep the riffraff away. On the deck outside his door, beneath a hastily erected rain awning, Vacation Bride was setting up to award the final cash prize. Beyond the deck, across a gray and misting sea, a ring of spectator boats surrounded the yacht like mismatched, circling sharks.

  Bobbie had made good on her threat to sell Chris’ biography. The minute she realized he wasn’t going to propose, she’d slapped together a heart-wrenching story: his father’s death, his penniless childhood, the tragic helicopter crash. She’d even posted videos of Chris playing on the beach with his young cousins the week before they died.

  Chris tapped his fingers irritably on the table. Bobbie hadn’t said anything about Doris, thanks to some hasty legal threats from Uncle Henrik. And she hadn’t mentioned Chris and Anna’s secret marriage. It hadn’t been necessary. His story—and the Vacation Bride website—had both immediately gone viral. Chris had barely escaped ahead of a feeding frenzy of reporters, and Lars and Lucas were now busy earning their keep by tossing every photographer they caught sneaking onto the Tordensky straight in the ocean.

  Chris read the Paradise Resort’s booking report, reread it twice, and then gave up and rang for a steward to lock his laptop away. It hardly mattered. Henrik had hired a temporary general manager to help Doris run the property. Vacation Bride would be leaving today—along with Anna—and Chris would be free to do some serious thinking.

  Free. Chris gazed through the stern windows at Anna, charmingly attired in a pink shorty wetsuit. In just a few minutes, he’d be free. Why did that suddenly sound like alone?

  Outside, Bobbie addressed the cameras while gesturing at Anna and Tiffany. Off-camera, Ryan picked up a couple of champagne flutes, wound his way around the crew and equipment, and ducked past Lars into the salon, admitting a blast of damp air.

  “Well, coz.” Ryan delivered a soggy glass of champagne. “We made it.” He placed the prize check for Vacation Bride on the table. “One more hour, and you’re finished.” A gust of rain shook the awning and sent Tiffany’s stylist scuttling for hairspray. “I like your yachting outfit, by the way.” Ryan’s lips twitched. “Very South-of-France.”

  He meant very expensive.

  “It’s Uncle Jacob’s. I had to flee the resort without my clothes. And I’m finished with Vacation Bride right now.” He put down his champagne flute. “As soon as I walk through that door and hand Tiffany her check.”

  “About that…yeah,” Ryan said. “Bobbie’s altered the program.”

  “You’re going to propose to Tiffany after all?”

  “Not me.” Ryan shuddered. “I’ll never remarry.”

  Chris smiled inwardly. He was beginning to think he’d never remarry either.

  “Captain Greta loaned us your Kawasakis. The girls are going to race.”

  “On jet skis? Now?” Chris glanced outside. “In the rain?”

  “It’s only drizzling. And all they’re doing is shuttling back and forth with buckets of bait. Something designed to slosh around a lot. You know.” He chuckled unconvincingly. “For laughs.”

  Chris watched Bobbie present Tiffany with a wide, shallow bucket. The bridacuda looked inside, made a disgusted face, and held the bucket away from her body. Anna received a bucket and glanced down, wrinkling her nose.

  One of
the crew dipped her hand in and pulled out a steaming mass of fish guts to display for the cameras.

  “Are sharks optional?” Chris asked grimly. “Or are you having them helicoptered in?”

  “Sharks? In these waters? Bah. They’re in more danger of being mobbed by seagulls.” Ryan shrugged. “The whole thing will be over in half an hour, and all you need to do is stand by and watch. To tell the truth, I’m sort of surprised Bobbie’s letting you off so easy. I thought for sure she’d have more tricks up her sleeve.”

  “You could stop this. You’re co-producers.”

  “What can I say.” Ryan opened his palms. “Bobbie’s tougher than me. Besides, the girls want to do it. They’ve already taken a dozen practice laps around the yacht. Anna did great, by the way. Tiffany rolled her jet ski three times.”

  “Seriously?” The Kawasakis were pretty stable. “How’d she do that?”

  “With lots of words we can’t use on the show.” Ryan grinned. “So, how about it? Come look romantic for the cameras and cheer the girls on?”

  Chris knew Anna had ridden jet skis before. There probably wasn’t any harm in racing. “OK,” he said at last. “If Anna’s agreed, I’ll come.”

  Ryan’s grin broadened.

  “But this is absolutely the last thing I’m putting up with. Got it? One more delay, or trick, or change in schedule, and you and Bobbie will find yourselves drifting at sea aboard a leaky rubber life raft. And I will helicopter in sharks.”

  “Look at you, throwing threats around like a billionaire.” Ryan picked up Chris’ champagne glass and drained it. “Next thing, you’ll be running the show.”

  “The only place I’m running it is off my property.” Chris grabbed a pair of sunglasses out of a drawer—despite the clouds, the afternoon was bright—and went down to the boat dock at the stern of the yacht. The camera crew was already waiting on jet skis between the Tordensky and its tender, which drifted in and out of sight through wisps of fog.

  Anna and Tiffany stood waiting on the boat dock beside two empty bait lockers.

  “I am not getting on that jet ski!” Tiffany stamped her foot. “It’s broken. It keeps tipping over.”

  “The jet ski’s fine,” the show’s director told her. “Both machines were serviced this morning. Your jet ski rolls because you turn too fast.”

  “I don’t! You’re lying! This race is fixed!” Tiffany pointed at Anna. “Everything’s rigged for her to win!”

  “Everything’s rigged for two people to fall in love. No one can help if you’re not chosen. And you are not permitted to dictate—”

  “Never mind.” Anna buckled on her pink helmet. “We can trade.” She changed places with Tiffany. The women climbed onto jet-skis and hung the slimy buckets on their handlebars.

  The boat dock reeked of rotting fish.

  This is ridiculous. Chris should have spoken to Anna privately. I ought to put my foot down. But did he have the right to tell her what to do? Chris remembered the helicopter jump, how much he’d wanted to stop it, how much she’d wanted to go. Anna had agreed to race. Maybe she thought she’d enjoy it. Though Chris was willing to bet no one had warned her about the fish guts.

  “Anna….” He tried to catch her eye.

  “OK!” Bobbie strode forward. “For our last event, you ladies will carry fishing bait from the yacht’s tender back here. The first contestant who fills her bait locker” —she stopped to let the cameras get a shot— “will be the winner of Vacation Bride!”

  Chris clenched his fists.

  “On your marks!” Bobbie raised a whistle. “Get set! Go!” She blew a blast.

  Anna unhooked her bucket and leaned sideways to pour bait into her locker. Tiffany grasped her bucket and threw the rotting filth on Anna.

  “Hey!” Anna’s arms flew up. She dropped her bucket into the sea.

  Tiffany’s jet ski roared. “Kiss my skinny bridacuda ass!” She took off, racing toward the tender.

  Chris started forward. One of the deckhands ran to Anna with a towel. Another used a boat hook to retrieve her bucket. Anna sputtered, wiping off slime.

  “Well?” Bobbie asked her. “Are you going to let Tiffany treat you like that?”

  “Am I?” Anna returned the towel. “Am I?” Her gaze shifted from Bobbie to Ryan to Chris, stepping down on the dock. “No I am not.” She tossed the bucket at Bobbie’s feet. “Not her, and not you either.” Anna yanked off her microphone and threw it down. “I quit!”

  Across the water, Tiffany collected a bucketful of bait and started back.

  “Anna!” Chris reached for her. “Come up—”

  “Goodbye, Chris,” Anna said firmly. “I’ll leave your jet ski at the resort.” She gunned the throttle, accelerating full speed directly at Tiffany, turning sharply in front of the bridacuda. Tiffany’s jet ski bounced on Anna’s wake, spewing bait. The woman stopped dead, dripping fish guts, screaming obscenities.

  Anna darted between two spectator boats and vanished in the rain.

  Dammit! Chris’ temper exploded. Dammit, why was he standing here? Anna could not go back alone. She didn’t know the currents, the rocks, the local shipping lanes. What if Tiffany’s right and that jet ski’s defective? A thousand things could turn her ride into disaster. The open sea was not forgiving.

  “Well.” Ryan chuckled. “I guess you’re done.”

  Chris spun and punched his cousin. At least he thought he’d punched him. Ryan was on the deck, holding his jaw.

  A jet ski purred to a stop behind him.

  “I win!” Tiffany shouted. “She quit. Everyone saw. I won!”

  Chris grasped Tiffany’s shoulders and hauled her onto the dock. “Congratulations.” He stuffed the prize check in her hand. “Now go away.”

  “What? What?” She stared. “How dare—”

  “Lars?” Chris summoned his bodyguards. “Lucas?”

  Lucas appeared on the boat dock. “Yes, boss?” Lars leaned over the deck railing above.

  Chris checked the jet ski’s equipment and climbed on board. “Get all these fucking contest people off my yacht.”

  The brothers grinned in unison. “Aye, aye.”

  Chris revved the engine and went looking for his wife.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Fish guts!” Anna could not believe her life had come to this. “A fish-gut fight!” That must have been what Bobbie was aiming for: a bridacuda battle to end the show. Anna checked the GPS and pointed her Kawasaki toward St. John. She never should have agreed to race. They were supposed to meet Chris on his yacht so he could give the prize to Tiffany, since it obviously wouldn’t be fair for Anna to get the money. But on the ride over—on the Tordensky’s private four-passenger helicopter, no less—Bobbie had suggested a final contest. And Tiffany, not knowing she’d already won, had insisted they go along.

  I could have said no. A squall closed in and Anna squinted, reducing speed. She’d been so shocked seeing the Tordensky in all its glory—white-gloved stewards, stacks of caviar, hand-carved ice sculptures to chill champagne—so stunned to find Chris acting like a billionaire yachtsman that she’d been on the jet ski before she recovered her wits. Then once on, the jet ski had been too much fun to get off.

  What was Chris thinking? Anna couldn’t begin to guess how much his yachting outfit had cost. Thousands. A lot of thousands, probably. And platinum-inlaid sunglasses! What happened to the guy she’d cuddled with last night? Had moving onto his yacht changed Chris already?

  Rain lifted leaving a thin, restless fog. Anna reduced speed, feeling guilty, knowing she shouldn’t have run off. It wasn’t really dangerous. She had a tank of gas, a GPS that could call for help, and only a few miles to go to reach the Paradise Resort. But she’d expected to be able to follow the St. John coastline. Now, cloaked in mist, the sea felt claustrophobic, as if a frosted bowl had flipped over and trapped her on the water’s surface.

  Something flitted beneath the waves. Something big. But…probably not a shark. It couldn’t be a
shark, Anna reasoned, or else it would have stopped to eat her. She cranked the throttle and was surprised when nothing happened. Anna backed off and tried again. The Kawasaki lurched and slowed. Was she imagining it? Confused by fog? She tried a third time and got the same result. The engine ran, but it felt strangled and underpowered. Back home, she’d seen this happen on rented jet skis that were clogged with weeds. She remembered Tiffany rolling her Kawasaki during practice and getting Anna to trade. Was that coincidence? She’d bet a hundred bucks the bridacuda had deliberately fouled the engine.

  An outboard motor thrummed. Anna peered anxiously, afraid of getting rammed, but the noise gradually faded. She checked her GPS again, wondering if it was time to signal for help. St. John was close. She’d make it, even at this speed, but it would take a while. People—Daddy—might worry. On top of that, there were those famous coral reefs surrounding the island. Was the tide high or low right now? Could she get past them in fog? She had a sudden flash to Pirates of the Caribbean. Her guidebook said something about drug traffickers cruising in speedboats. Would they be out smuggling in bad weather?

  Another motor sounded. No outboard, now. A jet ski, possibly, and closing fast. Anna swung her head left and right, trying to locate where it was coming from. She pulled up one foot and braced it on her seat in case she needed to jump.

  The motor slowed. “Anna!” a man shouted. “Anna! It’s me!”

  “Chris?” No voice had ever been more welcome. “Chris!” The mist thinned and she spotted him riding Tiffany’s jet ski, looking both gorgeous and ridiculous in his expensive, soaking wet yachting clothes. Anna burst into relieved giggles mixed with guilty gasps. He’d obviously come after her in a hurry.

  Chris grinned hugely and matched his jet ski’s speed to hers. “Thank god you’re safe!”

  “I don’t dare stop.” Anna hiccupped and tried to calm herself. “My engine’s clogged or something. I can’t go faster either.”

  “Go ahead and shut it off.” Chris stood on his ski and opened a compartment. “I’ll run a tow.”

  Anna waited while Chris secured a line between the two watercraft. She gratefully accepted his hand and climbed onto the jet ski in back of him.