Sweetheart Bride: A Tropical Billionaire Marriage of Convenience (Brides of Paradise Book 2)

by Vicky Loebel

  Ryan trotted backward, waving. “Ave, Imperator. We who are about to meet Bekka salute you.”

  “Carpe Diem.” Seize the day. It was the one Latin phrase Ellie knew. She watched the closed door for a minute, took the last slice of pizza, and opened the casino binders on the conference table. Inside were building sketches, landscape diagrams, contract bids. Ellie paged through feeling quickly overwhelmed. She’d handled some business for the eco-camp, but only group bookings and supplies. Nothing like a twenty-five-million dollar construction project. She stopped at the section marked Gambling Commission and frowned. The first few pages described the history of the legislation, previous applications that had been rejected, likes and dislikes of each of the commissioners. Pages four through six were missing from the report.

  Ellie flipped through the binder again. It was a nice enough casino, she supposed. The place even included a few superficial nods to the environment. If they were building it in Las Vegas, it would be just one more monument to corporate greed. But not on my island. Not in Paradise Bay. On St. John, any development of this magnitude would be criminal. She hunted through the credenza for the rest of the commissioners report. Then she did a quick search of the kitchen and living rooms. The more she looked, the more convinced she was that the missing pages had been deliberately hidden.

  Ellie thought of Ryan’s bright puppy-dog smile. He’s not like Juan Esteban. An hour with Ryan had convinced her of that. He might have lots of girlfriends. Why did the thought trouble her? But he’s not a crook. Still, by Ryan’s own admission he was careless and trusting. And she’d bet that shrieking harpy—the business partner who’d been with him at Gran’s—would do anything to push through the casino.

  Ellie couldn’t let that happen.

  She finished her champagne and strode tipsily to Ryan’s bedroom, ignoring the fact that—if he was innocent—it was the last place she’d find evidence of wrongdoing. Closet, monogrammed Tumi suitcases, an oddly impersonal desk were all empty of suspicious documents. Ellie opened the dresser and checked beneath silky boxer-briefs. A pair of cashmere socks crackled suspiciously. She reached inside and pulled out an enormous roll of hundred-dollar bills.

  Was that bribe money? She laid the stiff bills on Ryan’s bed to count them Ten…twenty…fifty…. Almost ten thousand dollars. She bit her lip, trying not to hyperventilate. Trying to imagine what sort of man kept so much cash in a sock. A rich man, obviously. She’d known Ryan was wealthy, but still….

  Out in the suite, the hotel door opened and closed. Ellie’s heart thundered.

  “Ellie? Are you here?” Ryan called. “I bribed Lucas to distract Bekka.”

  Ellie looked down at the money. What would he think of her! She grabbed the cash and dove into the closet.

  “Ellie?” Ryan entered the bedroom. “Ah. Too bad. Waste of a perfectly good favor.”

  Through a gap in the closet door, Ellie watched Ryan remove his suit jacket and drape it over the desk chair. Tie and cufflinks followed and then he unbuttoned his shirt, whistling. She squeezed into a corner, afraid he’d hang up his clothes, but nothing happened. After a while, the whistling faded to silence. She shoved the money into the sock, snuck out, and returned the sock to the drawer.

  Whew.

  Dishes rattled. The sound of running water came from the kitchenette. Ellie tiptoed to the bedroom door and watched Ryan, shirtless, collect their plates and carry them to the sink. Detergent bubbles floated upward. Ryan ducked playfully and blew them over his head.

  The man looked twice as good without his shirt as he had in sleeves. He wasn’t tall, maybe five-ten, and not nearly as muscular as Lucas, but he had a lean, graceful build she couldn’t help finding attractive. A champagne flute flipped high into the air. Ryan spun around, caught it, and plunged it into the sink. His voice broke out—a pleasant tenor—in a pop song Ellie didn’t recognize.

  Ryan rinsed dishes and placed them on a metal drying rack. Ellie scrambled backward as he headed her way.

  Say something, she told herself. Call to him and say you were in the bathroom…or…? Her eyes fell on two hundred-dollar bills on the floor. She dropped flat, snatched the bills and squeezed under the bed. It was a tight fit, box springs scraping her shoulders, but surprisingly clean for a hotel.

  Ryan’s feet padded into the room. The bed creaked. He reached down, untied his shoes, and kicked them off. The fancy dress slacks hit the floor. Ryan got up, retrieved his slacks, and hung them over his shirt on the chair. Something clicked and a recording of waves—the surf at Paradise Bay, Ellie thought—filled the air. The box springs dipped slightly as Ryan stretched out on the mattress.

  Ellie scrunched into the carpet and clamped her mouth shut to keep from groaning in shame. What was she doing here? Trying to prove Ryan was a criminal? What would he say, what would Gran say, if they saw her?

  Gentle snoring joined the sound of waves.

  Ellie wriggled forward. She’d talk to Ryan later, ask about the report. Maybe she could convince him to move the casino to one of the bigger islands.

  The hotel suite door opened again. Ellie shoved herself back under the bed.

  “Ryan,” a woman called. That woman. Ellie recognized the shriek. “Ryan, you rock star, what are you doing?” A pair of stiletto heels came into view. “Wake up, stud. The casino license is signed.”

  The bed shifted. “Huh?”

  “I got the permit. Lord knows, I thought I’d have to sleep with all three commissioners at once, but they preferred the licensed girls in the bar.”

  There was a sound of unzipping. A dress floated to the carpet.

  No! Ellie squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no!

  “What’s your poison? Reverse cowboy or front?”

  “Bekka,” Ryan said. “Cut it out.”

  “C’mon, baby, I’m all revved up.” She took a flying leap onto the bed. The box springs slammed hard onto Ellie. Her voice let out a squeal.

  There was a long, startled silence.

  Ouch. Ellie’s shoulders hurt. Ow. She rubbed her watering eyes with her fist.

  “What the hell?” The bed shifted and the surf recording clicked off. Bright turquoise contacts appeared close to the floor. “What the hell?” The harpy—Bekka—dropped to hands and knees and tried to grab Ellie’s hair.

  Ellie squirmed sideways and felt her shirt catch on the bed.

  Bekka’s claws slashed and missed again. She jumped up. “What the hell are you playing at?” There was a stinging slap.

  Ryan knelt to look and Ellie hid her face in her hands. He rose and Bekka slapped him again.

  “Hold that thought.” Ryan walked to the desk chair and put on his slacks. He picked up Bekka’s dress and bent to speak to Ellie. “Are you OK?”

  She took a shaky breath. “My shirt’s caught on a spring.”

  “I see.” His lips twitched. “Hold on.” He put his hands under the box springs and lifted. “How’s that?”

  Ellie jerked free and scrambled sideways, keeping as much distance as possible between her and the harpy.

  “Bekka.” Ryan settled the bed in its frame. “This is Ellie, Mrs. Green’s granddaughter. Ellie, allow me to introduce my investment partner, Bekka Krump.”

  Ellie clutched the rumpled dress shirt around her and said nothing.

  “Carl Ryan Andersen.” Bekka turned on him. “You’d better have a really good explanation for this.”

  Ryan swung his gaze back and forth between women.

  “Nope,” he said finally. “Nope. I can’t say I do.”

  Chapter Six

  Ryan could have suggested several reasons Ellie might be in his bedroom. The most obvious was that she’d been snooping, a theory supported by the fact she had a hundred-dollar bill stuck to the bottom of one foot. People often snooped when you were rich, imagining the contents of your shaving kit must be fun and exotic, but Ryan had learned long ago never to leave anything fun or exotic lying around. The second possibility was that he was being burgled, althoug
h thieves generally preferred hiding their loot to wearing it. The third possibility—made less likely by the fact she’d hidden under his bed instead of in it—was that Ellie planned to seduce him.

  Ryan shook his head, discovering he didn’t like the idea of sleeping with Ellie. Not casually. He glanced at Bekka, hoping the halo of steam shooting from her ears was an optical illusion.

  “Thanks for lending me a shirt.” Ellie edged toward the exit. “I’ll be going….”

  “Not so fast. I want answers.” Bekka zipped her dress and stalked forward, blocking the door. “So.” She glared at Ryan. “This is how you repay six months’ love and devotion?”

  “Don’t be melodramatic.”

  “Melodramatic? I poured my entire net worth into this partnership. I charmed your dad, coaxed your uncle, busted my butt running after the gambling commission.”

  “So did I.” Ryan changed subjects. “Did the commissioners really sign?”

  “I told you they did.” She opened her handbag and showed him a folded license. “Signed, notarized, and ready to file in St. Thomas. Because I’ve been working while you were up here screwing around.”

  “I wasn’t….” OK, he was. But not like she meant. “I was taking a nap.”

  “You hid a woman under your bed.”

  “Actually,” Ellie interrupted, “I sort of hid myself. You see, I was in the…um…bathroom. When one of my buttons popped….” She tried to yank off a button as evidence, but Ryan’s shirts were custom tailored and the thread didn’t snap. “Oh. It’s still here.” Ellie looked down. “No wonder I never found it.” She took her foot off of the hundred-dollar bill and gave it to Ryan, blushing. “I did find this. Which is yours of course.”

  “It does look familiar.”

  “There’s another one.” She stooped and picked it up for him. “I saw it when I was…um…searching under the bed.”

  Ryan hid a smile. “I have a lot of trouble keeping track of things. If it wasn’t attached, you’d probably find my head under there.”

  “Look again.” Bekka folded her arms. “Things could change.”

  “Now, Bekka,” Ryan said. “Play nice. I loaned Ellie a shirt before I came downstairs with Lucas, and she was obviously still putting it on when I returned.” She must have been hiding in here while he did the dishes. Ryan wondered if he’d been singing off key. “But nothing happened. There’s nothing romantic between me and Ellie.” He remembered holding her on the balcony and crossed his fingers behind his back. “Just like there’s nothing romantic between me and you.”

  Bekka’s glare could have incinerated villages. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “It’s true. We might as well get it out in the open.”

  “But we’re dating.”

  “We’re business partners.” He shook his head. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “But you’re about to propose.”

  He most certainly wasn’t. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “We slept together. You begged me to elope.”

  “Bekka,” Ryan said reasonably, “that was over a decade ago.” The summer he’d spent in Europe after Ellie’s pretend wedding. “You said no.”

  “I said I’d think about it. I’ve told you every year since then I made a mistake.” She’d married three men and divorced them all. “Carl begged me to join CasParDev. He promised me your mom’s emerald engagement ring.”

  He what? “My father asked you to marry me?”

  “What’s wrong with that? You and I grew up together. We went to all the right schools. We’ve put our hearts and souls into Casino Paradise.” Her tone became wheedling. “He promised to sponsor us at Founders’ Yacht Club.”

  So that’s what Bekka was hot and bothered about. There was a big difference in the islands—a rigid social gap Ryan could not have cared less about—between families like his, with roots that could be traced to original Danish settlers, and families like hers, who merely had wealth.

  Bekka said, “Carl promised that after we’re married he’ll give back your trust.”

  That was insulting. “I don’t need my father to give me anything. We have a contract. He agreed to dissolve the financial trust, provided we start building the casino before my thirtieth birthday.” Also provided—the contract specifically stated—Ryan “did not do any other damn fool thing.” He made an effort and kept his voice even. “I’m earning the right to control my fortune.”

  “You mean, I’m earning it.” Bekka’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t think I’ll keep doing it. Don’t think I’ll keep covering while you fool around.” She jerked her chin at Ellie.

  “I do think you’ll keep covering….” Wait, he worked as hard as she did. “I mean, I think we’ll remain partners, because you’re as heavily invested in Casino Paradise as I am.”

  “I don’t care about money. I care about you!” Bekka’s eyes watered. “Dammit, Ryan, I love you.” She stretched her hands. “Don’t you get it? I’ve loved you every minute since we pledged our hearts under the stars.”

  “Be serious.” He stopped himself as a dramatic tear slid down her cheek. Could Bekka genuinely be in love with him? In love with anything except the idea of becoming an Andersen? The thought was laughable—she got along better with Ryan’s father than with him—but Ryan forced himself not to laugh. He’d been married. He knew the pain of having what you thought was love turn out to be a hard-hearted business arrangement. “Bekka, you’re upset. Why don’t we talk about this in private.”

  She ducked her head, but not before Ryan spotted the gloating smile. Bekka saw Ryan catch it, balled her hands into fists, and stalked into the living room.

  “I’m really sorry about this.” Ryan turned to Ellie, whose green eyes had almost doubled in size. “Let me escort you out.” He didn’t mean to take her arm. It simply happened. Ellie padded beside him, wild hair and bare feet making her look like a fairy. “Can I see you? Tonight?” Ryan put one hand on the door. “No, wait. I’ve got to work. Breakfast tomorrow? Early?”

  “I don’t think—” She jumped back as a flying missile hit the door.

  Ryan looked down to where an Aztec artifact—a real one, he thought, not something his mom had made—lay broken on the carpet.

  Could he possibly have forgotten to re-lock the display case?

  His mom’s oil lamp sailed past and shattered.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” Bekka dumped an armload of irreplaceable pottery onto the conference table. “No more talk.”

  “Um, Bekka?” Ryan tried to sound casual. “Do you have any idea how much those are worth?”

  “A fortune, probably. But you don’t care, do you? You never care about anything.” She hurled a pitcher at the wall.

  Ryan lunged sideways and caught it.

  Bekka scowled fiercely. She picked up the Casino Paradise binder and smashed it three times, shattering a half-dozen priceless antiques. Ryan started toward her and then stopped abruptly. His mother’s monster bowl was in her hand.

  “Stay where you are. Sit in a chair.” Bekka dumped something shiny out of a box and shoved it across the table. “I’ve got a new plan.”

  “What’s this?” It looked like a pair of handcuffs, forged in one piece without a chain. One of Lucas’ purchases from the security show. “You want to open a really big bottle of beer?”

  “Your part in my plan,” Bekka continued, “is to shut up and sit on your butt while I fly home and file the casino license in my name. As soon as that’s done, I’ll come set you free, and we’ll return home as a triumphant couple.”

  “Um.” Was she crazy? “Why? I mean I know I’m irresistible, but—”

  Bekka lifted his mother’s bowl over the table.

  Ryan couldn’t help it. He winced.

  “So you do care about something. Good. Handcuff yourself to the steel bracket under the table and don’t worry about why.” She flashed a sharp smile. “Better yet, let’s have Jane of the Jungle stick her arm through the bracket
and you can cuff your wrists together. That should be cozy.”

  “I am not helping you kidnap Ellie.”

  “You have to the count of three.” She raised the bowl again. “One….”

  It’s just stuff. Ryan stared at the carpet. I’ve got plenty of stuff.

  “Two….”

  A hole opened somewhere in his chest.

  “Good grief.” Ellie grabbed the cuffs and dragged two chairs close to Ryan. “I’ll kidnap myself.” She pushed her right wrist through the steel bracket attached to the table leg and fastened the cuff.

  Ryan sat and locked his left wrist to hers.

  “Good boy. After we’re married, you’ll learn to obey faster.” Bekka set down the bowl and collected Ryan’s cell phone from the bedroom. “Yours, too, Jane.” She snapped her fingers at Ellie.

  “I don’t own a phone. I don’t believe in them.”

  “Well, goodie for you.” Bekka lifted the hotel line. “Hello? This is Miss Krump in Ryan Andersen’s suite. Could you please cancel cleaning service and hold all calls indefinitely? Under no circumstance do we want to be disturbed.” She yanked the cord from the wall and tossed the phone into the bedroom.

  “Now, let’s set the stage.” Bekka tapped a code and unlocked Ryan’s phone. “First, Lucas, I think.” She read aloud as she texted. “Celebrating with Bekka. Triple pay if you entertain commissioners and don’t show your ugly mug up here for thirty-six hours.”

  Bekka opened her purse and took a ring out of a box. Ryan’s mother’s engagement ring—an enormous emerald surrounded by diamonds. The last time he’d seen it, it had been in his father’s safe.

  He clenched his fists in frustration. “What are you doing?”

  “I told you, Carl promised me this.” She slipped the ring onto her finger and used Ryan’s phone to photograph her left hand. “Perfect. I know you can’t wait to send our good news to Uncle Henrik and Carl.” Bekka texted again. “She said yes! Returning home with childhood sweetheart in one hand and casino license in the other. Don’t call us. We’re ENGAGED!” That done, she took the phone to the garbage disposal and hit the switch. Metal shrieked and groaned as the disposal jammed.