The Billionaire's Secret Marriage (The Limitless Clean Billionaire Romance Series Book 1)

by Tamie Dearen

  Ha! As long as I’m at it, I might as well dream that Ellie would be cured of cystic fibrosis and live a normal life.

  She was powerless to fix this problem. And so was Branson. What’s done was done. He had to take care of Carina and his unborn child. And Stephanie would go on with her life, apart from Bran, and tend to Ellie.

  But Steph could give him one parting gift—to tell him how she really felt. She’d thought to hide the truth, to spare him the pain of realizing how close they’d come to having a real marriage. She’d loved him too much to cause him such regrets.

  Yet, that was before he’d confessed his belief that no one could ever love him. That idea was eating away at him, destroying the kind and selfless man she knew as Branson Knight. If she did nothing else, she would give him the knowledge of her love, despite the fact nothing would ever come of it.

  With fresh determination, she emerged from the bathroom in time to see Laurie stomp out and slam the door so hard the pictures rattled on the walls. Branson stood beside the bed, achingly handsome, his chest bare and a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. Yet he looked as forlorn as a lost puppy.

  “Sorry about Laurie,” Steph said. “She can be a little protective where Ellie and I are concerned.”

  Bran stiffened and turned his back. “I should go. Give you some privacy.”

  “Kind of late for that,” she quipped. “I have on the same flannel PJs as last night, so you can face me. I don’t mind.”

  Still facing away, he edged sideways, his cane sweeping the floor. “All the same, I need to get back.”

  “As long as you’re here, maybe we should talk… you know… about Carina and stuff.”

  “Maybe later.”

  As he shuffled closer to the door, she moved to intercept him. “Bran, you’re making this more awkward than it already is.” Grasping his arm, she attempted to whip him around to face her.

  He jerked away. “I told you I have to go. Get out of my way.”

  He refused to look at her. Not that he could see, but he’d always shown his respect and attentiveness by facing her square on.

  Leaning against the door, she refused to budge. “Why won’t you look at me? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Why must you always be so obstinate?” He rotated toward her, and she saw his face, a mask of rage, with his hand across his eyes. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  “From me. From this.” He indicated his hidden eyes. “You don’t want to see it.”

  “Bran.” Her soul cried for him. “I told you, already… I don’t care. I love your eyes. They’re blue and beautiful. I don’t even think about them being prosthetic.”

  She tried to pull his hand down, but he pushed her away.

  “Please… don’t.”

  The agony in his voice tore at her. She had to tell him now. It was the only way he would believe her.

  “Come sit with me for a minute. Let’s talk.” She tugged on his arm, like a gnat trying to move a boulder.

  “We can talk tomorrow.”

  “I need to sit. Feel weak, like I might pass out.” It was true. The room seemed to narrow, and her stomach complained about her continued upright position.

  Bran’s disposition transformed in an instant. He dropped his cane and looped his arm around her, though he was too mulish to uncover his eyes. “You should be in bed. You take care of everyone else, but you don’t take care of yourself.”

  “Not the bed. Help me get to the loveseat. It’s on the other side of—”

  “I know where it is. All the suites are identical—it’s my design.”

  She sagged against him, willing herself not to stumble as they walked around the bed to the small sofa. He sat down with her, and she closed her eyes until the room stopped spinning. “Okay. At least I don’t feel like I’m at an amusement park anymore.”

  “Have you had anything to drink this morning?”

  “A little water. But Laurie said she put some ginger ale in the fridge. I don’t suppose—”

  “I’ll get it.” Bran was up in a flash, snagging his cane as he went.

  Tempted to lie down, Steph resisted, lest she fall asleep and give Bran an excuse to leave. Now was her best chance to explain, before she lost her nerve. Drowsiness threatened to overcome her, and she pinched her arm to wake up. But fatigue won the battle, and she nodded off where she sat. She woke to the shake of gentle hands.

  “Here’s your ginger ale.”

  She took a few sips and handed the glass back. “Bran, I need to tell you something.”

  He shook his head, still refusing to face her. Why was he being so paranoid about his eyes today?

  She took a deep breath and blurted it out before she lost her nerve. “Bran, I love you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Hey!” She shot him an ineffectual look of outrage. “Don’t tell me what I feel. It took me a long time to get up the nerve to tell you.”

  “That’s not love, you feel—it’s guilt. I was nice to you, and now you feel sorry for me.”

  “For once, will you shut up and listen?”

  “Fine.” He perched on edge of the loveseat with his back toward her. It would’ve been off-putting, if she hadn’t been tempted to trace the lines of his muscles with her finger. “I’m listening,” he said.

  She breathed a long, loud sigh, designed to let him know he was trying her patience. “Bran, I’ve been in love with you for most of the two years we’ve been together. You are, bar none, the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and I’m well aware you’re way out of my league.”

  “You have that backwards—”

  “Be quiet! I’m not listening to you unless you turn around and say it to my face.”

  “I can’t.” The words seemed to be extruded through his gritted teeth.

  “You mean, you won’t.”

  His shoulders drooped. “I guess it doesn’t matter. We can’t really be married, anyway. I couldn’t hide it from you forever.”

  He rotated slowly until his face was visible. Something was strange about his eyes. Not as full as before. They looked white, instead of blue.

  “You see, now.” His face twisted in agony. “This is the real me. Even scarier than the prosthetic eyes.”

  The lightbulb finally switched on in her hazy brain. “Is that what this is all about? You thought I’d be freaked out by your ocular implants?”

  “You aren’t?” The fragile uncertainty in his voice brought tears to her eyes.

  “Of course not.” She swiped her face on her sleeve. “I know what they look like. Googled it two years ago, the day I met you.”

  “They don’t bother you at all?” His lips stretched in a rapturous smile, flashing his even white teeth.

  “Nope.”

  “And you love me?” His voice became gravelly, and he leaned closer.

  “Yes, I do.” She put a hand to his face to stop his progress. “But we can’t kiss again.”

  He frowned. “Why not? We love each other. We’re married. Why can’t we kiss?”

  “Have you forgotten about Carina?”

  “No, but I’d like to.” He straightened, pushing his fingers through his hair, sending it in crazy directions. “I can’t live like this. The moment we start to make progress, you jerk the rug out from under us.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she spat. “It’s not my fault Carina is in the middle of all this. That’s one hundred percent on you.”

  He twisted to face her, his eyes closed and his hands folded, as if in prayer. “Just say the word, and I’ll tell Carina we’re married. I’ll pay my child support and stay out of her life. Let her have full custody.” He found one of Steph’s hands and turned it over to press a kiss against her palm, making rows of goosebumps on her arm. “We’ll start now and build a life together—you, me and Ellie. What do you say?”

  He laid out her dream on a silver platter, as enticing as his ripped physique. She wanted it. She wanted it so b
adly she could barely breathe. Her eyes filled with tears, even before she choked out her answer. The word ripped from her raw throat, a bare whisper that echoed for eternity.

  “No.”

  A tear leaked from the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek.

  “Please.”

  “We can’t, Bran.” Each word cut her like a knife. Her lifeblood ebbed away. “You’d be miserable. Not at first, but eventually you’d regret it. You’ve spent your whole life trying to be a better man than your father. That means being present in your child’s life.”

  He turned away, his throat convulsing. “How long, then? How long before we can be together?”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” She steadied her quavering voice. “You need to work out things between you and Carina. You’re going to be a father, and that’s the most important thing. I think it’s best if I leave. I’d only be a distraction.”

  “No.” He groped to find her hand and clasped it tightly. “Please don’t leave me.”

  “I have to, Bran. How could I bear being here if you and Carina are together? I could hardly stand watching the two of you this weekend. When I saw you coming out of her room, I felt like I’d been stabbed.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Bran clenched his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. “Nothing happened—I promise. I didn’t sleep with her.”

  “You obviously slept with her at least once.”

  Bran’s silence spoke volumes. When he finally answered, he seemed resigned. “Can I kiss you? One last time?”

  “I don’t know…”

  Those three words obviously translated to yes in whatever world Branson lived, because his hands slid behind her head, fingers tangling in her hair as his mouth descended. His lips brushed across her lips. Soft as a feather. Then harder. Demanding. Her hands flattened on the hard planes of his chest. Short of breath, she felt lightheaded, like she was in a dream. The gentle caress of his lips made her ache for what could have been. She trembled as his fingers trailed down her neck, leaving a fiery brand in their wake. He followed with his mouth, pressing a kiss into the hollow of her neck until lights flashed under her eyelids. As his mouth found hers again, she tasted the salt of their mingled tears, and she hugged him close, as if she could make the moment last through eternity.

  But it didn’t.

  Tearing herself away left a gaping hole in her chest—forever empty—the place where her heart used to be.

  Chapter 21

  I’ve looked at it from every angle, Mr. Knight. I still believe a marriage would be the best way to assert your parental rights.”

  Bran massaged his temples, hoping to rub away the headache that ibuprofen hadn’t diminished. I need a workout. He’d been back home since Sunday and hadn’t worked out the last three mornings. Though still a bit weak after his bout with the short-term virus, he knew that wasn’t the main issue. His life was completely off-kilter without Stephanie as his personal assistant. He forced down a sip of his now-tepid coffee.

  “I can’t see how it would make a difference, Johnson. I’m the child’s father whether or not we’re married.”

  “Yes, but the decision is made by a human, and most humans have a tendency to favor the mother. Carina can truthfully claim you were engaged and called off the wedding after you learned of the pregnancy.”

  Bran slammed his fist on the desk. “I can’t believe she can corner me into this marriage. There must be another way.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  His lungs deflated, along with his spirit. “I’m not ready to sign the new pre-nup. And there’s certainly no reason to rush the marriage. She’s only twenty-two weeks along.”

  “It’s not wise to offend Carina’s pride, Mr. Knight. She’s more likely to sign the new agreement without arguing if you accommodate her on the timing. If you marry now, you could initiate the divorce shortly after the baby is born.”

  Mark Johnson didn’t know Branson was married to Stephanie. Bran started to tell him multiple times, but something inside his gut stopped the words from coming out. He couldn’t explain it, but he didn’t entirely trust the man.

  “Johnson, how long have you worked for me?”

  “My firm has served you for almost two years, Mr. Knight. I hope you’ve been more than satisfied with our work. We always try to provide exemplary service, with absolute confidentiality.”

  Branson couldn’t argue his point. Johnson had made himself available at any time, day or night, and toiled tirelessly on every project Branson gave him. His work had always been flawless. Yet there was something about him… something he couldn’t put his finger on.

  Two years! A bilious feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. When Branson’s attorney of seven years suddenly took ill, Mark Johnson had applied for the position. His credentials and recommendations unmatched, Branson hired him on the spot. Yet, unlike most of his close employees, the two had never spoken on a first-name basis. Branson had written it off as Mark’s formal manner, but it was more than that. In Bran’s gut, he simply didn’t trust the man.

  Branson pushed back from his desk and rose to his feet. He heard the sounds of movement as Mark matched his posture.

  “Thank you for coming, Johnson.”

  “But… don’t you want to…” Mark made a strangled coughing noise. “Very well, Mr. Knight. But I recommend approving the final copy of this document today. Would you like for me to start the paperwork for the marriage license? Of course, you and Carina will have to go to the clerk’s office to sign it.”

  Branson strode to the door, unconsciously counting the steps. “I’ll be in touch later today, Johnson.”

  “Yes, sir. Perhaps I’ll check back at one o’clock?”

  “That sounds perfect, as always.” Though Bran’s tone and manner dismissed the man, he still resisted.

  “When this matter is settled, you’ll feel much better about it, Mr. Knight. I’ll do everything I can to expedite the proceedings. What else can I do to allay your fears?”

  “My current fear, Mr. Johnson, is another round of that stomach virus coming on. Unless you’d like to experience it for yourself, I suggest you give me some privacy.”

  The man shot out of the room like a rocket, mumbling under his breath. By the time the door clicked shut, Bran had already dialed his cell phone.

  “Fordham… I need a new lawyer.”

  “If he’s associated with your father, he’s hidden it well.” Fordham’s calm demeanor didn’t fool Bran for an instant. He’d never cared for Mark Johnson, and he was ecstatic that Branson now agreed with him. He would dig until he discovered dirt on Johnson, and Bran felt certain it was there.

  Though Fordham had acted as Bran’s primary caretaker when he was growing up, his true value was his sharp mind. He’d been Branson’s best behind-the-scenes advisor, rewarded for his efforts with a lucrative profit-sharing plan. He still acted the part of Bran’s personal butler, drawing a nice salary that was a pittance, compared to his accumulated wealth.

  “It makes so much sense.” Bran drummed his fingers on the desk. “I don’t know why I didn’t suspect him before. He showed up less than twenty-four hours after Cal got sick. Now I wonder if Dad didn’t have something to do with that as well.”

  “A stiff accusation,” Fordham remarked, “but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Fordham’s loyalty had always been with Bran, even though his father had signed the paychecks when Bran was a child.

  “Let’s think about this.” Bran stopped to take a sip of fresh coffee, the pungent aroma calming his nerves. “We still don’t know why Carina wants to get married so quickly. It’s like there’s something she’s hiding. Something time sensitive.”

  “The pregnancy?” Fordham suggested.

  “Can’t see where a few days makes a difference where the baby is concerned.” He chewed his lower lip. “Something happened while we were in Vegas. Something that made her panic. She wanted us married as soon as possible.”

  The room we
nt quiet, but for a light tapping from Fordham’s direction, where he sat facing Bran’s desk.

  “Let’s try a different approach,” said Fordham. “If your dad is involved in this, what would he do? What’s his motivation?”

  “Dad? He’d like to ruin me.” Branson gave a harsh chuckle. “Especially since I founded Escapade Resorts two years ago, and it’s already toppled his resort empire. I even lured away some of his board members.”

  “I’m certain that stings his pride,” said Fordham. “He would’ve made more money if he’d bought stock in your company.”

  Ice water poured into Bran’s veins. “What did you say?”

  “He would’ve made more money if he’d…” Fordham gasped. “We need to check the activity on Escapade. What’s Carina’s cut in the prenuptial agreement?”

  “Ten percent.”

  In the ensuing silence, Bran considered all the implications.

  “And what if those board members you lured away are still in your dad’s pocket?” Fordham proposed. “He’s shrewd. He gathers a lot of information about everyone he comes in contact with and keeps it hidden away in his safe to use as future leverage.”

  “Blackmail?” Bran hadn’t been aware of this aspect of his father’s persona.

  “He called it influencing behavior.” Fordham sounded like he’d swallowed nasty medicine.

  “So, Carina’s in league with my father.” Branson’s fury smoldered beneath the surface.

  “More likely,” Fordham said, “she’s under his influence.”

  “Why didn’t he do the same to you?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, not everyone has a skeleton in the closet. There’s a lot to be said for integrity.” Fordham paused before speaking again, this time with uncharacteristic emotion. “That’s how I raised you, Branson. You’ve made me proud.”

  Though he knew in his heart Fordham loved him, Bran had never received such direct verbal affirmation before. He could hardly speak around the lump in his throat.

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better father.”