The Stubborn Billionaire (a Muse novel)

by Lexxie Couper

  A kiss that shook her to the core.

  Thomas whistled, low and drawn out. “Is it really that way, dude? Or are you just throwing down the gauntlet?”

  James didn’t answer. Pulling away from Sienna, he held her captive with an intense gaze for an eternity before striding to the other side of his car.

  Her heart hammered. She had to stop him doing that. It wasn’t part of the deal. The footpath outside her home definitely constituted as the safety of her studio, surely?

  At least she wouldn’t need to worry at the exhibition. He was a Dyson and there was no way a Dyson would be seen kissing someone like her, the daughter of a convicted criminal currently in Long Bay Jail.

  So why did her stomach flutter and her sex constrict? Why did she have to fight to stop herself studying his profile as he drove the streets? Why did she want to spend the night being his date? His date, for Pete’s sake. With all the implications that came with that—the flirting, the stolen glances, the kiss at the door after the evening finished.

  The possible invitation for more than just a kiss…

  “So, Sienna,” Thomas’s deep voice from behind her shoulder made her start, “tell me about you.”

  She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder. “I’m very boring.”

  “Don’t believe that for a second. Not a second. Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”

  “I’m the only daughter of a convicted felon currently serving time for embezzlement in Australia’s most infamous jail.” She twisted in her seat enough to face him, giving him a wide grin. “He was once this country’s most successful talent agent and is now—apparently—someone called Steel-bar Tony’s bitch.”

  She returned her stare to the road ahead, her throat tight. The statement was for her benefit, not Thomas’s. She needed to bring herself back to reality. Tonight was not normal for her. A famous writer flirting with her like crazy? A jealous billionaire? Not normal. Neither was the kind of guy who showed interest in her. Hell, since her dad went to prison, no one had showed any interest in her, and she’d showed no interest in any guy. Life was about painting and making enough money to keep her and Zach in a warm, safe home. Tonight was an abnormality. Her Cinderella moment.

  At the end of tonight, the Aston Martin turned into a clapped out old Honda, and the two gorgeous guys turned into… Well, they stayed gorgeous guys, just not hers.

  She needed to remember that. Just as surely as she needed to remember James was up to something. If she forgot, she may as well open her chest and hand over her heart to the nearest maniac with a sledgehammer.

  …

  The moment Thomas asked her to reveal everything about herself, Sienna’s guard went back up.

  James wanted to punch the guy. Thomas didn’t know what he’d done, of course. The only thing Thomas knew about Sienna was that she was the artist who created the erotic painting hanging in his office. He knew nothing of her past relationship with Clinton, or the reason for her existence in James’s life. If he’d been thinking ahead, James would have given Thomas a small breakdown of the situation, that Sienna Roberts was off-limits, that he had plans for her.

  Plans for her? Huh. Those plans were skewing more and more off-kilter. The second he’d laid eyes on her tonight, the dress clinging to her lush curves, her hair a wild copper-red mass of waves, her eyes nervous and excited—like a child about to witness her first fireworks display—he’d wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and kiss her.

  The level of restraint needed to not do so made his gut ache.

  And then Thomas had spied her and the flirting had begun.

  He’d prepared for it, Sienna was all of Thomas’s boxes ticked at once, and yet he still struggled to control his jealousy.

  Why the fuck do I care if her guard goes up again?

  Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he navigated through the streets, heading for the Sydney Art Gallery.

  Why did he care?

  Because he liked her. There was nothing else for it. He liked the way she interacted with her younger brother, liked the care and love in her voice and face when she looked at Zach. He liked the quickness of her mind and the way she laughed at his dry sarcasm. He liked that she didn’t snivel at his feet because of his name and social status. He also liked how she’d tried not to attend tonight’s exhibition opening with him. How she’d tried to go alone.

  The latter was not the behavior of a gold digger.

  Or perhaps it’s the behavior of a very clever one?

  Behind him, still determined to woo his way into Sienna’s bed, Thomas waxed poetic about the influence her painting had on his writing. James wanted to roll his eyes again. A skilled wordsmith, St. Clair wove a tale with every word uttered of how the raw, carnal passion in his latest work—a New York Times bestseller before its release, knowing Thomas—was due to the eroticism in her painting. Thankfully, he never once mentioned Mason Xavier. It was rare for Thomas to call James anything other than dude, but when he did use a name, it was Mason. Had been that way since they met during an international university debating challenge over a decade ago.

  He’d told Thomas no more than three people in Australia knew he was also the mysterious venture capitalist, Mason Xavier—himself, his personal accountant, and Clarinda Simmonds—and requested it stay that way.

  If there was one thing Thomas St. Clair liked more than seducing women, it was being involved in a secret.

  James’s other identity was safe. Sienna would never know of it.

  Until it was time to reveal it, right?

  “…Mr. Grumpy-pants here?”

  Thomas’s chuckled statement—along with his light slap on James’s shoulder—jerked James out of his dark deliberation. “Excuse me?”

  Thomas smirked. “See, goddess, told you he wasn’t paying attention to us. Are you sure that’s the kind of man you want to give your body, heart, and soul to? Someone who woolgathers while driving? It’s not only incomprehensible, it’s dangerous as well.”

  Beside James, Sienna laughed. “And you would never ever do something as incomprehensible and dangerous as tune me out, would you, Mr. St. Clair?”

  “Never.” Thomas grinned at him in the rearview mirror. “For your heart and soul and body, I would hang off your every word.”

  James couldn’t help himself. He snorted. “I’m pretty certain I heard you confess that very thing to Charlize Theron only last month.”

  Thomas gave Sienna a wide-eyed look. “But I mean it with you, goddess.”

  Her happy smile made James’s chest tight. Damn it, what did he do if she fell for Thomas’s charms after all?

  “Hmmm.” She smiled at Thomas, eyes dancing. “I’m sure you do. Did I tell you I’m the primary caregiver of that wildly sardonic, wise-beyond-his-years fifteen-year-old you met back at my home? We’re a package deal, you know.”

  Thomas waved a hand. “I’m awesome with kids. Awesome. And he loves me already. Won’t you take a chance with me, goddess? What’s Mr. Grumpy-pants got to offer you that I don’t?”

  “I’m posing nude for her.”

  Silence filled the Aston Martin.

  James glared at the road. “What? I’m not allowed to be a funny guy, either?”

  Thomas shook his head. “I was picturing you naked.”

  “So was I,” Sienna said.

  James’s heart exploded. He risked a look at her, finding her gaping at him with a stunned expression. Had the confession surprised her?

  He dropped her a wink and then returned his attention to the road, glad the art gallery was but a corner away. He didn’t want to wait any longer to feel her body close to his, even if it was only as she walked beside him.

  They pulled to a halt outside the grandiose building, Thomas chatting away about his new book the whole time. The valet took the keys from James with a reverent, “Thank you, Mr. Dyson.” Camera flashes popped and fired from the sidewalk.

  Adjusting his tux’s sleeves, he walked around to the pas
senger door and hooked his fingers under the door release.

  “Brother.”

  Lindsey strode toward him from the gallery’s main entrance, dressed in blood-red leather and her customary designer stilettos.

  Shit.

  She drew on her cigarette, curiosity in her heavily mascaraed eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  He regarded her, his hand still hooked on the door handle. “I can say the same for you.”

  Lindsey blew out a thin blue stream of smoke, dropped her gaze to the darkly tinted passenger window of the Aston Martin before arching an eyebrow at him. “Is that a problem?”

  He held her stare. “No.”

  “Linney.” Thomas unfurled from the backseat to stand beside James. “You look fabulous. I wasn’t sure if I sent the message to the correct number, what with the way your brother was hurtling through the streets. Do you know I have three numbers listed under your name?”

  Lindsey pursed her lips into a seductive smile. “For you, Thomas, I will answer each one.”

  “See, dude.” Thomas slapped James’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “At least there’s one Dyson happy to see me.”

  James chuckled. “Careful. She’s on the hunt for another husband.”

  Thomas pressed his hand to his chest, just above his heart, and made goo-goo eyes at Lindsey. “Goddess! I would marry you in an instant.”

  Something bumped against James’s thighs, and he jerked his gaze down to the door. Fuck. Sienna was trying to open it. How the hell did he explain he was here with the woman responsible for Clinton’s death?

  Leaning toward Thomas, James turned his head away from Lindsey. “Do me a favor. Don’t let my sister come near Sienna, okay?”

  A world of questions burned in Thomas’s eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

  James ground his teeth. “What do you want?”

  Thomas showed his teeth in a wicked grin. “I want Sienna to paint me. Nude.”

  James didn’t bother to stop the growl rumbling deep in his throat. “She’s off-limits, St. Clair.”

  Thomas’s expression grew speculative. James had seen enough men weighing up information garnered to know an opinion was being formed. “Protecting her from Lindsey, protecting her from me. Damn dude, you’ve got it bad.” He gripped James’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You owe me one.”

  Before James could correct him—he didn’t have it bad for Sienna—Thomas threw out his arms, Lindsey’s name bursting from him in a joyous, flirtatious shout. The camera flashes detonated, the local paparazzi going crazy at the gold mine moment—world-famous author Thomas St. Clair and media tycoon heiress Lindsey Dyson-Maher smooching on a Sydney sidewalk.

  The second Lindsey turned her back on James, snaking her hand around Thomas’s offered arm as he directed her toward the gallery’s entry, James opened the passenger door.

  Sienna looked up at him from the seat, her expression closed. Unreadable. “Glad to see you’re happy to be seen with me, Mr. Dyson.” She swung her feet out of the car, her long, long legs sublime in the setting sun’s golden light. “Or am I wrong that you just tried to keep me in the car while your sister was here?”

  His gut clenched. “Sienna, it’s not—”

  She straightened to her feet, face set, and stumbled sideways as one of her heels slipped on the bitumen.

  He reached for her, but she slapped his hands away.

  Muttering something beneath her breath, she grabbed at the roof of his car with one hand and, foot kicked backward toward her butt, yanked off her shoe.

  He didn’t move. What did he do? Or say?

  Without looking at him—and still muttering—she swapped legs and removed the other shoe from her foot before glaring at him. “There. At least I’ll be comfortable while I’m embarrassing you.”

  And with that, she slammed the door shut and strode away from him.

  Chapter Nine

  He didn’t leave her side. Shoeless or not, he didn’t leave her side. He towered over her, his hand lingering on the small of her back, the whole time they were inside the gallery. He introduced her to everyone he spoke to—which seemed to be everyone at the opening—his smile warm whenever his gaze moved to her face. He was jovial, cordial, and so damn wonderful to be with.

  Sienna wanted to hit him. If it weren’t for the fact he’d tried to hide her from his sister when they first arrived, she’d almost forget he’d pissed her off.

  As it was, she had to keep reminding herself. She was having too good a time.

  Damn it.

  Taking a sip of the chilled white wine from the glass in her hand, she caught herself smiling up at him. How could he be so incredible and yet so goddamn frustrating?

  Currently talking to the editor-in-chief of Art Australia, they were discussing a game of golf that had apparently gone awry after a pair of amorous pelicans chose the ninth hole as the ideal place to get busy. The conversation started with James introducing her as “one of the most amazing artists in Australia.” He then suggested the magazine contact her about featuring her work. When the editor flicked a look at her bare feet, James chuckled. “How many other women here would dare go shoeless, Frank?”

  The editor nodded agreement and asked her what she thought of the exhibition. Ten minutes later—after debating the state of art in Australia with her and dissecting various art movements throughout history—he asked if he could call her later in the week.

  She wanted to say the warm joy blooming in her stomach had something to do with the request, but it wasn’t. It was all James.

  How often had he made her laugh during the evening? How special did she feel at his side? If only she could stop thinking about it. It was too dangerous. Thinking about how he made her feel, amongst a crowd of people who once would have been her social peers if she hadn’t turned her back on her family’s fame and wealth only served to highlight how easy it would be to fall under his spell. That he brushed off every sultry, stunning woman who tried to engage him in a suggestive conversation with polite disinterest didn’t help. Nor did the fact he drew her closer to his side, lowering his lips to whisper something inconsequential against her temple, her cheek, every time a man cast an appreciative look over her.

  A message sent loud and clear—she’s unavailable.

  Once again, she should be furious, and when she got home tonight, she was going to give herself a damn good talking to. When she got home. For now, she would just go with the flow. As long as she guarded her heart, what harm was there?

  “Monday sound okay, Sienna?”

  Crap, she’d zoned out. She gave the magazine’s editor a sheepish frown, heat filling her cheeks. “I’m sorry, can you say that again?”

  He smiled. “How about I get my assistant to call you Monday about the interview. Will that be okay?”

  Pulse pounding a little faster, she nodded. “Definitely. I look forward to it.”

  “Excellent.” He shook James’s hand. “Dyson. Next time, you won’t have copulating pelicans to save you.”

  James chuckled. “Perhaps I can arrange for an amorous kookaburra next time.”

  “Why do I believe you would?”

  “Because I don’t ever play to lose?”

  The editor tapped his nose. “That would be it.” He smiled once again at Sienna. “Ms. Roberts. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  He left, weaving through the crowded gallery.

  “Are you having a good time?”

  She turned at James’s murmured question. She looked up at him, more aware than ever how short she was next to him. Or maybe it was because he just dominated the space.

  And my every waking thought?

  “I am.”

  The edges of his lips curled. Mirth danced in his dark eyes. “And you are surprised by this?”

  His scent—spice, sandalwood soap, and pure male—threaded through her breath. She let out a shaky laugh. “Yes.”

  He smoothed his hand up her back, gently tugging her bo
dy to face his. He lowered his head closer to hers. “Can I tell you the truth?”

  She swallowed. “Please.”

  “So am I.”

  He kissed her, a soft, lingering touch.

  Her heart exploded.

  And then it was over. Lifting his head, he stroked his fingers up the back of her neck, his expression unreadable as he gazed down at her.

  Please God, let him kiss me again.

  He didn’t. Instead, he straightened and scanned the crowd behind her. “I think we’ve spoken to everyone worth our time.”

  The hoarse rasp to his voice made her swallow. Her body ached. She wanted nothing more than to snake her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless.

  She wanted him. So goddamn much.

  He smiled at her, hooking her hand over the crook of his elbow. “I feel like coffee. Good coffee. What do you say?”

  She studied him, trying to pinpoint his state of mind. “Coffee would be fine.”

  “Good coffee,” he repeated, his stare roaming the exhibition’s guests once again. “Let’s go.”

  “What about Thomas?”

  A dark scowl fell over his face and his jaw bunched. “Do you want him to join us?”

  “No, I just…” She shrugged, unsettled by his abrupt shift in mood. “He just came here with us, is all.”

  “He can find his own way back to his hotel.” He looked at her, his expression enigmatic. “I’m sure my sister will be more than happy to help him.”

  At the mention of his sister, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Why wasn’t she still angry about that? She should be. And yet coffee in a café sounded wonderful. The way to bring the night to an end. And she did need to bring it to an end, what with Zach at home alone. She needed to bring it to an end and get away from the conundrum that was James Dyson.

  Five minutes later, they were in his Aston Martin again, the Sydney streets passing her in a blur of color and neon lights. He didn’t speak. Should she be grateful for that, or uncomfortable? And why the hell did disappointment eat away at her?

  “May I ask a question?”

  She nodded at his sudden question, catching her bottom lip as she studied his hawkish profile in the dashboard’s dim glow. “Sure.”