Curves for the Billionaire

by Alexis Moore

  “Zoë’s his twin. What’s his excuse for giving you those hot looks?”

  “Maybe he thinks of me as a sister, too.” Even as she said the words, Samantha knew that Zachary did no such thing. His earlier kiss had been anything but brotherly!

  “Kinky.” Fiona wriggled her eyebrows up and down and gave her friend an arch look.

  “Stop it!” It was impossible not to have fun in Fiona’s company.

  “Of course he doesn’t see you as a sister.” Fiona sobered. “The man can have pretty much any woman in the world and he’s chosen you. I’d say he wants you.”

  “He doesn’t want me. He’s just being a good friend.”

  “Good friend, my ass! I’m going to create a trousseau of my sexiest lingerie for you.” Fiona whipped her ever-handy tape measure out of her large handbag and commanded Samantha to rise with an elegant movement of her hand. “When Zachary sees you in them, friendship will be the last thing on his mind.”

  “Fiona, Zachary doesn’t need to see me in sexy lingerie!”

  “Does the man need to breathe?” Fiona ignored her friend’s protests and started measuring. “You have such a fabulous body. If I had your height and figure I would flaunt them in the sexiest clothes I could find.”

  It was Samantha’s turn to arch her eyebrows at Fiona. “If you wore anything sexier, you’d be arrested for indecent exposure!”

  Fiona gave a throaty, infectious laugh in acknowledgement. At 5’4” and close to one hundred and eighty pounds, Fiona was as confident of her body as any catwalk model. She believed women should have curves, although she sometimes admitted ruefully that perhaps her body was just a trifle too well-rounded. She didn’t own any black clothing. Red was her new ‘black’, she always insisted.

  “How’s Shannon these days?” Samantha asked as Fiona put away her tape measure.

  “She’ll no longer be modelling my designs now that she’s signed a recording contract.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Samantha commiserated.

  “Oh, I wish her well. We were good for each other’s careers, but we’re both strong women. We needed to part company before we had a full scale fight.”

  Shannon Roberts was the statuesque model who had launched Fiona’s lingerie company, Fuller Intimacy, into the big time. Known as the ‘Diva of Divas’, she was the daughter of a popular African-American jazz singer and an Oscar winning English actor. An inch shy of six feet, she was as famous for tossing her mane of riotous jet-black curls as she was for her beauty, and was blessed with a curved body that was perfect for lingerie. After hearing her mention in an interview that she wanted to achieve fame independent of her two famous parents, Fiona had contacted her with the idea of them launching their careers simultaneously. Shannon had surprised Fiona by accepting the modest fee she’d offered. Her sultry looks and fiery personality had instantly made Fuller Intimacy a household name.

  “It’s a pity you’re getting married.” Fiona sighed as she assessed Samantha’s taller body critically. “You could have done some modelling for me again.”

  “Fiona, you’re my friend and I love you, but you’re never getting me to parade half naked in front of anyone again!”

  “You looked fabulous!” Fiona protested. “And I made a mint from that catalogue.”

  Samantha had let herself be persuaded to model for Fiona’s first mail order catalogue as her friend hadn’t been able to afford either of the top professional lingerie models at the time and had thought Samantha’s figure much better than the third-highest paid. They had used styling gel and hundreds of tiny rollers to achieve a mass of cork-screw curls which had been used strategically to hide Samantha’s identity without giving the impression she was trying to conceal it. The catalogue had been a success. Business had picked up steadily over the next eighteen months—once Shannon had come on board profits had gone through the roof.

  “Do you know some guys have kept copies of that catalogue?” Fiona teased. “I still get emails asking me who was the model.”

  “They would be disappointed if they knew it was little old me.”

  “You looked fabulous in every one of those pieces. I’m going to work my fingers to create even sexier ones for you.” Fiona smiled wickedly. “Zachary won’t know what hit him!”

  “Fiona,” Samantha warned, but she knew it would be of no use. Thankfully she already owned dozens of Fiona’s designs she could take on her honeymoon—if there was going to be one. She would leave the new ones behind if they were too risqué. Her friend would never know.

  ***

  Zachary called each of the days following, from different locations and only briefly, to ensure that Samantha was alright. He didn’t discuss details of the wedding except to say that he’d made arrangements for it to take place at 10 o’clock on Friday morning and they would fly to Dubai for a week’s honeymoon later that same evening. Samantha was amazed that he was willing to take a week off so close to the official launch of his new virus-protection software, which was predicted to threaten the two market leaders, but he’d assured her that his competent staff had everything in hand.

  It was too soon after her father’s funeral for a hen night, but Fiona refused to let Samantha’s last night as a single woman go uncelebrated.

  “Darling, I’m so proud of me!” Fiona breezed into the house that night as soon as Samantha opened the door, a clothing bag over her shoulder and a travel case trailing behind her. “I outdid myself, honey. This is my finest collection ever!”

  “Then you shouldn’t waste it on me!” Samantha didn’t like the sound of it already. She had seen the more daring pieces Fiona offered for sale on her website and there was no way she would wear any of them.

  “They won’t be wasted, babes. Zachary will be putty in your hands by the end of the honeymoon and my hard work would have been for a worthy cause.”

  Really, trying to stop a determined Fiona was like trying to charm a charging bull—you just had to close your eyes and pray for the best.

  “First I wanted to show you this.” Getting right down to business, Fiona unzipped the travel case and pulled out what seemed like metres of sheer chiffon, the colour of old gold. Slotting her iPod into Samantha’s docking station, she turned and smiled at her friend. “I’ll get this song downloaded onto yours. Hopefully the hotel will have all mod coms so you can play it when you get there.”

  “Zachary would insist on nothing less.” Her husband-to-be loved his creature comforts and didn’t mind paying for them.

  “It’s called ‘Dance of the Seven Veils’ and I’m going to teach you—”

  “I can’t do that!” Samantha gasped as her friend began to move.

  “Samantha, you’ve been in love with Zachary since I’ve known you. He’s finally proposed, so don’t blow your chance.” Fiona swirled the chiffon around her head and glared at her friend fiercely through it. “You’ve seen the way women act around him. You have to entice him. Keep him coming back to your bed for more.”

  Samantha opened her mouth to protest but closed it again. Fiona, a romantic through and through, obviously thought that Zachary had finally come to his senses. Even if Samantha hadn’t made a promise to him, it would have been cruel to shatter her friend’s illusions—especially as she seemed to have worked day and night getting the trousseau ready.

  “The veil is only part of the outfit.” Fiona carefully folded the chiffon into a neat square and placed it over the back of the nearest chair and then pulled out a very revealing two-piece outfit made of cream chiffon and elaborately decorated with gold thread and beading. The bra-like top would barely contain Samantha’s full breasts and would definitely show the outline of her nipples. The bottom was no better, dipping to a ‘V’ in front with floor-length panels that would reveal her legs as she moved. “You’ll wear this underneath.”

  “I don’t think Zachary would want me dressed in that!” It was something a well-dressed stripper would wear.

  “Of course he would, honey. H
e’s a man, isn’t he? And remember what Madame Isabelle used to say?”

  “It’s a woman’s duty to entice her husband,” they mimicked and burst out laughing.

  Madame Isabelle had offered half-priced belly dancing classes to students at the university. They had gone along for a laugh and had ended up attending regularly. The dance teacher had been of indeterminate age and had told her students she had married at the age of nineteen and was still living in wedded bliss. The key to a good marriage, she’d insisted, was ‘enticing’ one’s husband.

  ***

  Samantha had always dreamed of a large white wedding, with a flower girl, ring bearer and at least a dozen bridesmaids and groomsmen. She’d imagined her father, a tall, commanding presence at her side as she entered the church with The Wedding March filling the spaces to the high ceiling.

  A registry wedding, without her father, was the antithesis of those dreams.

  Stop it! she admonished herself, rapidly blinking to clear the tears that filled her eyes as she stood just outside the door of the registry.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked purposefully into the room…and found that reality, though it differed from her dreams in every way, was almost as perfect.

  The small space was elegantly decorated and filled with dozens and dozens of white roses. Even in her wildest dreams she’d never been able to imagine Zachary at the end of the aisle waiting for her. But here he was, standing at the registrar’s desk and smiling across at her, dressed immaculately in a dark suit which conformed too closely to his broad shoulders and trim waist to be anything but bespoke.

  Fiona, seeming to understand how emotionally fraught her friend was at that moment, squeezed her arm reassuringly and gently propelled her forward.

  The appreciative light in Zachary’s eyes as they swept her hour-glass figure in the low-cut white wedding gown made Samantha thankful that she’d let Fiona drag her along to Rubenesque Brides though she’d been doubtful they’d find anything she’d like or that could be made ready in such a short time frame. The dress hadn’t been prominently displayed but somehow Fiona had found it. When she’d held it up for inspection, Samantha’s pulse had quickened—it could have been made just for her. The extra room at the waist had been adjusted while she and Fiona had pampered themselves at a nearby spa.

  Fiona placed Samantha’s hand in Zachary’s—like a proud father giving the bride away—and went to join the small group of guests.

  “You look amazing,” he complimented, pulling his eyes away from the necklace at her throat and looking into her eyes. His gift against the smooth skin of her chest seemed to have the same effect on him as it had done when he’d given it to her almost ten years ago. Samantha felt scorched by the heat in his gaze and swayed toward him helplessly, like a moth to his flame.

  “Hey, no kissing allowed until you marry her, buddy!” Damien, Zachary’s thirty-six-year-old cousin teased from the front row of seats, snapping Samantha out of her trance.

  She smiled up at Zachary as he seated her and then took a seat beside her, taking her hand and entwining their fingers.

  Zachary repeated the vows read to him by the Pakistani registrar in a clear, strong voice. No one hearing him would have imagined he was doing the very thing he had vowed never to do, just to help a friend. The only problem for Samantha was a slight stumble over Zachary’s middle name. Who looked at a sweet, innocent baby and named it…Elvis?

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  Zachary cupped her face and kissed her, his lips just brushing hers, as soft as eiderdown. The ‘special’ look was in his eyes as he raised his head and stared into her eyes. She understood the term ‘insides melting’ as hers seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving her looking helplessly up at him and feeling dazed.

  “My wife.” Samantha thrilled at the note of possession in his voice. She had convinced herself that their marriage would be little more than in name only, with just enough occasional, perfunctory lovemaking to get her pregnant and fulfil the terms of her father’s will, but Zachary was turning her misconception on its head.

  He bent his head and kissed her again, this time with a passion and a hunger that turned what remained of her body into molten lava.

  This was so not going to be a friendly, passionless marriage.

  “Get a room, you two!” Damien shouted and brought Samantha back to her surroundings with a bump.

  Damien looked enough like Zachary for strangers to assume they were brothers, but he had none of his first cousin’s style or finesse. He shamelessly used Zachary’s prestige to move in rarefied circles and rub shoulders with the rich and famous. He was known for making impossible demands and never being satisfied with any service provided. Samantha secretly called him ‘Mr Diva’. She sensed that he was jealous of his cousin’s success, but he appeared to do a great job of running the UK operations, while Zachary jetted around the world brokering deals.

  “We really need to get moving.” As Fiona appeared at Samantha’s side to ushered them out of the registry, Samantha became aware of the guests of another wedding hovering impatiently outside the door.

  As they entered the function suite Samantha stared around her in amazement. The lavishly-decorated room echoed the theme of the registry with even more white roses, snowy white tablecloths and gold ribbons artistically tied to covered chairs and steaming from the ceiling. The centrepiece of each table was an outsized champagne flute filled with plastic ice cubes and topped with roses. Crystal glasses sparkled and polished silverware dazzled the eye even in the softly-lit room. Completely overwhelmed, Samantha was grateful for the support of Zachary’s arm when her eyes fell on the three-tier cake exquisitely adorned with white chocolate roses and edible gold leaf. It was perfection.

  ***

  “I’m so glad my brother came to his senses and married you.” Zoë hugged Samantha tightly as soon as she returned from changing out of her wedding gown for the seven-hour flight to Dubai.

  Samantha hugged her new sister-in-law back, a little surprised that Zachary hadn’t revealed the reason for their marriage even to his twin.

  “Mummy, I want to marry Uncle Zac,” whined Kayle, Zoë’s middle child, tugging on her mother’s dress and giving Samantha a petulant, jealous look. Zoë’s oldest and her baby boy were holding hands and swaying to the popular love song playing in the background.

  “You can’t marry your uncle, sweetie.” Zoë lifted her daughter up and placed her on her hip.

  “Why not, Mummy?” Kayle demanded.

  “Because you’re little, darling, and Uncle Zac is big,” Zoë explained, with a conspiratorial wink in Samantha’s direction. “If he married you it would be naughty and the police would arrest him and put him in jail.”

  “Oh.”

  The two adults tried hard not to laugh as Kayle digested the information, her little face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to come up with a counterargument.

  “I need to steal the bride,” Fiona apologized, appearing beside them in the scarlet dress that looked as though she’d burst out of it if she took too deep a breath. “They have to leave in ten minutes.”

  “Be patient with him,” Zoë whispered, hugging Samantha in farewell.

  Samantha wanted to laugh. She was the one who would need patience. There was a little matter she hadn’t discussed with Zachary and time was running out fast.

  “I might have helped the wedding planner a little,” Fiona confessed as she manoeuvred Samantha away from the guests and into a quiet corner. “Zachary called me. He wanted everything perfect for you.”

  “I did wonder how everything was just as I would have wanted it!”

  “It wasn’t easy!” Fiona wiped her brow dramatically, but for the first time Samantha noticed the faint circles ringing her friend’s dark-blue eyes. “Honey, Zachary really loves you. You always tell me how laid back he is for a man of his wealth, but trust me he can be a tyrant! When I told him on Wednesday that the cake
might not be ready on time he was absolutely furious! His voice was as cold as ice when he demanded, ‘Can you handle it, or do I have to call someone else?’. He sounded so authoritative and commanding my clit jumped.”

  “Ugh!” Samantha gasped. “You’re so nasty!”

  “I’m just saying, girlfriend,” Fiona said with a wink. “I’ve never thought of having a threesome, but if he ever decides that he wants two gorgeous, voluptuous babes in his bed instead of one, please call me day or night.”

  “Fiona!” Samantha never knew what outrageous thing would pop out of her friend’s mouth next.

  “No need to thank me, sweetheart. That’s what friends are for.”

  The light-hearted banter wasn’t about the teasing ménage a trois offer. It was about everything the woman had done for Samantha in the last weeks—helping with the arrangement of first her father’s funeral and now her wedding.

  “You’re the best friend a girl could have.” Samantha hugged her friend tightly, vowing that she wouldn’t let marriage change the close friendship they shared.

  “Your groom’s coming to get you,” Fiona warned.

  Samantha briefly tightened her arms around her friend and then let her go. Turning, she found Zachary striding towards them, his long legs quickly eating up the distance.

  “Thanks again, Fiona.” He smiled briefly at the other woman as he took his new wife’s hand. “Time for us to go if we’re to make the flight.”

  A few minutes later Samantha turned her back and threw her bouquet blindly in the direction of the small group of eligible young women present. Fiona’s triumphant laughter told her even before she turned around that her friend had managed to catch it. Eyes blurred, Samantha prayed the superstition would come true as Zachary handed her into the black Rolls Royce limousine he kept parked at his London head office and used mostly for ferrying around overseas associates when they visited London on business.