Billionaire Games Boxed Set (The Marriage Bargain, The Marriage Caper, The Marriage Fix)

by Edwards, Sandra

  Lecie’s back was to Nick. She was facing the wall where a dozen teenagers were gathered along the desks, utilizing—what was it? Computers? Damn, Lecie had really come through.

  Nick went quietly to her couch and sat next to her. “Did you know that I’ve been looking everywhere for you?”

  She sucked in a quick breath as she turned to him. “Nick…” she let his name and nothing more roll off her tongue.

  “I never would’ve guessed in a million years that you’d be here.” He laughed at himself. “I thought you were going back to France?”

  She shrugged. “I missed my flight.”

  Happy laughter escaped him. “You own the plane.”

  “Well not really,” she said. “It belongs to my family.”

  “Semantics.” He tilted his head. “But either way, I’m glad. I would’ve had a hell of a time coming up with airfare to France.”

  She giggled. When her eyes met his again, her face filled with sadness. “Where’s Ginny?”

  “What you saw wasn’t what it looked like.”

  “It looked like you were kissing.”

  “She’s gone.” He shook his head. “She’s not the one I want.” He hesitated for a moment, wanting very much to change the subject to something more agreeable. Like him and Lecie. “Were you really gonna disappear on me without a word?”

  She looked at him. Her lips moved, ever so slightly, like she was trying to get the words to come out of her head.

  Just when it was clear to Nick that no more words were coming, she kissed him, long and warm and satisfying.

  Nick took it as an open invitation to move in closer, and cradled her face in his hands as he devoured her mouth urgently.

  “Wait…” she whispered against his lips. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He moved back far enough to look at her, but kept her face cradled in his hands. “It snuck up on me so quietly, I didn’t even realize it was happening.”

  “What?” She searched his eyes for an answer.

  “I fell in love with you,” he said with a happy smile. “I know we’re from very different worlds, and I’ll never be able to give you all the material things someone more suited to you could do…but I can’t imagine life without you, and…if you’ll have me, I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

  EPILOGUE

  Six weeks later….

  IN THE BACK YARD OF LECIE’S California home, she could see in her peripheral vision, her close friends and family sitting at elaborately decorated tables on the freshly manicured lawn.

  Lecie wondered if they were as happy for her as she was for herself? She hoped so. She cut her eyes to the tables in the front row and into the faces of her immediate family. Mama and Papa. She let her gaze settle on Papa. He was smiling. She wouldn’t have guessed that in a million years. Camille and Tasha, she decided, had softened him up to the idea of American in-laws.

  Somewhere, in the far off reaches of reality, she vaguely heard the announcement, “Ladies and Gentleman…I give you Mr. and Mrs. Nick Matthews.”

  Nick squeezed her hands, bringing her wholly back into the moment as he drew her into his embrace for their first official dance as a couple.

  Almost instantly, the faint clicking of silverware against glasses flowed out among their guests. Seconds later, it grew louder.

  “They’re clicking,” Nick said, and she nodded. He gave her a devilish grin and whispered, “I think they want us to kiss.”

  “We wouldn’t want to disappoint them, now would we?” She smiled, consumed with her love for him. She’d never imagined, or even dreamed that she could be this happy.

  Nick’s lips brushed against hers and she parted her mouth slightly. Their breaths intermingled with the tips of their tongues, ever-so-briefly, until they parted.

  After a suitable amount of time, people began to join them on the dance floor. First, Lecie’s family, including her parents, Camille and Julian, Tasha and Andre, and then their friends.

  Maurice and Claudette sashayed up to them.

  “Papa, Mama…” Lecie greeted them with such joy.

  Nick had been happily relishing in the love he’d seen shining for him in Lecie’s eyes. He hoped that light never went out. He’d do everything within his power to make sure it didn’t.

  Papa looked at Nick. “Do you mind?” he asked, offering the hand of his own wife to Nick.

  “Not at all.” Nick kissed Lecie on the cheek, relinquished her to her father and smiled at Claudette as he took her hand. “I’m honored to share the dance floor with you, Mrs. de Laurent,” he said, mangling the family’s last name with his American pronunciation.

  “Oh, don’t you dare be so formal with me.” Claudette giggled. “You must call me Claudette.”

  Nick didn’t argue, he simply smiled. He got the feeling that Claudette was a woman who was used to getting what she wanted.

  “Might I be so bold?” she asked cautiously.

  “By all means…” Nick gave her a friendly nod.

  “I get the feeling that you will do everything within your power to make my daughter happy,” she said, as if she really believed it.

  “That you can count on,” Nick said with absolute certainty.

  “Even if it makes you uncomfortable?” There was an unmistakable tension in her voice.

  He knew what she was getting at. Not necessarily the money so much as the lifestyle. Claudette wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to turn into one of those guys who would force his wife to live a deprived lifestyle just because he couldn’t afford to give her more.

  Nick gave Claudette his trademark grin, which was usually effective in lightening up the girls at the restaurant. He shot her a wink, and said, “I can assure you that whatever makes your daughter happy, is going to be a-okay with me.”

  Lecie and Maurice danced their way back over, and without a word, Maurice handed Lecie off to Nick and reclaimed his own wife.

  “What did Mama say to you?” she asked, settling happily back into Nick’s arms. He liked her there.

  Nick shook his head, smiled, and said, “She just wanted to welcome me to the family.” He twirled Lecie around a couple of times and laughed. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to dance with your father.”

  Lecie’s laughter pealed out and mingled pleasantly with the music.

  “What was his fatherly advice?” Nick asked, and then let out a little nervous laugh, adding, “‘It’s not too late to have him whacked.’?”

  “Hell, no!” she said sharply. “He wants to know when he’s going to hear some good news.” She glanced away shyly, her cheeks tainting crimson. “We’ve been married five minutes and he wants me knocked up already!”

  Camille, Tasha, and Nick—most of all Nick—were wearing off on Lecie. She was really starting to sound like an American. At least she was using more and more American slang.

  If Papa heard her say, knocked up, it would probably give him a heart attack.

  “Are you happy, Mrs. Matthews?” Nick asked.

  “I couldn’t be happier,” she said breathlessly.

  “Good.” He flashed her a dazzling smile and drew her closer. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “And you, Mr. Matthews?” she inquired. “Are you happy?”

  “From the moment you walked into my life.” He brushed his lips against hers with a light, teasing kiss. Just enough to leave her breathless, anticipating the honeymoon.

  Lecie had often looked upon her brothers over the last few years with envy. She not only envied the way they looked at their wives, but the way their wives looked at them in return. She’d never held out much hope that she might one day experience such joy. Lecie had always thought she’d have to live vicariously through her brothers.

  But thanks to their uncle Edouard Renault—who was indirectly responsible for her meeting Nick—fate had indeed smiled upon Lecie.

  She glanced up into her husband’s enthralling
brown eyes. The sound of it, my husband, made her giddy inside. But there in his eyes, she saw a deep, exhilarating love for her.

  He scooped her up in his arms, sweeping her off her feet. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “For what?” She giggled.

  He carried her past her parents, whose faces were filled with joy. On past Camille and Julian, Tasha and Andre, and the kids. Everyone had beaming smiles. “Say goodbye,” he said, as they headed inside the house.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice full of happiness.

  He carried her through the house and out the open front door. When he stopped at the limo waiting in the driveway, he said, “Our honeymoon.” He gave her a scandalous grin, then winked, saying, “We’ve got to practice.”

  She asked in an almost serious tone, “What are we practicing for?”

  “Making grandbabies!”

  *Thank you for reading the Billionaire Games trilogy. If you enjoyed these books, please think about leaving a review at Amazon, Barnes&Noble, and/or your favorite online retailer. Please turn the page for a preview of Crazy For You & Saving Katya by Sandra Edwards.*

  CRAZY FOR YOU

  by

  Sandra Edwards

  PROLOGUE

  1988

  New York City

  THE INTERVIEW WASN’T GOING WELL. Not from Roxanne’s point of view. She knew Lauren Weber’s reputation as a talk show host. In a word, barracuda said it all. This came as no surprise to Roxanne and now she wondered how she’d ever been talked into this.

  If Lauren’s guest had anything to hide, she had a way of tempting those skeletons out of the closet. And Roxanne had plenty to hide. Plenty that could tarnish her public image of sweet and innocent.

  This is all Walt’s fault. Roxanne’s publicist had convinced her it would be good publicity for the new movie. Initially, his argument had been a good one: Lauren Weber was the most popular talk show host around, and this would be a nice plug for the new movie since millions of people would see the clips.

  Walt had been adamant, so reluctantly, and against her better judgment, she’d agreed to let America’s favorite talk show host interview the renowned authoress-actress Roxanne Simon.

  “What can you tell us about Garrett-Hollander?” Lauren’s questioning voice brought Roxanne back to reality.

  She didn’t falter at the mention of the ever-popular rock band. “Well…” Roxanne said, “I don’t know what I could tell you that you don’t already know.”

  “Isn’t it true that you and your sister Candy knew them when they were nobody?”

  “I’ve never thought of Frank or Rich as nobody.”

  “Isn’t Frank Garrett the father of your son?”

  The audience reacted with a mixture of gasps and whispers.

  Roxanne laughed skeptically. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, his name is Frankie.”

  “Frank is my father’s name,” Roxanne said with all the repose expected of someone with two Best Actress Oscars under her belt.

  Lauren took on one of those looks that said she knew she was getting nowhere. But Roxanne wasn’t falling for that. Lauren Weber was regrouping. And Roxanne Simon would be ready.

  “Your latest movie,” Lauren said, changing the subject, “Bad Company was released last week and it’s doing well at the box office.” She paused briefly, allowing the audience time for applause. “And rumor has it that it’ll be nominated for multiple Academy Awards.”

  “Well…I think it’s a little early to be supposing about the Oscars,” Roxanne declared.

  “You’re no stranger to the Oscars,” Lauren said. “You’ve won awards before. Aren’t you getting used to collecting them by now?”

  “I’ll never get so used to it that I’ll take something like that for granted,” Roxanne said meekly of the Oscars. “I’m always grateful for any recognition of my work.”

  Roxanne was surprised at how cool she’d managed to remain. Lauren had invaded territory that was better left alone. Territory known for bringing out Roxanne’s weaknesses.

  “What’s next?” Lauren’s voice remained casual.

  “A vacation,” Roxanne said, and dropped it at that. The time had not come for the public to know she’d started working on her autobiography.

  “Devoting some time to your son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he here with you?”

  Apprehension bundled up inside Roxanne, but she wouldn’t lie. In the past, her lies had had a way of biting her on the butt. “Yes, he is.”

  “Could we bring him out?”

  Shit. Through the years, Roxanne had successfully protected Frankie from the press. Not one photograph of the child had ever been published in any newspaper or magazine, but America was going to get a look at him now.

  If Roxanne refused to let him come out, the audience would know she had something to hide. That news could get back to Frank. On the other hand, if she did let him come out, then Frank might see him. Yet there was no real choice in the matter. Refusing to bring him out would cause a much bigger fuss.

  “If he wants to come out,” Roxanne said. “But Ms. Weber…please understand—” Her tone issued an unmistakable warning. “I wouldn’t want his head filled with any foolish ideas.”

  That probably wouldn’t stop Lauren, but hopefully a sense of decency would. Lauren didn’t have to tell Frankie she thought Frank Garrett was his father to get her point across. The implication would be more than enough.

  Roxanne’s four-year-old son ran across the set and climbed into a chair that had been placed between the talk show host and her guest.

  Frankie looked at Roxanne for direction.

  “Hi, sweetie.” Roxanne smiled at the boy. “This is Ms. Weber. She wants to talk to you.”

  Frankie turned to Lauren and waited for her to say something.

  “Frankie…” Lauren’s tone, drenched in gentle persuasion, placed additional emphasis on his name. “Is there anyone out there in TV land that you’d like to say hello to?”

  Frankie nodded.

  Lauren pointed to the right. “Just look into the camera over there, and say whatever you want.”

  Frankie peered at the camera and waved. “Hi, Aunt Candy. I’m on TV.” His upper lip twitched slightly to one side—a trait all too familiar for Roxanne.

  Lauren smiled. “And what a lovely child he is. I’d say there’s a striking resemblance.” She paused. “Wouldn’t you?” She topped off her declaration with a triumphant stare straight into the eye of the camera.

  The damage was done. Anybody with eyes could see that Lauren wasn’t speaking of any resemblance between mother and child. Frankie’s locks, curly and black, were far from Roxanne’s straight chestnut-brown hair. Nothing about his piercing baby blues resembled Roxanne’s unusual eyes shaded the color of purple violets. No, it was clear—Frankie didn’t resemble his mother at all.

  After filming the show, Roxanne and Frankie went home to their apartment overlooking Central Park. Candy had left for Florida the day before, at Roxanne’s insistence, and now Roxanne was wondering what she’d been thinking.

  Heading to Florida—a place she hadn’t been in five years—wasn’t Roxanne’s idea. If she’d had her way, she would have chosen to never set foot in the state again. But Jerry, her psychiatrist, had said she’d never be free of her demons if she didn’t face them. And that meant returning to Florida for an extended stay.

  Well, at least she could nip this Lauren Weber fiasco in the butt before she left. Sure, Lauren’s audience had seen Frankie, but if Roxanne could keep the whole of America from getting a firsthand look at him, she had to try.

  Inside her bedroom, Roxanne carelessly tossed her clothes inside her suitcase while holding the telephone against her ear with her shoulder. “I do not want it aired.”

  “They won’t go for it,” Walt said with a measure of regret in his tone. “What they’ve got is too hot.”

  “Well, threaten them then.�
� She cradled the receiver in her hand while various scenarios, all of them revenge oriented and involving Frank, wreaked havoc in her mind. “Tell them they’ll never get another interview from anyone even remotely associated with Simon Productions. Ever again.”

  “Roxanne, I tried. They don’t care.” His words were kind, and draped in a sympathetic tone, but they missed the mark. “It’s going to air in a couple of weeks.”

  “A couple of weeks…?” Nothing could lessen that blow. “Why so soon?”

  “Rox…” Walt said. “They aren’t going to let this one sit on the back burner. Just go on to Florida and let the whole thing blow over.”

  Blow up was more like it. “Okay,” Roxanne agreed in a defeated tone. She slammed the phone down, but continued to stare at it. Lauren Weber had managed to turn her world upside-down. “Bitch.”

  A Few Days Later

  Florida

  Roxanne’s red Porsche sailed down the highway. With the convertible top down, her hair flew recklessly around her head and she’d reach up from time to time to push it out of her face.

  Approaching Tampa, she checked the radio to see if she could pick up Y-95. The station had been a favorite of hers. After a few twists of the dial, the hard-rocking sounds of J Geils poured out from the speakers. As the band serenaded her with their wit about how much Love Stinks, she said softly, “Boy, does it ever.”

  Ten minutes later, she passed the Welcome to Tampa sign, stirring a familiar excitement within her. Yesterday, returning to Florida was the last thing she wanted. But now, surprisingly, coming home felt good. Of course, the new house probably had a little something to do with that. She’d never laid eyes on it, outside of photographs, but she already loved it.

  After Jerry had convinced her she needed to go back to Florida, for her own sanity, she’d been so scared that Frank was going to magically appear from out of nowhere that she bought the house through a service. She knew the floor plan inside and out, even though she’d never set foot in the place.