Wicked Billionaire

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Your family doesn’t like me very much,” I lament.

  Declan shrugs. “They’re assholes. I can’t help that.”

  I want to laugh, but it would be grossly inappropriate. But Declan gives me no chance because he turns to Madison and says, “I want you to hear me when I say I will never give this marriage a second chance. If you do not sign the documents today, I will see you in court. And I am not going to offer you the generous payout I did within those documents. I’m going to drag you through a painful court battle.”

  Apparently, money is what talks with Madison as she starts to backpedal. “Declan… I did not mean any offense—”

  Declan holds his hand up, cutting her off. “I’m done playing, Madison. And the reason I’m done is that you hurt the woman I love by coming here, and I simply cannot tolerate that. So sign the fucking documents, or I’ll see you in court.”

  There goes that buzzing sound again. The same thing happened earlier today when Madison told me that she was Declan’s wife. I suspect it’s a massive rushing of blood into my head from receiving a shock. It’s an even greater and more intense feeling to try to process the fact Declan just said he loves me.

  And he didn’t even say it to me. He said it to Madison.

  Admittedly, it’s kind of sexy he did it that way. Declan looks over to his father. “I’m sorry you came all this way, Father. But you have no control over what I do. I love Bailey, and I intend to be with her if she’ll have me. Either get on board with it or cut me out of your life—I don’t give a fuck which you choose.”

  I want to see how the great Alexander Blackwood is taking being put in his place.

  But Declan’s hands on my face force me to meet his eyes. “You know the truth of it now, Bailey. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my marriage, and I hope you can forgive me.”

  And then, to my shock, Declan turns for the door. He strides across the suite, leaving me behind with two awful and horrid people.

  The message is clear… the ball is in my court.

  I bolt after Declan, not saying anything to Alexander or Madison Blackwood. At this point, I hope I never see them again.

  I have to break into a run to catch up to Declan, and I come to a skidding halt that requires him to reach out and steady me.

  Tipping my head back, I look up. “You love me?”

  “More than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire life,” he says solemnly.

  And I believe him.

  “I’m really sorry you were hurt, Bailey. I can imagine a thousand different scenarios on how it must’ve gone when Madison told you she was my wife. Every single one had to have been crushing to you. I have half a mind to go back in there and strangle her just for that because I know how vindictive she can be. But please believe me… She is nothing to me. But you are everything, and I need you in my life. Can you forgive me?” he asks, and it breaks my heart to see how scared he is as he waits for my answer.

  “In a million years, I never thought I would find out someone I was dating was married and forgive them so easily,” I muse with a small smile. “But this happens to be such an occasion. I get why you didn’t tell me. And yes, I forgive you.”

  Declan makes a sound from deep within his chest. It sounds like a prayer of gratitude. Suddenly, his mouth is on mine as he kisses me. Hands diving in my hair and gripping me hard on the off chance I change my mind and try to slip away.

  I kiss him back with all I have within me, needing him to know I feel the same way about him that he does about me.

  No, I need more than his kiss. I need to give him the words.

  Pushing my hands in between us, I give him a solid push. It breaks the kiss. His eyes are blazing as he questioningly regards me.

  “I love you, Declan. So much.”

  He grins, sliding his hand around the back of my neck and gripping it. “Let’s get out of here, okay? We have lots to talk about.”

  I nod in understanding.

  We have the rest of our lives—our future—to discuss.

  EPILOGUE

  Declan

  My commute home from the construction site of the new Blackwood resort takes about thirty minutes, and it’s a good way to decompress at the end of the day. I don’t like bringing any negative shit home to Bailey.

  We’ve both acclimated reasonably well to the San Francisco area over the last six months. Frankly, my life has never been better.

  That’s all Bailey, of course.

  The fact she took the leap by agreeing to follow me makes me the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. It was hard for her to leave her parents, but they were instrumental in getting her to go. Her dad stepped up to the plate, promising he had everything in hand with her mother. I told her that she could fly back whenever she wanted.

  And when it came time to find a place for us to live, I decided on an actual house instead of renting an apartment during the construction phase of the Blackwood. Well, not a house—more like a mansion that comes complete with a guesthouse in the back on the far side of the pool, which means her parents can visit whenever and as long as they want while still having their privacy.

  Okay, so we can have our privacy. Given the fact we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other, it’s just best her parents stay in the guesthouse when they visit.

  Leonie is in California as well. She chose a beautiful retirement community not far from our house, and she comes to dinner a few times a week. She’s met a man at the retirement home, almost ten years her junior, and I tease her relentlessly about it. She insists he’s just a friend, but the way she blushes tells me otherwise. Then I’ll see her share a look with Bailey, and I know she’s told Bailey more about him than she would share with me. I, in turn, hound Bailey to give me details, but she refuses, citing the rule that women must have some secrets amongst themselves.

  I think that’s bullshit, but whatever.

  We live in a gated community, and the security guard opens the rolling gate to let me through with a jaunty wave. I drive my Porsche along the gorgeously landscaped streets to our home and into the three-car garage. The Range Rover I bought Bailey is there, and, yes, that only came after a series of arguments. She protested she had a perfectly workable car, and she didn’t need anything else. I wasn’t sure the damn thing would survive the trip from Vegas, so we had a pretty spirited fight over it.

  In case it wasn’t clear, I won, and I played dirty to get the victory. It may have had something to do with heavy-handed foreplay and a refusal to let her come until she agreed to it, but I regret nothing.

  Truth be told, she doesn’t either. It was a fucking spectacular orgasm.

  I enter through the mudroom, which leads into the kitchen. Something smells delicious, but I can’t quite place it. Bailey is a fucking fantastic cook, and she works hard to have dinner ready for me when I get home. It seems sort of old-fashioned, but she insists on doing it since she’s at home.

  But fuck… she’s working her ass off at home. Not only is she still operating as my assistant—albeit working remotely from the house—but she’s also started an online MBA program. She’s not sure what she wants to do with it, but if I have any say, she’s going to have a spot at Blackwood.

  Bailey’s not in the kitchen, but her laptop is on the island counter. I dump my car keys and phone there, intent on finding her, but as I’m walking through the great room, movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention.

  In the backyard, she kneels in one of the flower beds bordering the pool, pulling weeds. I take a moment to watch because she’s fucking adorable and hot at the same time. She has on a wide-brimmed hat to protect her skin from the sun, a t-shirt smeared with dirt on the front, and tiny shorts that bare the bottoms of her ass cheeks as she bends to pull little green shoots.

  I don’t think she’s out there weeding to help beautify our backyard. Bailey doesn’t have a green thumb, and she despises outdoor work. She’s happy to let the yard maintenance people handle this shit each wee
k.

  But I do recognize that expression. A minor amount of consternation, a bit of daydreaming, and a hefty amount of determination.

  Bailey has her thinking cap on. I know it well.

  I move to the double French doors that lead onto the patio. The minute I step out, she hears me and twists around.

  I get a smile before she returns to weeding. “Hey you.”

  “What has your pretty head all tied up in knots?” I ask as I walk across the concrete toward her. More insecure men might get riled up by such a short, dismissive greeting, but not me. I can tell Bailey’s preoccupied, and it’s nothing personal.

  She huffs out a breath and sits back on her heels, her smile turning wry. “How is it you always get me?”

  I shrug as I sit on the edge of a chaise lounge. “It’s beyond me at times. So what’s wrong?”

  Bailey shakes her head as if she’s not quite sure, but attempts to explain. “I’m working on my organizational behavior project, and I don’t think my outcome is correct.”

  “Well,” I say in a somewhat suggestive tone. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap, and we’ll discuss it?”

  Bailey smirks with a slight eye roll. “If I sit on your lap, my problem will not get discussed. It’s entirely possible dinner will also get burned because we’ll lose track of time.”

  She would not be wrong about either of those things.

  And as much as I would love to lose myself in between Bailey’s legs, I’d rather help her with her problem and eat a good meal she worked hard on. I stand from the chaise, then hold a hand out. “Let’s go inside. We’ll talk while we finish getting dinner ready.”

  Her eyes light up with pleasure at my suggestion. She tugs off the gardening gloves, tossing them on the pile of discarded weeds. I’ll come out later to clean up for her.

  I haul her up to a standing position, rewarded with a better greeting in the form of a sweet kiss. Because I’m lecherous when she’s standing so close to me, I squeeze her ass as she pulls her mouth away and gives a tinkling laugh over my bold move.

  I grin, take her hand, and lead her into the house.

  This has pretty much been my life since we moved out here. Bailey and I are pictures of domestic bliss. The days of sex clubs are behind us. Her insecurities and trust issues have been resolved. We both work hard. When that is done for the day, there’s no place we want to be other than in each other’s presence.

  It’s usually sharing a great meal together, often with a glass of wine. More conversation out on the patio, sometimes with more wine. Occasionally, we’ll drink decaf coffee.

  Always, we end up passionately wearing ourselves out in each other’s arms.

  It’s the same routine… over and over again, yet, it just gets better and better. My favorite part of the day is walking in the door and seeing Bailey’s smile, be it dismissive because something is weighing her down, or a wide, happy-to-see-me smile.

  Inside, Bailey washes her hands, tosses her big floppy hat on the table, and starts to put our dinner together. I grab a bottle of red from a built-in wine rack, then uncork it. We chat about her organizational behavior class as she describes the problem. Within ten minutes, we’re seated at the window-nook table, tapping our glasses before carving into a gorgeous pork roast with rosemary potatoes and side salads.

  Something I suggest triggers Bailey, and she takes off on an excited ramble about how she might solve the problem. I nod along, but I don’t need to offer anymore. She has it, the wheels in her head practically smoking.

  It’s ridiculous how fucking charmed I am at how her brain works. I’ve seen it time and time again as she helps me with the business and does her schoolwork, but it doesn’t get old.

  It’s over-the-top crazy how much I fucking love her.

  How I want to tie her to me so she can never leave.

  “I need you to wait here just a second,” I say, cutting Bailey off mid-sentence as she prattles on about modifying compensation structures or some shit.

  She blinks. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

  “Good,” I say, sliding out of my chair. “I just need to grab something.”

  “Oh-kay,” she drawls hesitantly, a slight gleam in her eye hinting she thinks I may have lost my mind. She cuts a small bite of pork roast and places it in her mouth, then makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Go get whatever you need.”

  “On it,” I say with a grin, then move quickly through the great room to our master suite. I head straight to our closet, which is as big as most people’s bedrooms, and to a drawer that houses my socks. I reach into the back, feeling around until my fingers find the velvet jewelry box I’d stuck in there almost two weeks ago.

  I pull it out, open it, and stare at the huge yellow teardrop diamond engagement ring. It’s almost six carats and ostentatious.

  But I couldn’t fucking help myself. It was the perfect ring, and I bought it on the spot.

  My trip to the jewelry store came immediately on the heels of my attorney sending me an email with the signed divorce documents. Unfortunately, Madison did not immediately roll over and sign the documents, so I’d been forced to battle her in court. I’m not quite sure what her end game was because we had a solid pre-nup in place. In the end, she ended up getting less than what I initially offered her. I think it was pure spite, since she knew the longer she dragged it out, the longer it would take for me to be truly free to be with Bailey.

  I also suspected my parents—particularly my father—might have been egging her on a bit. They still haven’t quite forgiven me for dating a “commoner.” At least that’s what my mom said in a text not long after the day when my dad and Madison tried to double team me.

  I simply replied to my mother’s text that commoner wasn’t an appropriate term, and I hoped she would refrain from using it in front of the children I intended to have with Bailey.

  Because yes, even back then, all those months ago, I knew I’d marry Bailey and we’d have a home filled with children’s laughter.

  I snap the jewelry box closed. I’d planned on doing this in a hugely romantic way. My first thought was to take her to Germany, which is a bucket list destination for her. Or perhaps a tropical paradise where I could get down on one knee on the beach.

  But suddenly… tonight… right now… it’s time. Because that joyful meal I just spent with her, talking about her problems, laughing with her over silly things, and eating food she made because she loves me… there can’t be a better time.

  Bailey’s still at the table, spearing a potato as I walk in. She tilts her head, giving me a curious look.

  I don’t hesitate at all because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I stride right up to her, go down on one knee beside her chair, and try not to laugh as her eyes flare wide with realization.

  With a flourish, I produce the ring box on the palm of one hand and open it.

  Her eyes drop slowly to the ring, then rise to meet mine.

  “Bailey… I wanted to do this a bit more romantically, but sitting here tonight while having dinner with you was the perfect metaphor for all the reasons why we shouldn’t wait. You and I have built a beautiful life together these last several months, and it just keeps getting better and better. But I want that final commitment between us. I want the world to know you are Bailey Blackwood. I want you by my side in all ways, especially in the most important… as my wife. I love you more than anything in this world. Will you give me that last thing I’m missing and marry me?”

  “Yes,” she screams, flinging herself at me. The box and ring go flying out of my hand, I think clattering under the stools at the island bar. Her arms lock hard around my neck as mine wind around her waist. She smacks a hard kiss to my mouth. “Yes, yes, yes. I wanted to say ‘yes’ the minute you knelt, but I figured you’d have a good speech, so I decided to let you finish it. And I never thought—”

  I kiss her, mainly to shut her up, having gotten the only answer I need. Frankly, she feels
so good in my arms, I need her mouth, too.

  Her tongue slips into my mouth, her fingers dive into my hair, and the kiss turns from one of joy and happiness we are now engaged, to hot passion that needs an outlet. I shove up from my kneeling position, taking Bailey with me.

  She gives a yelp of a surprise then locks her legs around me. I plop her ass on the island counter, trying to figure the best way to get her shorts off. For a moment, I consider the ring lying on the floor that cost me nearly a hundred thousand dollars, but I figure it’s not going anywhere.

  We can get it after I’m finished showing her just how much I love her.

  Later.

  Much later.

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  About the Author

  New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author Sawyer Bennett uses real life experience to create relatable stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From contemporary romance, fantasy romance, and both women’s and general fiction, Sawyer writes something for just about everyone.

  A former trial lawyer from North Carolina, when she is not bringing fiction to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to her very adorable daughter, as well as full-time servant to her wonderfully naughty dogs.