Bad Billionaires Box Set

by Elise Faber

  “Enough,” Colin said, sitting back down on the arm of the chair. “Let me make this easy on you. Your money is safe, but the only way you’ll see another pound is if you get the hell out of this house and never come back.”

  “You can’t cut us out of the business’s profits,” Lana said, chiming in at precisely the wrong time. Especially when she wasn’t tempering her tone with any of the falseness her mother had adopted. Her expression was predatory and calculating.

  Colin’s smile in response was wolfish. “Oh, but I can.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  He shrugged as if to say, Wouldn’t I? and the smug expression on Lana’s face slipped.

  “Now, you can enjoy your fat inheritance far, far away from here in the home I bought for you or buy one in another bloody country for all I care, but neither of you will ever be welcome in this house again.”

  “But—”

  Joanne bustled in, a tray heaped with food held aloft. “Hungry, dears?”

  “No,” Lana and Bridget snapped.

  “Great,” Colin said, tilting his head toward the open door. “Then you can finish packing your things.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Colin

  A few weeks later, Colin rode out from the stables atop of his black gelding, Bowen, heading in the direction of the outer edge of his property. He knew that CeCe had probably ended up there even though his groom had told him she’d started that morning in the opposite direction.

  His woman was a creature of habit, enjoying a morning walk or ride before spending her afternoon hours sketching—via paper or electronic tablet, depending on if she was working for Abby at RoboTech or creating something for her own enjoyment.

  The little grassy knoll was her favorite spot, a place where the rolling green hills gave way to a jagged outcropping of rock. The ocean beat against the shore far below, salt-tinged air wafting up the cliffside to tangle her hair and muss the pages of her sketchbook.

  God. He couldn’t wait to see her.

  He’d been in Edinburgh for the past few days, tying up a few projects before they headed off to winter in the Southern Hemisphere.

  Bali, Fiji, New Zealand, and Australia were all on CeCe’s travel list.

  The wind sliced right through his clothes as he rounded the stables and he decided that spending the coldest part of the year somewhere warm sounded damn good at that moment.

  Joanne waved him down as he rode past the front door.

  He stopped, bent to take the basket she held up to him. She tsked. “Cecelia didn’t take lunch with her.”

  Colin shook his head, knowing the woman he loved had gotten carried away with sketching again. “I’ll make sure she eats.”

  “Every bite.”

  A serious nod. “Of course.”

  Joanne smiled. “You’re a good boy, Colin.”

  He secured the basket then took off at a gallop. Almost a week apart was way too much time.

  Her spot appeared in less than twenty minutes and his breath caught. He shook his head, trying to clear it when all he could concentrate on was CeCe in front of him with long, long legs encased in tight denim. Her back was toward him, red curls flying in the breeze, and when she turned to face him, the warmth in her gaze set his heart pounding.

  “Hey,” she said, once he’d jumped from Bo’s back and tied his reins on a nearby log.

  She stood, calmly stroking Abharsair’s—Devil in English, Ab for short—neck. Ab had technically been his sister’s horse, but he was so ill-tempered—part because of his personality and part because Lana hadn’t taken the time to train him properly—that he wouldn’t let anyone but CeCe ride him.

  She’d tamed the horse with sweet words and a few sugar cubes and now he was devoted to Cecelia.

  Colin’s lips twitched. She managed to inspire that feeling a lot. Joanne, Ab, her friends. Him.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, coming over and slipping an arm around her waist. Ab tolerated a pat on his forehead before turning away with an expression that bordered on disgust when Colin kissed her.

  “I missed you,” she said, turning in his arms and hugging him tight.

  “Hardly,” he teased. “Joanne told me that you’ve been so busy working and sketching that you haven’t eaten.

  A guilty expression crossed her face.

  “I—”

  He tugged her toward Bowen and unstrapped the basket. “I’m to make sure you eat every bite.”

  She laughed before leading him back over to her blanket and shoving her drawing materials to the side. “With Joanne’s cooking, I’m sure that won’t be difficult.”

  He held up a croissant with a smile. “Especially when she packs your favorites?”

  She snatched it from his fingers, flopping back onto the blanket and taking a huge bite. Her words were slightly muffed. “I’m going to get fat”—she chewed and swallowed—“And I can’t even find the energy to care, not when Joanne makes me homemade croissants every day.”

  “Careful, you don’t choke,” he said, lips twitching. “I kind of want to keep you around.”

  “Meh,” she joked. “You’ll just find another redhead.

  Colin snorted and grabbed an apple from the basket, shifting when CeCe moved to rest her head on his thighs. They stayed like that, eating and they stared out at the cliffs and ocean and—

  “For the record, I like your spot.”

  She’d finished the croissant and had closed her eyes. “Hmm?” she asked. Apparently, she’d been dozing while he’d been staring.

  He bent to press a kiss to her lips.

  “Nothing, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.” Colin brushed his fingers through her hair, watching as the woman he loved fell asleep on his lap, knowing that they were lucky to have more time together, knowing that he’d cherish every single second—heartfelt or teasing or otherwise.

  Knowing that he had the other half of his soul in his arms.

  And he wasn’t letting her go.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Colin, six months later

  He was sitting in the waiting room of a hospital when Cecilia burst through the doors, a huge smile on her face. “It’s a girl!”

  She launched herself into his arms, kissing him soundly on the mouth. “Abby had a perfect little girl.”

  Colin stole her lips for another kiss. “How are they?”

  “Tired. But healthy and resting.” She pushed herself up from his lap. “We should go relieve Bec. She might not do delivery rooms, but I’m sure Hunter and Carter are running her ragged.”

  He smiled, having just spoken with Bec only a half hour before. CeCe’s friend was being run ragged, but she’d also been in on his plan and enthusiastically for it. “I was thinking,” he said and held out a gold ring. On it was an obscenely large diamond surrounded by emeralds that matched Cecilia’s eyes. “We haven’t exactly had the best of luck with planning weddings, so maybe we should go to Vegas instead?”

  Her jaw dropped open. “Are you serious?”

  A nod.

  “I—oh, my God. Col!” Tears streaked down her cheeks, but she eventually managed a “Yes” and let him slip the ring on her finger.

  “How mad do you think your friends will be to miss it?” He nodded in the direction of the door that lead back to where Abby, Jordan, and Seraphina were sequestered.

  “Furious.” Cecilia grinned. “But I don’t care.” She threw her arms around his neck and stole another kiss. “We’ve waited long enough for this, baby. Let’s do it.”

  The jet was ready and waiting, so he just grabbed his woman’s hand and led her out to the waiting car.

  “Should we stop by the house and pack some clothes?” she asked when they’d buckled in.

  Colin pointed to the trunk. “All taken care of.”

  Cecilia’s brows pulled together. “Really? Did you pack me underwear?”

  “You doubt me?”

  A huff. “How many pairs?”

  “Bec packed it for
me.”

  Her face relaxed. “Oh. So, at the hospital, why did you ask—?”

  “I didn’t want you to miss out on anything you might want.” He cupped her cheek and rested his forehead against hers. “After all we’ve been through, you deserve everything you could ever dream of.”

  “We deserve,” she said. “We deserve a happily ever after.” A beat. “And the only thing I dream of is a future with you. That’s what’s important. Not some silly fantasy, but the fact that I love you with every part of my being.”

  Her chest was rising and falling in rapid breaths, teasing his lips, and Colin gave in to the urge to kiss her.

  He never had any hope of resisting anyway.

  Cecilia tasted as sweet as ever, as intoxicating as a bottle of whiskey, and fuck did he love kissing this woman.

  But eventually, and as much as it pained him, he had to take his hands off his woman.

  “We’re here, sir,” the driver said with a cough.

  CeCe jumped in his arms and pulled back, the tops of her cheeks stained pink.

  “You see our need for Vegas,” he told the driver then chuckled when CeCe smacked him across the chest. “Come on.” He snagged her wrist and tugged her up the stairs to the plane. “Let’s get married.”

  It turned out that though Bec had helped him keep his plan from Cecilia, she hadn’t kept it a secret from the rest of their friends.

  Case in point, Heather.

  Who was standing outside the chapel he’d reserved, phone in hand and three tiny female faces crammed into the screen on the other side.

  “Don’t mind me,” his business partner said, pointing the phone at them while the interfering hens cackled through the airwaves.

  He narrowed his eyes at Bec. “You promised.”

  An unrepentant shrug. “We’ll hang up if you guys really want us to, but we love her and need to see her happy.”

  “You’re nosy,” he said.

  “That’s true.” Another shrug. “But also the other. We want CeCe to be happy.”

  Sighing, he turned to the woman who would soon be his wife. She was radiantly happy.

  “Do you mind?” she asked. “It’s kind of perfect that they’re here this way.”

  As if he could ever deny her anything.

  He pointed his thumb in the direction of the door. “I guess you ladies are witnessing a wedding.”

  They squealed as he held open the door for Cecilia and Heather.

  “But you’ll be witnessing it with the volume all the way down.”

  Heather smirked, adjusting her phone so the noise coming through the speakers wasn’t ear-piercing, then twisted her thumb and forefinger in front of her mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

  He shook his head as his fingers found Cecilia’s. “I love you,” he whispered, “and can’t wait for you to be my wife.”

  “Awww!” the peanut gallery’s sighs were audible despite the low volume on Heather’s phone.

  Colin rolled his eyes. “Really?”

  “Shh, guys,” Heather said. “Or you’ll get us kicked out.”

  CeCe gave him a smile that hit him right in the gut. “Let’s go grab our happy ending, shall we?”

  Bad Husband

  Billionaire’s Club Book 3

  Chapter One

  Heather

  Heather sniffed and swiped a finger under each eye as Colin and CeCe drove off in their car.

  “So, the master businesswoman known as Heather O’Keith has real human emotions?”

  She stiffened, whipping around to glare at Clay Steele, successful businessman, rival entrepreneur, and sexy as fuck male . . . despite the awful porn star name.

  “I have plenty of feelings,” she snapped. “Just because I don’t make a practice of showing them in my fucking boardroom doesn’t make me less of a woman.”

  Clay’s stare drifted down and then back up. “Anyone who says you’re not a woman has lost their fucking mind.”

  Heather froze.

  Had he—?

  Had the man who’d done nothing but dog her steps in the business world, who made it a point of tormenting her by stealing clients and undercutting bids, had he just complimented her?

  How in the . . .?

  Then she saw the glassy look in his eyes.

  Ah. Drunk.

  “You’ve had a few too many,” she said, waving a hand to signal the town car parked at the corner. Of all the things that came along with busting her ass to have a flush bank account, having enough money to afford a personal driver was a perk that she really enjoyed.

  “So?” he asked, not quite belligerent but close.

  Idiot man. But she’d seen way too many of them in this situation to be the least bit cowed. “I hope you’re not an angry drunk.”

  “No.” Both brows came up, waggled. “I’m a horny one.”

  Despite herself, she chuckled. “With a porn star name like yours, I’m not surprised.”

  “Hey!” he said and followed her when she strode toward her car, the back door now conveniently open. “I’ll have you know, my name is a family one, passed down generation by glorious generation.”

  A roll of her eyes as she pushed through the open door, plunking down on the plush leather seat. “Maybe so. But you’re still drunk.”

  His expression sobered enough that she stopped short of slamming the metal panel on his head.

  Didn’t stop her from wanting to do it, though.

  His next words made her regret the thought. “Rough day for me today.”

  Dammit. Why did he have to go and show that he had a human side? Heather wanted to loathe him, not have sympathy for the man.

  Clay seemed to realize he’d said too much and so he stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He tilted his chin in the direction Colin and CeCe’s car had disappeared. “Who were they?”

  “Friends.” No. At this point they were family.

  “Ah.” One of his hands exited his pocket and shoved through his hair, leaving the thick brown locks mussed. Not that it detracted from the image. Rather, it made Clay Steele appear slightly more human instead of his typical.

  Which was godlike.

  Tall, broad in the shoulders, lean in the hips, with chocolate-colored hair and unusually vibrant mocha irises.

  He’d been in her mental spank bank for months.

  “I’d give a lot to have one of those again.”

  His words made her frown in confusion before she realized she’d spoken aloud, though thankfully about CeCe and Colin being more than friends, and not about her tendency to masturbate to the image of Clay bending her over the bed, pinning her against a wall, grabbing her by the ankles and—

  “A family?” she asked, blinking the images away.

  “Yeah.” A sigh as he turned for the sidewalk. “See you at the next convention, O’Keith.”

  “Wait!” Acting on an instinct she didn’t want to examine too closely, Heather put one foot out of the car, reached to snag his wrist, and hauled him to a stop. “Let me at least take you back to your hotel.”

  “I’m getting drunk,” he said but allowed her to pull him inside the sedan so her driver could shut the door behind them.

  “You’re already drunk,” she said.

  He stiffened. “More drunk.”

  “Fine,” she said, half-worried he was going to launch himself from the car. She’d never seen Clay like this. Usually he was so cold and uncompromising, impenetrable, even under the toughest of negotiations. He was . . . well, he was typically as Steele-like as his last name decreed.

  She wrapped her arm through his to prevent any unplanned exits from the vehicle and gave the driver the name of her favorite bar. “If you really want to drink, let’s do it right.”

  And then she’d drop him at his hotel.

  Except it didn’t happen that way.

  Yes, they hit the bar.

  Yes, they drank.

  Yes, they got plastered.

  But then they woke up . . . or at
least, Heather woke up.

  Naked.

  With a softly snoring Clay Steele passed out next to her in bed.

  That wasn’t the worst part.

  Because Heather woke up naked with a softly snoring Clay Steele in her bed and she was wearing a giant diamond ring on her left hand.

  Still not the worst part.

  That came in the form of a slightly crumpled marriage certificate tucked under her right cheek.

  And not the one on her face.

  She pulled it from beneath her, a cold sweat breaking out over her body, dread in every nerve and cell.

  She still wasn’t prepared for the horror she found.

  The marriage license had been signed by . . . Heather O’Keith and Clay Steele.

  Holy fuck, what had she done?

  Chapter Two

  Clay

  He woke with a splitting headache, a mouth as dry as the Sahara, and . . . completely naked.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, rolling over on the mattress and testing the severity of his hangover by slitting his lids the tiniest bit.

  Pain blared through his skull.

  “Fuck,” he said again and slammed them closed.

  Noted. His hangover was at DEFCON 1.

  Not a surprise, considering what day it was.

  Clay kept his eyes closed and pushed up in bed. His muscles ached like he’d run a marathon. Or . . . he supposed he’d fucked one.

  That was his typical M.O. on this particular anniversary.

  His closed eyes were probably why he didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t even in his own hotel room. But between the pounding in his head and the increasingly pressing urge to take a piss, he didn’t notice either one of those critical facts.

  Another “Fuck,” to emphasize the fact that his body felt—and not that he would ever admit such a thing to any other living soul, but his heart felt the same—like it had been run over by a train.

  “Is that the only word in your repertoire?”

  Clay went ramrod stiff, his eyes flying open to send lightning strikes of agony through his brain. He knew that voice.