The Billionaire's Trophy

by Lynne Graham

  The helicopter flew in low and fast and began to land. Emmie didn’t move a muscle. She did try to cross her legs casually beneath her white cotton sundress but her large tummy got in the way and she had to forget that pose. Bastian leapt from the helicopter into view, black hair ruffled by the breeze, lean powerful body taut as he strode across the lawn to join her, his striking black-fringed dark golden eyes seeking Emmie out where she sat in the shade. As always, he was gorgeous, she conceded helplessly. She had only to look at his tense bone structure to guess that he knew about the photograph and was in an understandably wary frame of mind.

  ‘You look so serene and beautiful sitting there, khriso mou,’ Bastian imparted huskily, his attention lingering to take in the rich golden gleam of her hair and the glow of her delicate English-rose complexion in contrast to her bright blue eyes.

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Emmie quipped.

  ‘I flew straight back when I saw that photo...I gather you’ve seen it?’ An ebony brow quirked enquiringly.

  Emmie nodded, reluctantly impressed that he had jumped right into the issue without trying to avoid it or fake an innocence that she would never have believed.

  ‘Aside of the fact that Nessa was with me throughout the evening, the photo was a definite stitch-up,’ Bastian complained with a sardonic look. ‘Probably set up by Lilah and taken by one of her friends. Lilah revels in provoking press attention and speculation.’

  Emmie parted stiff lips, her hands clasped together tightly below the level of the table. ‘You do look happy to be with her,’ she remarked flatly.

  ‘After the way Lilah behaved when we broke up I no longer even like her,’ Bastian countered drily. ‘But I have too much respect for her family to cut her dead in public and I see no reason to embarrass myself or her by parading our differences. If I’m happy now it’s because I have you in my life.’

  ‘I’d never have guessed I mattered that much to you,’ Emmie confided uncomfortably, sitting very still and unconvinced, her shoulders as rigid as her spine.

  A rueful smile briefly curled Bastian’s wide sensual mouth. ‘I’m so terrified of losing you again you wouldn’t believe it.’

  Emmie blinked. ‘I don’t believe it...you, terrified?’

  ‘Totally,’ Bastian confirmed, staring down at her from his considerable height with steady, dark, serious eyes. ‘When you went missing while I was still abroad I went crazy. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think of anything but you. And when I did get back to London I couldn’t believe that stupid note you left was all you had to say to me.’

  ‘I didn’t think I had anything to say to you that you had enough interest to want to hear,’ Emmie admitted uneasily. ‘I wasn’t going to hang myself out on a limb for you after you said that all we had going for us was sex.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that...I very much regret saying that,’ Bastian emphasised on the back of a groan. ‘But to be frank, I didn’t really appreciate what you meant to me until you vanished.’

  ‘Oh?’ Emmie was glued to every word falling from his lips, scarcely breathing while she listened.

  Bastian leant back against one of the supporting stone pillars that held up the roof over the terrace, his gaze veiled, his lean muscular length taut with tension. ‘Then I didn’t feel anything like I should have felt for Lilah. I know that now. I shouldn’t have even considered marrying her when I felt nothing for her, but for a long time I honestly thought that that was the best way to be in a relationship.’

  ‘If you’re an inanimate object and not a person,’ Emmie suggested wryly.

  ‘I thought if there was no emotion involved I would see more clearly and choose a wife more wisely,’ Bastian confessed and then frowned, black brows lacing together. ‘And we know how well that turned out! Lilah may have wanted me mainly for my status and wealth but even she deserved better than a fiancé who couldn’t have cared less when she broke the engagement and took up with another man.’

  ‘But she must have known that it was more a...er practical marriage than a meeting of souls,’ Emmie commented tightly, thinking what a hypocrite she could be, for she had been wonderfully reassured by Bastian’s assurance that he didn’t even like Lilah any more and it was obvious that he could no longer see what virtues he had once assumed the other woman possessed.

  ‘I was never really happy with her...I didn’t stop noticing other women either,’ Bastian admitted reluctantly. ‘I didn’t do anything about it, I was faithful while I was still with her but I imagine that I would have strayed eventually.’

  ‘Then you weren’t right for each other.’ Emmie sighed. ‘What would have been the point of getting married?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Bastian agreed, shooting her a smouldering smile. ‘I’m so different with you. I don’t like other men looking at you and I certainly have no desire to look at other women. I can’t stand not knowing where you are and what you’re doing. I want to be sure you’ll answer your phone when I call. I want to know you’re living in my home and that you’ll raise our children there with me. I also want to know that you’re truly mine.’

  ‘Yours?’ Emmie questioned. ‘In what way do you want me to be yours?’

  ‘In the most basic way that a man and a woman can belong to each other,’ Bastian retorted, digging into his pocket to produce something, which he extended.

  Emmie blinked at the spectacle of the huge diamond solitaire ring that he was offering her. ‘Er...what’s this?’

  ‘You’re bright enough to work it out,’ Bastian teased. ‘But it’s going to be the shortest engagement on record because I intend to add a wedding ring to your finger as soon as possible.’

  Emmie stiffened, facial muscles setting tight. ‘I don’t want you to feel you have to marry me because it’s what your family expect of you,’ she told him squarely.

  ‘I knew they’d stick their oar in if they could but this has nothing to do with my family. This,’ Bastian declared, lifting her slender hand to thread the diamond ring onto her engagement finger, ‘is all about me and you and how I feel about you. I can’t stand you being away from me.’

  ‘Maybe you’re just possessive,’ Emmie remarked.

  ‘I can’t sleep when you’re not there.’

  ‘It’s sex you miss,’ Emmie contended heavily, refusing to be convinced by his transformation.

  Bastian swore under his breath and lifted her up to face him. ‘Stop being grumpy and difficult,’ he instructed. ‘Somehow I fell madly in love with you and now you’ve become so much a part of my life that I can’t imagine it without you. It’s got nothing to do with you being pregnant either—that’s simply a wonderful added extra.’

  ‘An added extra?’ Emmie repeated in astonishment.

  ‘I love you,’ Bastian murmured intently, dark golden eyes locked strongly to hers. ‘And I finally understand how much that emotion can enrich my life.’

  ‘But you only hired me as an escort,’ Emmie protested. ‘If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.’

  ‘No. You were never an escort and I’ve never been with one and now I never ever will be, khriso mou,’ Bastian declared emotively. ‘You were special and you dug your way into my heart and taught me to feel stuff I never thought I would or could experience.’

  A great bubble of happiness was swelling inside Emmie and making her feel light-headed. ‘Seriously?’ she pressed.

  ‘Seriously,’ Bastian confirmed levelly.

  ‘Pride comes before a fall,’ Emmie teased with a huge grin.

  ‘Slow and steady wins the race,’ Bastian muttered, nuzzling his passionate mouth against her throat so that she shivered in the circle of his arms. ‘But I’m sorry I was such a slow learner.’

  ‘I’ll forgive you because I love you too,’ she whispered. ‘But I didn’t admit it to myself until it was almo
st too late because I was scared of getting too involved with you and getting hurt.’

  ‘I will never hurt you,’ Bastian swore huskily. ‘My ambition is to marry you and spend my life ensuring that you and our children are happy.’

  Emmie linked her arms round his neck and gazed up at him with adoring eyes and a sunny smile. ‘I’m not going to complain about that. You’re going to be a fantastic father as well,’ she assured him with loving confidence.

  ‘Even though I’ve got no manners?’

  ‘Says the guy who opens doors for me all the time?’ Emmie riposted as he did exactly that with the door in front of them.

  ‘So you actually noticed that change in my behaviour?’ Bastian quipped. ‘Why didn’t you mention it then?’

  ‘Didn’t want to give you a swollen head!’ She gasped, breathless with excitement as he paused to kiss her.

  ‘You have to notice to encourage me, khriso mou,’ Bastian informed her raggedly, holding her tightly to him, ensuring that she was fully aware of the effect she was having on him.

  ‘My word, Bastian, the last thing you need from me is encouragement!’ Emmie laughed at the idea, joy sparkling through her as she wrapped her arms round him and clung to stay upright.

  EPILOGUE

  FOUR YEARS LATER on her wedding anniversary, Emmie strolled down to the beach where Bastian was playing ball with their toddler sons, Dmitri and Stavros, Saffy’s husband, Zahir, and their son, Karim. In Emmie’s arms snuggled her baby daughter, Appollonia, cute as a button at six months old with her mother’s hair and her father’s eyes.

  For a pleasant change the usually empty stretch of beach below the house was downright crowded. Bastian’s grandfather, Theron, was sharing one of the tables on the sand with Nessa, Leonides and their infant daughter, Olympia. A family BBQ was organised for later that evening. Kat and Mikhail, Topsy and their twins were due to arrive on Mikhail’s fabulous yacht before nightfall. Emmie knew it would be a fantastic, noisy celebration with kids running wild and sisters talking nineteen to the dozen to catch up on the latest news and she could hardly wait.

  ‘Give me that beautiful baby,’ Saffy urged, reaching for Appollonia, who gave her aunt a gummy smile. ‘Trust you to get it right. I’m having another boy when I was convinced I was carrying a little girl this time,’ she lamented, patting the rounded contours of her stomach.

  ‘Maybe the next time,’ Emmie said with a grin.

  ‘I told Zahir there wasn’t going to be a next time.’

  ‘You said that after Karim’s birth as well,’ Emmie reminded her twin, loving the closeness of the bond reborn after their long estrangement from each other.

  ‘Did I?’ Saffy sighed. ‘Zahir is mad about kids, almost as bad as Bastian.’

  A black-haired squirming bundle of lively toddler tucked under each muscular arm, Bastian lowered his twin sons to the ground and doled out cold drinks from the cool box.

  Bastian strode across the sand to lift his daughter out of Saffy’s arms and hold her high above him. The baby chuckled like mad, arms and plump little legs waving in frantic excitement. She was a cheerful baby with a wonderfully infectious laugh while her brothers were live-wire kids, who kept both parents on their toes.

  Sometimes, Emmie could barely believe that years had passed since their quiet wedding on the island, which had only been attended by family. They had held a terrific party afterwards and just six weeks later their twin boys had been born early. One of their devoted nannies retrieved Appollonia from her father and Bastian crossed the sand to close an arm round Emmie’s slim shoulders.

  ‘Happy anniversary, pethi mou,’ he husked, brushing his sensual mouth gently across her temples.

  In the sunlight, Emmie touched the perfectly matched pearls that gleamed at her throat with appreciative fingertips, Bastian’s gift to mark the occasion. As a wedding present he had given her an outrageously extravagant sapphire necklace, confiding that the first time he had watched her walking down the stairs in his island home he had pictured her sporting sapphires that matched her eyes. Her husband’s generosity had ensured that her jewellery collection and her wardrobe were pretty special. Never again would Emmie be able to use the excuse that she had nothing suitable to wear, for she owned a wonderful selection of clothes. Indeed anything she wanted, Bastian ensured she received and Emmie loved being spoilt and valued for the first time in her life.

  ‘Happy anniversary, my love,’ Emmie whispered, gazing up at her darkly handsome husband with smiling warmth and love. ‘Has marriage lived up to your expectations?’

  Bastian tugged her close to his big sun-warmed body. ‘Life with you has exceeded my every expectation.’

  ‘I know you never dreamt until I came along that you might enjoy three rug rats round your feet,’ Emmie teased fondly, watching approvingly as she saw Zahir pull Saffy close with the quiet assurance of a firmly bonded couple. Emmie had never dreamt that falling in love could give her so much happiness.

  ‘The more the merrier,’ Bastian quipped, stunning dark golden eyes welded with sensual intent to her blushing face. ‘We could head back into the house to check the catering arrangements.’

  Her lovely face heated even more in the sunlight, hunger stirring as she looked up at him, a hunger laced with an excitement that had yet to fade. ‘Whatever you like,’ she told him breathily.

  ‘Oh, I like...I like you very much,’ Bastian growled raggedly, his arm tightening round her as he walked her back off the beach.

  Her husband’s desire for her never failed to make Emmie feel like the most exciting woman alive and she no longer remembered what it felt like to feel second best. She smiled, full of love and lust, happy and relaxed and grateful for the security and continuity of her tight-knit family circle.

  * * * * *

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  CHAPTER ONE

  DEMYAN SLID THE black-rimmed nonprescription glasses on before pushing open the door to the lab building. The glasses had been his uncle’s idea, along with the gray Armani cardigan Demyan wore over his untucked dress shirt—no tie. The jeans he wore to complete the “geeky corporate guy” attire were his own idea and surprisingly comfortable.

  He’d never owned a pair. He’d had the need to set the right example for his younger cousin, Crown Prince to Volyarus, drummed into Demyan from his earliest memory.

  He’d done his best, but they were two very different men.

  Maksim was a corporate shark, but he was also an adept politician. Demyan left politics to the diplomats.

  For now, though, he would tone down his fierce personality with clothes and a demeanor that would not send his prey running.

  He knocked perfunctorily on the door before entering the lab where Chanel Tanner worked. The room was empty but for the single woman working through her lunch hour as usual, according to his investigator’s report.

  Sitting at a computer in the far corner, she typed in quick bursts between reading one of the many volumes spread open on the cluttered desktop.

&nb
sp; “Hello.” He pitched his voice low, not wanting to startle her.

  No need to worry on that score. She simply waved her hand toward him, not even bothering to turn around. “Leave it on the bench by the door.”

  “Leave what, precisely?” he asked, amused in spite of himself by her demeanor.

  “The package. Do you really need to know what’s in it? No one else ever asks,” she grumbled as she scribbled something down.

  “I do not have a package. What I do have is an appointment.”

  Her head snapped up, red curly hair flying as she spun her chair to face him. “What? Who? You’re Mr. Zaretsky?”

  He nodded, impressed by the perfect pronunciation of his name.

  “You aren’t expected for another half an hour.” She jumped to her feet, the pocket of her lab coat catching the edge of a book and knocking it to the floor. “And you’re going to be late. Corporate types interested in funding our research always are.”

  “And yet I am early.” He crossed the room and picked up the book to hand to her.

  Taking it, she frowned, her small nose scrunching rather charmingly. “I noticed.”

  “Eventually, yes.”

  Pink stained her cheeks, almost washing out the light dusting of freckles. “I thought you were the delivery guy. He flirts. I don’t like it, so I ignore him if at all possible.”

  The woman was twenty-nine years old and could count the number of dates she’d had in the past year on less than the fingers of one hand. Demyan would think she might welcome flirting.

  He did not say that, of course. He gave her the smile he used on women he wanted to bed. “You have no filter, do you?”

  “Are you flirting with me?” she demanded, her gray eyes widening in shock.

  “I might be.” Awkward and this woman were on very friendly speaking terms.