Bound To Gold: Drunken Marriage Romance (Bound To The Billionaires Book 2)

by Coco Miller

  Bound To Gold

  Bound To The Billionaires

  Coco Miller

  COCO MILLER ROMANCE

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  Copyright © 2020 Coco Miller

  All rights reserved.

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  License Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  Contents

  Books By Coco

  Introduction

  1. Duncan

  2. Naomi

  3. Duncan

  4. Naomi

  5. Duncan

  6. Naomi

  7. Duncan

  8. Naomi

  9. Duncan

  10. Naomi

  11. Duncan

  12. Naomi

  13. Duncan

  14. Naomi

  15. Duncan

  Epilogue

  Also By Coco Miller

  Books By Coco

  Big City Billionaires

  Faking For Mr. Pope

  Virgin Escort For Mr. Vaughn

  Pretending for Mr. Parker

  Red Bratva Billionaires

  MAXIM

  SERGEI

  VIKTOR

  The Overwatch Division

  WYATT

  ASA

  CESAR

  Andolini Crime Family

  CARMINE

  GIOVANNI

  UMBERTO

  Bound To The Billionaires

  Bound To Steele

  Bound To Gold

  Bound To Cobalt

  Introduction

  A billionaire paralyzed with grief. A woman who is looking for a fresh start. Two old friends are seeking what they need in the most unlikeliest of places–Vegas. But will one drunken night ruin what they both so desperately want to salvage or will it turn it to something new?

  DUNCAN

  I’ve loved her since I knew what love was.

  But life has a way of getting between old friends.

  She came back into my life when my world flipped upside down and led me into darkness.

  But now that she’s back, I’m never letting her get away again.

  I need her.

  And I’ll give my life to protect what’s mine.

  I always will.

  NAOMI

  He’s always been the one guy that got away.

  The best friend who went out into the world and became a big success.

  He needs me right now in the worst way, but I won’t let any of my old feelings jeopardize that.

  Until one night and a few drinks get in the way and now we’ve fast forwarded to a place I wasn’t expecting.

  A place where I might just want to settle down and stay.

  1

  Duncan

  I’m one of the six men holding my mother’s casket.

  It's me, my good friend Easton, and the rest are cousins. I'm not afraid to admit I'm crying or that I've been since the moment she died. She was supposed to have another few months. I was supposed to have more time, but cancer doesn't care about time.

  She died like most of us wanted to, in our sleep, and no longer in pain. That was the one thing I was grateful for. She had been in pain for so long. I hated seeing her struggle to breathe, walk, and later talk. The most basic things became a substantial exhausting task, and it hurt that there was nothing I could do to make it better.

  I woke up the next day to help her out of bed like I usually did, but the moment I saw her, still as a statue and as pale as death, I knew. I ran to her side, shook her to try and wake her up, ignoring the voice in my head telling me she was gone. I thought it was all a bad dream and that if I shook her hard enough, she would wake up and tell me everything would be okay.

  She never did.

  And now, I am carrying her down an old, worn red-carpeted aisle of the church her parents got married in. We were never religious, but it was important to her that her life ended where their lives began.

  We set the heavy wooden casket down, and I catch myself on it as my knees give out. I can’t move. I just kneel there staring at the coffin holding the person that meant the world to me. I wipe my eyes when it becomes too hard to see, and someone bends down next to me, throwing their arm over my shoulder.

  “Duncan.”

  Easton whispers.

  “I can’t move,” I say with a shake of my head. “I can’t move my legs.”

  “It’s because you’re kneeling,” he replies.

  “I still can’t move.”

  He settles next to me, keeping his voice lower so no one can hear.

  “Take a deep breath for me. It’s going to be okay. It doesn’t seem like it now, but it will be.”

  I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m not okay. I won’t be okay for a long time.”

  "Duncan, that's okay. Look at me."

  Easton pushes against my shoulder to turn me to face him. His eyes are drawn in concern, red and puffy from his own tears. I'm not surprised, he was my best friend and my mother always treated him like he was her son.

  His hands grip my face tight. “It’s okay. What you’re feeling is okay. I’m here for you.”

  He pulls me into a tight hug and clutches onto his blazer tight; a few tears fall onto his shoulder, wetting the material. “I’m so sorry, Duncan. I’m so sorry.”

  I don't say anything. Usually, the reply is, "It will be fine, or it will all be okay," like Easton says, but in my gut, I don't believe that. It's just a generic response you tell people to make them feel better. Nobody wants to hear me say I'm not okay, I’m dying inside, and I can't imagine a life without her. So no, I don't believe it. My mother dying is anything but okay. If it were, then I'd be all right. I’m not.

  “Come on. Let’s go sit down.”

  "All right," I whisper.

  Easton stands, and my hands are in the crease of his arms as he lifts me by my biceps. My legs shake, my heart races, and my vision is still blurry. There are hundreds of people here, and for the first time in my life, I don't give a damn what they see when they look at me. I'm a grown man who is balling his eyes out like a baby, so what? Everyone can go to hell if they have a problem with it.

  "Come on," Easton guides me to the pew, and before I sit down, I see an old familiar face.

  Her hair is longer, but that is the only thing that has changed. Her eyes are still the same. A forest green that makes me wonder if she is an enchantress.

  Our eyes meet and she has big tears forming as she stares at me. They fall slowly, grazing the flawless maple skin I've fantasized since the day I met her in high school. We were never more than friends, not that I didn't want to be, but I never voiced how I felt and I have regretted it ever since. Naomi Banks has always been at the forefront of my mind as the one who got away.

  Her chin quivers as she mouths, "I'm sorry, Duncan."

  Her apology means more to me than anyone else’s in the room. My chest already feels lighter for some reason. I nod and give her my back, staring at the polished dark mahogany
in front of me. Large wreaths stand on either side of the casket with a large photo of my mother back before she was sick. She was beautiful — long red hair, blue eyes, and a smile that shined kindness. I was one lucky man to have a mother like her.

  I’m not sure how long the service lasts. I just stare at the space in front of me. The pastor talks on and on, but his words fall on my deaf ears. All I hear is the blood rushing through my body.

  “Duncan,” Easton nudges me.

  “What?”

  “This is where you go up and say something.”

  Never in my life have I been so scared. How do I sum up into words what my mother meant to me?

  “I can’t.”

  “You’ll regret it if you don’t,” he says.

  He is right, but again, my legs don’t move.

  “Duncan,” a different voice penetrates my fear.

  I blink away the tears and turn my head slightly to the left. My brows pinch together when I see Naomi in front of me. We haven't seen each other or spoken to one another in years, but her hand lands on my knee, and with her other hand, she holds it out, waiting for me to grab it. "Let me help you, Duncan."

  I stare aimlessly at her hand. The skin of her palm is lighter than the skin gracing her body.

  “Come on, I won’t leave your side,” she says.

  Slowly, unsure, and having no idea if I'm doing the right thing by trusting her, I slide my hand into hers, and I swear my entire body feels the touch. She helps me stand, and it should feel like one of my weaker moments, I know that, but instead… I feel stronger. It helps knowing I'm holding someone's hand that understands. She gets that sometimes the brain and the body stop communicating in a time of pure sorrow. She understands that nothing else matters but the depression consuming me. Understands that no matter what anyone says, no one can make me feel better.

  When she lost her twin brother in high school, she felt like a piece of her died that day. And I remember holding her hand to go to the podium when they called her name to speak. She's returning the gesture, not out of obligation, but out of understanding.

  Naomi wipes the tear off my cheek just as another falls down her face. "Come on. Your mom is waiting to hear what you have to say about her."

  I give her a half-smile, something I haven't done in weeks, and hold her hand a little too tightly as I walk to the podium. Naomi holds me just as tight, keeping me steady, which is impressive, considering I am an entire foot taller than her.

  The pastor steps out of the way, and when I stand at the microphone and overlook hundreds of people, I have no idea what to say. How many of them knew my mom? Did any of them know she liked brown sugar in her coffee instead of white? Did anyone know she loved silk because it made her feel fancy? How she hated all romantic drama movies, except Titanic because she had the biggest crush on Leo? How many people knew she loved the rain just as much as she loved sunshine? How many of them knew she never fell in love again after my dad broke her heart?

  None of them. None of these people knew her.

  “My mother was my best friend.” My voice breaks as I try to speak, but end up hanging my head when the words I want to say get stuck in my throat. “She was everything.”

  Naomi 's hand lands on my back and in a whisper that I can barely hear, she says, "Your mother made the best double chocolate chip cookies. She never gave me the recipe."

  I stare at the woman, who somehow gave me enough strength to get up here and start to laugh, a shoulder shaking laugh, and all I can do at this moment is to bring her into my arms and give her hug. She has no idea the importance of her words are having on me and how much I need to hear them.

  I whisper against her should as my hands tighten around her waist, “Thank you, Naomi .”

  “Oh, Duncan. No, thanks needed,” she replies, squeezing me tight.

  Even though I’m bigger, she’s the one embracing me, and damn if it didn't feel right to lean on someone other than my tired bones.

  2

  Naomi

  Holding Duncan like this breaks my heart. We may have drifted apart over the years like everyone does as they grow up and get jobs, but I still hold a special place in my heart for my long lost best friend.

  We were inseparable in high school, the best of friends, and I was in love with him every second of those 1,460 days. I never told him. I kept it locked deep because our friendship meant everything to me and ruining that would have ruined high school.

  Instead, we spent summers together, fall breaks, Naomi breaks, spring breaks, anywhere one of us was, everyone knew the other wasn’t far behind, and my heart hurt every moment of not having him as mine.

  And I miss those days. It’s a surprise, considering I was always in pain, aching for him in ways I knew I’d never have.

  Now, Duncan Gold is leaning on me again after all these years, and I have no idea how to let go. I decide I won’t until he does.

  The skin of my neck becomes wet, and I hold him a bit tighter as this massive man, who always seems to be in control breaks. Duncan was always a momma's boy, and it made sense considering his dad left the two of them when Duncan was only three years old. Duncan never heard from him again, and he took on the responsibility of taking care of his mom.

  We were in high school when he first found out about her cancer, and he was a wreck because it was one thing he couldn’t fix for her. He had to watch her become sick and frail. When she started losing her hair, I held him then too, when he was just a boy figuring out life. Now, he has turned into a handsome and successful man, but right now, we are back in that moment when he was fifteen and afraid.

  During all the torment of losing Mrs. Gold, it’s too impossible to miss how good he feels. His body heat engulfs me as his big hulking body hugs my much smaller one. My body vanishes in his arms. He smells so good, a fresh out of the shower smell with a hint of something smokier. He’s a contained man, but he wants to break free, blazing this world with his fire that’s roaring in his veins right now.

  “Naomi," he whispers into my ear, and the heat of his breath causes my skin to react, a slight shiver working its way over my skin. “I don’t know what to say to them.”

  I lean back, and Duncan tightens his arms around my waist to keep me close. I crane my head to meet his sorrowful blue gaze and cup the right side of his jaw with my hand, grazing my thumb over the carved cheekbones.

  “Pretend it’s me. Remember how we used to do that in school for presentations? Say what you need to say to me, and they will hear you."

  A tear left his eyes, rolling quickly down his face until it hit my thumb, and it broke something inside me. My eyes start to water and burn. I try and keep the sobs locked in deep, causing my belly to shake. I want nothing more than to be Duncan's fixer.

  "Talk to me, Duncan. Okay?" I step back and he shakes his head when I unwrap his arms from my midsection. “It will be okay. I’m only going to be over here.”

  I watch my step remembering there is a slight difference of the ground to the podium. I stand in front of the dark wood. My eyes drift to the silver cross painted on the front, going from top to bottom and side to side.

  To my right is his mom, the perfume of the flowers surrounding her take me back to the wild meadows she took us to upstate when Duncan and I were children. The grass was as tall as we were, hiding us from anyone and anything. While we pretended to run from aliens, his mom picked the flowers, and the car always smelled of honey.

  Kind of like right now.

  I wipe a tear off my face and turn my attention to Duncan. His eyes are red, and his lips are puffy, his hair is a wreck and his tie is undone. He stares at me and takes a deep breath. Duncan’s shoulders are massive; the tension in them evident for everyone to see. They finally relax when he takes in a deep breath like it was the first time he could in a long time and exhales. The wood creaks under his grip, white turning the thick knuckles as Duncan tries to control himself.

  He clears his throat, never taking his eyes off me, a
nd the microphone rings a little as he adjusts it. “Hi, everyone,” his voice thick, rough, and slow. “Everyone here knew my mom pretty well,” he pinches his eyes closed and lets out another breath. "But no one here knew her as good as me. She was my best friend — the one person I trusted with everything. I called her night and day, and to most, that may sound like too much, and maybe it is, but we were all each other had since I was three years old.

  “This woman was my rock. She taught me everything, and to know that I'm here, talking to all of you, I should be more prepared. She taught me better than that, but nothing prepared me for this. She was young. Beautiful. Smart. She had so much more to give the world, but cancer decided to take that from her. She lived her best life, and I know she would want me to live mine, but I don't know how to do that anymore." Duncan locks his gaze with mine and the muscles in his face pinch. “I don’t know,” he says, hanging his head with finality.

  He walks off the stage, but before going back to his seat he takes my hand. He never says a word, brings my knuckles to his lips and gives them a wet kiss full of tears. Not letting go of my hand, he leads me away, but instead of going to my seat, he sits down next to Easton and pulls me right beside him.

  And throughout the rest of the service, we stay in that same position. He never lets me go. My palm starts to sweat, but I don’t dare break the contact. Somehow, this man needs me, and I’m not going to go anywhere until he tells me to.