Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  May sat, in one of her best dresses, a cheeky expression on her beautiful face. Sylvie was watching her with an indulgent smile, proud and as in love with the little girl as ever. “Mummy,” she pulled at Maggie’s skirt. “I want one of those.” Then, she pointed a finger at Arlo, and everyone laughed.

  Rosie, seeing the blush on Maggie’s face, came to her rescue. “No, you don’t, darling. Not all babies sleep like you. You might get a little brother or sister like Arlo, who keeps you awake all night long!”

  Maggie pulled a face of sympathy, but it wasn’t necessary. Rosie wouldn’t change a thing about her life. Her husband, her children, everything was fine by her. Though she was almost constantly tired, she was also blissfully content.

  It was then that Maggie took a moment to take in the rest of the guests. Dante’s family sat around the table, with the noticeable exception of Veronika. Somehow, her marriage to Enrique was hobbling along, but she never came to any family gatherings at Vin Velasco anymore. Maggie suspected that Dante had had something to do with that, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t need to know. His marriage to Veronika was definitely over, and it was not her problem.

  “Dad!” She said, with belated recognition. “Cress!” Indeed, her father had defied her low expectations. Not only had he married Cressida, he even seemed to be faithful to her. “Darling,” Cressida stood, her rail-thin body encased in a vintage Chanel suit. “Your mother and the American couldn’t make it,” she said with a kiss on either side of Maggie’s cheeks. “Filming in Egypt, or something.”

  Maggie nodded. She had only seen her mother once since she’d married. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she had to accept that her mother was happy, if completely disinterested in her daughter and granddaughter. It was another thing that bonded her and Rosie, their mothers who had more or less abandoned them. But Rosie and Maggie had each other, and their own families, and that was enough.

  “I’m so thrilled to see you both.” She turned to Dante. “If a little perplexed about all the fuss.”

  “Sit, Maggie. Let Sofia explain.” He nodded toward his sister, and as Sofia stood, a kind smile on her face, staff began to circulate, pouring a rich red wine into the glasses at the table.

  “This year, we are launching a special wine. It will be a limited edition, and the price will encourage serious wine connoisseurs only. It is a hand-crafted Grenache, with an excellent body, characteristics of sweet berries marked with just a little spice for interest.” She paused, rolling her eyes at Dante. “These are the notes my brother gave me for the label.” She moved to the covered easel at the head of the table, shooting her sister-in-law an apologetic glance. “I am not sure it is his best idea, but he was insistent. So, without further ado, I present to you all…” She pulled at the fabric that covered the easel.

  All eyes fell to the label. A black square with gold embellishments in a rococo pattern, with gold lettering in the centre: The Maggie.

  The table erupted with laughter, Maggie’s loudest of all. “I’m a wine?”

  “You are certainly intoxicating,” Dante said teasingly.

  “Drink, everyone. And enjoy your lunch.”

  Maggie leaned towards him, her smile contagious. “You are too much.”

  “I do not think I will sell a single bottle,” he confided with a wink. “I do not want to share you, even as a wine.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said with an impish grin. “I don’t think I’d like people to complain of a hangover because they’d had too much Maggie the night before.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one who liked the idea. Luca has asked me to create a fizzy, blonde Cava called The Signora Abramo.”

  Maggie giggled. “Excellent. As long as The Maggie and The Signora Abramo pair well, I like the sound of that.”

  “Ah. Now that is your other surprise.” He rubbed his hands together delightedly. “Luca? Would you like to tell Maggie what you’ve just decided?”

  Luca grinned at his wife, the secret news buzzing between them. “Yes, yes. Maggie, I am in the process of acquiring a rather large investment bank, based in Barcelona.” Beneath the table, Maggie’s fingers gripped Dante’s knee. “It just makes sense for us to relocate to Spain while I work out the details.”

  Maggie leaped from the table, her heart racing as she crouched beside her best friend. “Is this true?”

  “Absolutely! We’ve bought a house over the valley, and Luca will be able to fly to Barcelona when he’s needed. But even better, the kids and I will only be a thirty minute drive from you!”

  “My very own wine and now this. It’s too much.”

  Laughter erupted once more.

  “We could almost think about opening a Spanish Darling Buds of May Café,” Maggie said wistfully.

  Rosie grinned. “I think our hands are full for the moment.” She gasped. “But did I tell you that I went to the café the other day?” She shook her head nostalgically. “It’s just as beautiful as ever, Mags. I wouldn’t have thought we could find someone who would love that place like we did. Laura’s flowers are divine, and her sister Charlotte makes a perfect coffee. She’s a tiny little thing like you, so different to Laura. The place felt just the same, but different too, because I was on the outside.”

  “It makes me feel strange to think of other people in that place. It saw so much of our blood, sweat and tears,” Maggie said with a sigh.

  “I know. But it’s in good hands… and that’s so much better than having just shut the place down.”

  Maggie nodded, thinking back to that beautiful café on Kings Road in Chelsea, with the big windows that overlooked the bustling shopping street, and the timber floors that seemed to groan with so much history. Selling it had been a wrench, but everything that had happened since made that decision seem like the best thing they’d done.

  The afternoon swirled around the assembled guests. It moved, as beautiful long lunches often did, hastily towards evening, and eventually Dante and Maggie were alone once more. She sat snuggled against him, a balloon glass of The Maggie in hand. “It really is a beautiful wine,” she said seriously, sipping it slowly.

  “You deserve nothing less,” he promised.

  She angled her face up to him, thinking as she always did how stunningly handsome he was. “I’ve been giving some thought to May’s idea,” she said finally.

  “What idea?”

  “That we should have our own little Arlo.”

  Dante pretended to misunderstand. “I don’t know about that. Arlo really doesn’t sleep at all. I don’t think we want an Arlo.”

  She laughed. “That’s not kind. He’s a gorgeous little thing.”

  He grinned. “Our next one will be more so.”

  His parental arrogance was delightful, and excusable because it only the two of them were present. “You mean… you like the idea too?”

  “Of course.” He put an arm around her. “I would have ten babies if you wished it.”

  “But you’ve never said anything before!” She responded seriously.

  “No.” His sigh was thoughtful. “You had parenthood thrust upon you. I wanted to wait until you were ready for another child. It is your body, mi amor.”

  She nodded slowly. “It’s ready.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Another adventure then,” he said with a smile. “And this time, we will enjoy it all together.”

  Thinking about the swollen ankles, back pain, head aches, exhaustion and the final insult of labour, she wasn’t sure there was much enjoyment in it. But he didn’t need to know that. He would discover it with her this time.

  “Yes. An adventure together. I like that.”

  The blanket of stars seemed to wink down on them, as if offering its silent, cosmic consent. Nine months later, a bundle of four arms and four legs came into the world, in the form of two little Velasco twins. Their son, they named Axel, meaning divine reward. Their daughter, Astraea, which meant star, was a reference to the sparkling blanket they’
d looked out at on that night, when they had decided to undertake another journey side by side. It was a tribute to the shining stars that would continue to bless all their nights for the rest of their long, happy lives.

  THE END

  Rakanti’s Indecent Proposition

  Prologue

  Apparently, she was the only person in the hip and happening club not having a good time. The crowd around her buzzed with excitement and happiness. Everyone but Elle Bradley was dancing the night away with enormous smiles on their made-up faces. The revellers swarming around her in the hottest nightspot in central Athens were laughing, dancing and drinking as though they had not a care in the world.

  What must such freedom have felt like?

  Elle’s eyes – so grey she had been nicknamed Stormy by her school friends – scanned the room with one man alone in mind.

  She knew from Hannah’s thorough Google searching that he had come to kómma every Thursday night since opening two months ago. Elle supposed, with a wry smile on her pink lips, that it was one of the perks of having financed the hotspot. Then again, even without a claim of ownership Christos Rakanti would have been fèted and welcomed at such an establishment with open arms.

  He was a golden personality; a man Greece and the world seemed to adore, despite his documented womanising, ruthless business practices and a heart that was rumoured to have been chipped from ice.

  Just as his father’s had been.

  Elle’s own heart flipped over painfully in her chest as she pushed all thoughts of Filip Rakanti and their years-ago, very unpleasant encounter from her mind. Though he had been buried a week ago, having met the tyrannical Billionaire, Elle had no doubt that he would be perfectly capable of clawing himself back from the grave if he got wind of what she was planning.

  He had been the quintessential patriarch, obsessed with protecting his family and heritage. So much so that he’d berated and intimidated her as a grieving seventeen year old, until she’d acquiesced to every single one of his demands.

  Well, he was dead, and with him his power to control her and her family had also ceased. Their fate rested on her shoulders and it was not a responsibility she took lightly.

  She sucked in a deep breath and angled her body to squeeze through a group of young men intent on catcalling any woman who took their fancy.

  But Elle paid no attention to their provocative attempts to lure her to join them. Her eyes moved fiercely, scanning the booths at the back.

  And she froze, her lips parted, her eyes enormous in her pixie-like face, as she stared at the man who was so joltingly, hurtfully related to her younger half-brother. The likeness almost took her breath away. The same swarthy skin, jet black hair, dark brown eyes and thick brows were framed by a man who was, admittedly, a much larger and more intimidating version of the still-teenaged Filip Jr.

  As she took another step, she saw some additional differences. This man – Christos – had a dimple in his cheek, and a cleft in his chin that looked as though a sculptor had pressed a thumb into it at the moment of birth. He was broad shouldered and muscular, and masculine in a way that screamed virility and control. Where Filip had a kind, smiling face and a desire to please everyone he met, this man looked as hard as nails. His reputation for ruthlessness had not, she instinctively knew, been exaggerated.

  With a throbbing pulse-rate, she fished her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and texted Hannah. I’ve found him; he’s here. But there’s no way I can go through with this.

  She smiled with kind dismissal at a guy who was waving her over and then bit down on her lip. What had she been thinking? Girls like Elle didn’t do … this.

  Not for the first time, she cursed Hannah for making the plan sound so simple! To seduce a man like Christos Rakanti and somehow blackmail him into helping her … it was ‘pie in the sky’ stuff. An absurd notion now seeming even more idiotic as she soaked in his strong, arrogant bearing. She was light years out of her league.

  Her phone vibrated and she stared at the screen.

  Ellie, if you ask him for money he’ll say no. Just like the father. You can’t risk it. This is your *only* choice.

  Elle made a sound of misery and jammed the phone back in her pocket. Hannah reiterated the only point that could truly get through to Elle. Though Elle’s first instinct had been to approach Christos through the official channels, it had been Hannah who’d made her see sense. “Darling, how do you know he doesn’t know all about Filip? How do you know he’s not drawing up papers as we speak to make sure their wealth is protected? You know what his father was like: that cold, heartless bastard never wanted Fil to have a dime. Apples and trees! The son will be just the same. Don’t give him a chance to say no. You have to catch him by surprise. Get what you need from him using other methods.”

  And though deception did not come naturally to Elle, she would move heaven and earth for her brother. After all, she was his guardian, and it was her duty. But more than that, he’d already been dealt more than enough bad hands to last a lifetime. Filip deserved to live with some level of security and safety. To know that the one thing he really loved in life, his place at school, was assured.

  And Elle was going to make that happen for him.

  For Filip, she would do anything. Even sleep with a guy as dangerous and desirable as Christos Rakanti.

  1

  And though Elle had spent her entire life highlighting how different she was to her mother, when she needed to call on the seductive powers of Bella Bradley, they came surprisingly easy. The looks that had won Bella several beauty contests and small-time modelling contracts had been inherited by Elle. The same ash blonde hair, pretty face, pouting lips and caramel skin; a body that was generous yet athletic at the same time - though Elle spent most of the time covering her ample curves in over-size shirts and black pants.

  But not tonight.

  To catch the eye of Christos Rakanti, she’d allowed Hannah to turn her into the epitome of what he found desirable. And God knew there was enough evidence of that floating around the internet. Photo after photo of him with gorgeous women littered searches of his name, making it relatively easy for the artistic Hannah to transform Elle into a woman who would naturally catch his interest.

  The jeans she wore were Hannah’s. They were tight and low, so low they sat right on her hip bone. Teamed with a pair of sky high heels they gave Elle the illusion of height, something she was generally lacking. But the real clue to drawing the focus of a seasoned seducer like Christos Rakanti was her cleavage. The Wonderbra was every bit as amazing as the name suggested. Her full, round breasts were pushed up high, and the tight white top showed the red of the underwear and at least an inch of her slim, tanned midriff. The final touch was the hair and makeup. Under Hannah’s tutelage she’d learned to rim her eyes in black eyeliner and dark eye shadow. Her lips were painted red. Her hair was fluffed out and fell in long, silky waves down her back to the gap of skin exposed by the outfit.

  She felt like an idiot. She felt self-conscious, and she felt like the embodiment of everything she had come to despise about her mother. But the second their eyes connected she knew that it had been the right play.

  Those eyes, so dark and naturally emphasised by thick, black lashes, made no effort to hide their interest. He stopped what he was saying mid-sentence and dropped his gaze to her breasts. He allowed it to linger there for several long hot seconds, setting a simmer to Elle’s blood before grating them lower, lower still, lingering on her womanhood as though he could see everything beneath the scrap of denim.

  His look smouldered; her heart pounded. The room was silent; the music ceased. They were alone. All she could hear was the rushing of her blood. Her knees felt weak; her body heavy.

  When he forced his attention back to her eyes, Elle’s very breath was burning in her throat. Show time, she whispered to herself, walking with the appearance of confidence through the crowds. Before she could reach his table, he stood and prowled towards her.
<
br />   That was Christos, through and through. He wasn’t a man to wait for a woman. He was King. He was Alpha. If they were to meet, it was because of him. Not her. He left nothing to chance, least of all in hunting a woman he wanted.

  He made no attempt to hide his interest. He put a hand straight on her hip and a sharp bolt of attraction arrowed through her, landing firmly near her heart. All thoughts of her brother became muddied by something much, much stronger.

  “Do I know you?” She asked, her voice sultry in yet another tilt of the cap to her mother. Only she wasn’t trying to imitate Bella anymore. She was doing it as naturally as she might breathe or smile. The fevered words came from deep in the pit of her stomach. They were coated with lust.

  “You’re about to.” His own words were rich with the kind of promise that had her whole body swirling with a frantic kaleidoscope of butterflies.

  “Oh?” She blinked up at him, her eyes enormous in her face.

  “Champagne?”

  She nodded. Though she rarely drank, she felt it was a night when a little Dutch courage would be essential. “Please.”

  “This way.” He put a hand in the small of her back and led her through the bar. She was too distracted by the zipping of desire caused by his touch to notice that the crowd was thinning with every step they took. They approached a room that was roped off from the rest of the bar. As they neared it, a bouncer dressed in a black suit that did little to disguise bulging muscles slipped the red rope off its chain, lifting it for them to pass.

  “Thank you,” Elle murmured. Her companion said nothing. There were two or three other people in the room, and a waitress behind a small bar. A cursory glance showed it was stocked with only top-level alcohol. He lifted a hand and the waitress moved quickly towards them.