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

by Clare Connelly

  “And yet, you will,” he said, simply, like it was a foregone conclusion.

  “I’ve just said ‘no’, haven’t I?”

  “Perhaps. But we both know you do not wish for me to adopt my godson out. You also do not want me to run through a string of nannies, which is what will happen if you don’t agree.”

  Her jaw dropped, because it was as clear as the day was bright that he was using her, manipulating her using her obvious care for the little child. It made indignation explode through her.

  She swallowed past her emotions and tried to think laterally. “You can’t give him up for adoption.” Her eyes lifted over his shoulder, focussing on the large, wood-panelled door.

  “I need help.” The words were said without a hint of weakness and yet Cleopatra felt the panic that was strangling him. The sense of impotence that had gripped this man - a man who was used to commanding all he surveyed.

  “Three year olds cannot be bossed into line.” Her voice was stiff. “You have to connect with him.”

  “He’s my godson. Naturally, I care for him. And when he is older, we’ll probably have more in common. But raising an infant, a toddler, is something for which I do not possess the skills nor temperament. I am, quite frankly, out of my depth.”

  “Then let me come and work here,” she offered once more, never mind that she hadn’t been at all sure she’d take the position an hour earlier.

  “And what happens in a year or two? What if he frays even your gentle nature? What if you long to return home, to America?”

  How could she explain that America no longer felt like home? That perhaps it never had? No matter where she lived, Cleopatra was, in many ways, homeless.

  “I wouldn’t,” she said, but it wobbled. She sucked in a breath, and tried again. “And even if I did want to go back to America, isn’t that another reason for me not to accept this?” Her eyes narrowed. “I would be imprisoning myself here, with you, and while I think Alfredo deserves to have someone who truly adores him, you’re asking me to give up my own life, and that isn’t fair.”

  “Nothing about this is fair.” The words dropped like heavy stones between them, sinking into Cleopatra’s soul. “My closest friends died, two of the best people you could ever know. They will not get to see their son grow up, they will miss his first day at school, his first lost tooth, his first scraped knee, his everything. Do you really judge me for wanting to provide the ward I have been left to raise with the very best? With total, unflinching security in his life?”

  She swallowed, her heart turning over, because no one had ever fought for her like this. She’d never known this kind of championing. When her mother had died she’d been shunted from foster home to foster home, and finally adopted, but not once had an adult in her life fought, tooth and nail, for what would be best for a young Cleopatra. While this man clearly lacked a single paternal bone in that rather impressive body of his, he was using the skills he did possess to coordinate a good home life for Alfredo.

  It made a part of her soften, and the frown on her face was one of contemplation rather than rejection.

  “I don’t judge you,” she said, quietly, gnawing on her lower lip. “I just don’t think… marriage is…” She looked at him and her heart lurched. Sympathy flooded her.

  My closest friends died.

  He was adrift at sea. He might look to all the world as though he could command a fleet of ships and build high rises with his bare hands, but when it came to this situation, the legendary, ruthless CEO Benedetto di Fiori was at a loss.

  “Marriage is no guarantee of permanence,” she said, buying for time, pointing out the obvious flaw in his logic.

  “True.” He quirked his lips. “But this would not be a normal marriage. There would be no reason for us to argue, nor separate. As my wife, you would have at your disposal everything that you could possibly want.”

  Cleopatra shook her head slowly from side to side. “I’m not particularly motivated by material considerations.”

  His laugh was abrupt. “I don’t believe that.”

  It was Cleopatra’s turn to laugh. If only he knew the fortune she’d turned her back on, all because she refused to now, in her twenties, be acknowledged by a family that had never wanted her. Not when she was doing it tough, growing up rough, alone, friendless, terrified. She wouldn’t take a cent of Katrakis money.

  And she wasn’t particularly interested in the di Fiori fortune, either.

  “Money might not motivate you, but security does,” he said, and her heart trembled because she felt as though he might know more about her than she’d realised.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He took another drink of his scotch, fixing her with a gaze that sent a tremble along her spine. “Security is what I am offering. A home of your own – in your name. Money, in your name. You will never have to worry again, and all I ask, in exchange, is that you love my godson as though he is your own.”

  Her heart twisted in her chest. Did he know that she’d fallen completely in love with Alfredo already? Could he see that weakness in her heart?

  “If I agreed to do this,” her voice wobbled, “It wouldn’t be for the homes or the money, or any of that stuff.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. You would have it, nonetheless. Our prenuptial agreement would ensure you access to a fortune, from the day we are married.”

  Her eyes were locked to his almost against her will, as though some invisible force was dragging on her, pulling her gaze towards his, demanding she not look away. “How would this work?”

  He expelled a breath, his chest moving visibly, relaxing visibly.

  “I’m not saying ‘yes’,” she rushed to add.

  But his eyes glinted, success marking itself on his brow. “The wedding would be legal. You would select a lawyer – who I would pay – to ensure your interests are protected. Initially, for at least the first two years, you would be based here in Rome. Alfredo has had too much change to undergo yet another move, and my headquarters are here, in the city. I wouldn’t expect you to be a slave; in fact, I would prefer you to engage a nanny as well, to legitimise the appearance of this and to make sure you don’t burn out.”

  Pride had her stiffening her back. “I am a nanny.”

  “But he is hard work, and as my wife, there would be some – not many – social engagements you would be expected to attend.”

  Cleopatra bit down on her lip, this information new and somehow unwelcome. Perhaps he sensed her reaction to that because he narrowed his eyes and spoke in a gentler tone. “Not often, and not for long.”

  “But surely you don’t want people knowing about me?”

  He surprised her then with a laugh. “You think I intend to keep you as some kind of Martha to my Mr Rochester?”

  “You’ve read Jane Eyre?”

  His smile, though wolfish, was completely disarming. “I did a literary studies minor at college.”

  “Seriously?”

  “There is a lot to be learned from great works of literature,” he said without apology. “The classics taught me much in life, and business.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Good.” His eyes shone. “I want you to agree to this, Cleopatra. I want my godson to be happy. The responsibility of raising him is one I take seriously, it’s one I want to do well with, but I am so far out of my comfort zone, it beggars belief.”

  “But surely you must have any number of women who would be desperate to marry you?” The second she said it, her cheeks glowed fire hot.

  “This is not a romantic engagement,” he responded swiftly. “I am not interested in a wife who is looking for more from me, who expects my time and attention. I don’t want a wife I have to maintain. I just need a wife who acts as a mother. That’s all.”

  “Still,” she contemplated this. “There must be lots of women you know who’d fit the bill.”

  “Not who wouldn’t want more. And ‘more’ is most definitely not on the table.”
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br />   Cleopatra found his certainty reassuring. She liked the clear delineations he was offering. Order appealed to her, so too the lack of emotional complication. She’d endured enough emotional hurt to last ten lifetimes.

  Still… she’d read ample articles about the man to know that he enjoyed the company of women. “What about your social life?”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, this isn’t…” her cheeks flushed. “We wouldn’t be…”

  “Have sex?” He ripped the Band-Aid off her awkward, bumbling question, a mocking smile on his lips.

  “Right.” She whooshed the word out. “But you’re…you…”

  “Like sex?” He supplied, the mocking smile turning into something else, something teasing, something that made her tummy knot in a way she wasn’t expecting.

  “I presume.” She felt like her eyeballs were on fire, so intense was her blush.

  “I promise discretion,” he offered. “When and if I have a lover, no one will know about it – not even you. Certainly not Alfredo. I travel frequently for business and own a network of hotels where my privacy can be assured.”

  It was reassuring. For the most part. There was a small, feminine instinct that rejected the planning of this, the steps taken for an affair.

  “And what about me?” She asked, something frantic making the pulse point between her legs rush.

  “You?”

  “Yes.” She tilted her head to the side. “You don’t think I might want to …”

  “Have sex?” He inserted, the teasing smile sending little barbs beneath her skin.

  She nodded, even though the thought hadn’t really entered her head. A twenty four year old virgin, she had to believe that at some point a sexual need might awaken inside of her.

  “The same rules would apply. I’m not a chauvinist nor a hypocrite. All I’m interested in is ensuring Alfredo’s interests are served. However, I would need you to be careful that your partners were appropriate, including criminal background checks. We must take care who we draw into our lie.”

  “Our lie?” She prompted, frowning, because on the one had she could see the logic of this and on the other, she hated the very idea. It flew in the face of everything she’d fantasised about when she’d been a child going from foster home to foster home and she’d dreamed only of a real family, all of her own.

  “Si.”

  Her heart raced.

  What else was there to consider? What was she missing?

  “I need to think about it.”

  “No.” The word was like a blade. “You may ask me anything you want, I will talk to you about this for hours, if that’s what it takes. But when you leave here tonight, it will be with a firm answer in my hands. Yes or no.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it has already been six months.”

  “So another week would kill you?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  Despite the seriousness of their conversation, she smiled. “He’s not so bad, Mr di Fiori.”

  “Benedetto,” he corrected.

  “Right.” She swallowed. “Benedetto.” Cleopatra usually maintained a degree of professional distance, even with the Italian ambassador and his family, whom she’d lived with for many years. She’d learned her lesson on that score, and didn’t intend to forget it.

  But this was different. She would be Alfredo’s mother, in a way.

  Sadness for the woman who should have held that position and couldn’t filled her. “What happened to his parents?”

  At this, Benedetto’s face grew ashen. “They died.”

  “Yes,” the word was a whisper. “How?”

  “In a light plane crash.” His hand trembled slightly as he placed his scotch glass down on the bar. He crossed his arms to cover it, his eyes latched to hers. “During a blizzard.”

  “How awful.” It was an understatement. She blinked to clear it. And then, “I’m sorry.”

  He dipped his head in a silent concession to that, acknowledging her words while rejecting the sentiment.

  “It was unexpected. I do not think they would have seriously chosen me to raise their son if they’d thought, for even one moment, that it would come to pass.”

  She didn’t know him well enough to deny it. It was clear that he was floundering, and she fully believed that, as much as he cared for the friends he’d lost and the son he’d inherited, he was at his wit’s end. She didn’t necessarily think he was bluffing about putting the child up for adoption.

  And it mattered more to her than she could explain that he not do that.

  “I’ll have my own room?”

  “Si, certo,” he promised, his eyes appraising her. “When and if we travel, we’ll stay in penthouses with multiple bedrooms.”

  “What if you fall in love? What if you want to marry someone else?” Her heart sparked painfully against the soft walls of her chest. “Would you take him away from me?”

  Cleopatra was familiar with loving children and losing them – it was the nature of her job. But he wasn’t asking her to come on board as a nanny, in which case she would keep a shield around her heart. He was asking her to love Alfredo unconditionally and she couldn’t risk that he might then pull the child away from her.

  Benedetto strode towards Cleopatra, his expression like steel. He stopped right in front of her, so she felt the strength of his frame, the power of his body, the coldness of his intent. There was hurt there, though he covered it well, she could tell that there was more than he was saying.

  “I promise you unequivocally that I will never fall in love – with anyone.”

  The words sent a shiver down her spine, even as she knew she should be glad for them.

  3

  CLEOPATRA HAD NO PRECONCEIVED ideas about her wedding day. Unlike lots of little girls, she’d never fantasised about her day in white, nor what it would feel like to walk down the aisle towards the love of her life. She’d been too busy getting by to indulge in the bride fantasy, or the princess fantasy.

  Which was just as well, given that this wedding more closely resembled a business meeting than it did a wedding.

  She wore a simple white dress in a tilt of the cap to the occasion, and he wore a suit – but undoubtedly this had more to do with the fact he was coming straight from work than stemming from any particular effort or thought.

  This was not a normal wedding.

  Two weeks after meeting Benedetto, with special permission granted by the courts for a fast-tracking of the usual wedding approval time, she stood in the offices of his laywers’, opposite the man she was marrying for the sake of his ward.

  Two weeks had gone by in the blink of an eye. Moving into his home, and arranging for a part-time nanny to help while Cleopatra adjusted to her new life, as well as getting the legalities tidied up so her every concern was looked after. It had been a whirlwind, and it culminated in this moment.

  Her voice was a little unsteady as she said her vows; hardly surprising given the magnitude of what they were doing. But in the back of her mind, she thought of Alfredo, and any hint of doubt was completely quashed. He was worth any anxiety as to the sense of this.

  For Alfredo, to prevent him from feeling the displacement she’d known all her life, she would marry Benedetto.

  She focussed all her attention on the man she was marrying, and then wished she hadn’t when their eyes locked and something like awareness burst through her. She tamped down on it. He wasn’t the first hot guy she’d seen in her life.

  And he was so completely not her type.

  She exhaled slowly, forcing a small smile to her lips. He repeated his vows, and then the lawyer nodded. “Good, all done.” And, as an afterthought, “You may now kiss the bride.”

  Cleopatra startled. She hadn’t even thought of that.

  Benedetto’s expression showed impatience as he dipped his head forward, his eyes on hers the whole time. She wondered, in the split second she had, whether he’d kiss her cheek or brush his lips ov
er hers. There were only three other people in the room: his lawyer, and two junior associates who’d been called in to serve as witnesses. There was no one here to impress with the appearance of reality. No one here who would care one way or another.

  Cheek then.

  Except perhaps Benedetto di Fiori was unable to process the idea of being close to a woman and not kissing her, because he brought his mouth closer to hers, and one powerful arm clamped around behind her, drawing her body to his, holding her tight, so she felt that the broad chest she’d admired in their first meeting was, in fact, as hard as a brick wall.

  She looked up at him, her eyes flaring wide, surprise at this proximity and her body’s shocking response to it, causing her breath to rush out of her lungs. His eyes narrowed, as though he hadn’t expected that, and then he was lowering his head a little more, so his warm breath fanned her temples. A soft moan escaped her lips before she could catch it, and then his hand was lifting to hold one side of her head, his fingers splaying behind her neck, holding her steady for him, holding her right there beneath him. Her eyes swarmed with needs and wants and his lips brushed hers.

  She felt as though a bolt of electricity had travelled from him, to her, lightning splintering its way through her body so she was overcome with an incomprehensible urge to lean forward, to press her lips to his and deepen the kiss. To take more of him. To taste him. His body was so firm, hers soft against it, she imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him for real – to really be kissed.

  Startled, she pulled away, staring up at him from wide, blue eyes, her inexperienced body trampled by the rush of sensations – and the strength of her desire and fantasies.

  “And now, it’s just the signing of the certificate,” the lawyer continued – giving Cleopatra a precious moment to dip her head and hide the evidence of her desire – that must surely be writ large across her features. “This way.”

  Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her pulse racing through her body like a torrent of lava. Flames licked at the soles of her feet. She swallowed, desperate not to feel this, desperate not to be thinking about his kiss, wanting more, craving something other than the professional, polite physical contact they’d just shared.