The Billionaire's Beautiful Runaway

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The Billionaire's Beautiful Runaway Page 7

by Dakota Rebel

“And in return, you will never bother us, never come near Laura again—you or anyone working for you,” Luke went on.

  “Done,” the other man replied. Turning on his heel, he left without so much as another glance at me. I tried to ignore the pain in my chest, the hurt at being so much…nothing to him.

  Luke hugged me to him, somehow knowing what was going on inside me. “I can do it,” he said. “I’m a billionaire, remember? Two million to ensure you’re safe is like pennies to another man. We won’t even miss it.”

  “We?”

  “Did you sign a prenup? I sure didn’t. What’s mine is yours, babe. But most importantly, you’re mine. All mine. Forever.”

  I melted into him. “All I want from you is your love. And maybe babies, one of these days.”

  He grinned. “I look forward to making as many as you want. And as for my love, you’ve owned that for months. You’re stuck with it.”

  A few feet from us, Jameson made a gagging sound and Willow punched his arm. “Shut up, dick,” she grumbled. “Your brother is exactly what women want. Sweet, romantic. He’s the kind of guy I’ll—”

  She screeched as Jameson suddenly threw her over his shoulder and stormed from the chapel. I looked at Luke, wide-eyed.

  “Long history there,” he told me. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Today is about us.”

  Going on tiptoes, I pulled his mouth down to mine. “Nope. Forever is about us. Let’s go, husband. I want to get started on that.”

  I laughed, giggling, as he threw me over his shoulder, too and followed his brother’s footsteps right into our bright future—of course, not forgetting our wedding certificate on the way.

  Epilogue

  ~ Luke ~

  One year later…

  “Nice of you to invite me this time,” my mom said as she straightened my tie.

  “Mom, you have to let go of that,” I told her. “I’ve explained a hundred times why Laura and I got married the way we did.”

  “And where is your beautiful wife?” she asked, patting my cheek a little harder than necessary.

  “She’s puking her guts up in the bathroom again,” I said.

  “Poor thing. I was always so sick in my first trimester with you boys.” Mom shook her head. “Should I go check on her?”

  “Her mom is with her,” I assured my own mother. “She’ll be okay. I hate it, but she’s getting used to vomiting for hours every day.”

  My poor wife had spent the last two weeks heaving. I’d been on the phone with her doctor four times, convinced this wasn’t normal, begging him to bring her in for another appointment. Finally, Laura and the doc had ganged up on me. He no longer took my calls, and she slapped my phone out of my hand every time she caught me on it.

  “Is her father coming?” Mom asked tentatively.

  “He’d better fucking not,” I growled.

  “Language,” she admonished.

  “Mom.” My tone was a clear warning to drop it. “Look, if you ever tell my wife this, I will never speak to you again. But it cost me another million dollars to get him to let her mother come out here.”

  “I can’t imagine the kind of life that woman has,” Mom said, shaking her head sadly.

  “Well, it won’t be her life for much longer,” I said, unable to hide my smirk. “Laura and I are going to convince her to stay here. I’ve already got the lawyers working up protection orders. We just need to get her mother to agree, and we’ll be putting her up in the guest house.”

  “She may not be willing to do that,” my mom said.

  “Oh, she’ll do,” Laura said sternly, walking into the room. “A million dollars? Really, Luke?”

  “You heard me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, my mom told me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Did you think she wouldn’t?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Are you mad?”

  “That you throw around money like confetti just to make me happy?” Laura shrugged. “I should be. But I’m so glad to have my mom here, I guess I can forgive you this time.”

  “I’ll just go help her find our table,” my mom said, patting my wife on the shoulder as she left the room.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, when Laura and I were alone. “I know I should have told you.”

  “It’s fine. The fact you’d do anything for me means the world to me.” She ran a hand over her belly and smiled. “And now that I know our babies will have both of their grandmas here to love on them and spoil them rotten…well, how can I be angry at you for that.”

  “Babies?” I stared at her. “Babies?”

  “Oh, do you have the market cornered on secrets, Mr. Malloy?” She grinned. “The doctor appointment yesterday went really well. They did an ultrasound, and there are two little nuggets in here.”

  “Oh my God, Laura!” I picked her up and swung her around.

  “Don’t,” she groaned.

  “Sorry,” I said, remembering her morning sickness and setting her quickly on her feet. “Don’t barf on me again.”

  “Can we go get remarried now?” she asked, rolling her eyes at me. “I’m hungry, and I’m ready to get to the reception part.”

  “I’m ready to get to the making babies part,” I teased, pulling her into my arms again and nuzzling her neck.

  “We already did that part,” she said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, but we should keep practicing for next time.”

  “Let’s go get hitched again,” she said, taking my hand pulling me toward the door.

  “Whatever you say, Mrs. Malloy.”

  Want to read about Chase and Emerson?

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  About the Author

  ~ Dakota ~

  Dakota Rebel is a bestselling author and a very slow distance runner who dreams of racing Badwater.

  She lives in a perpetual state of exhaustion with her happy husband and two incredibly spoiled children.

  Dakota loves to talk to her readers and can be found at www.dakotarebel.net.

  Sign up for her newsletter to keep up with new releases, humorous anecdotes, and get a free Short Story.

  ~ Brynn ~

  When it comes to books and movies, I have one rule: there must be a happy ending. After that one requirement, anything else goes. And it just might in any of my books. Expect the unexpected.

  I love hearing from readers! Please visit me on my website at www.brynnpaulin.com or contact me at [email protected].

  You can also stalk me on Twitter and Facebook.

 

 

 


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