Untamed Billionaire's Innocent Bride (Conveniently Wed!)

by Caitlin Crews

  A long-lost billionaire...

  A virgin to tame him!

  Dedicated personal assistant Lauren Clarke always does as she’s asked. Her latest task? To prevent a media scandal, she needs to find reclusive Dominik James—her boss’s estranged brother—and convince him to marry her! But in Hungary’s darkest forests she discovers more than just an untamed billionaire... Dominik’s brooding masculinity awakens Lauren’s long-dormant desire. Once they’ve exchanged their convenient “I do’s,” will innocent Lauren accept that their hunger can’t be denied?

  Read on...as the billionaire and his convenient bride tie the knot!

  “What do you want from me?” Lauren asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  And she thought that whatever happened, she would always remember the way Dominik smiled at her then, half wolf and all man. That it was tattooed inside her, branded into her flesh, forever a part of her. Whether she liked it or not.

  “What I want from you, little red, is a wedding night.”

  Lauren’s throat was almost too dry to work. She wasn’t sure it would. “You mean...?”

  “I mean in the traditional sense, yes. With all that entails.”

  He shifted, and she had never felt smaller. In the sense of being delicate. Precious, something in her whispered, though she knew that was fanciful. And, worse, foolish.

  “Find a threshold, and I will carry you over it,” he told her, his voice low and intent. And the look in his gray eyes was so male, very nearly possessive, it made her ache. “I will lay you down on a bed and I will kiss you awhile, to see where it goes. And all I need from you is a promise that you will not tell me what you do and do not like until you try it. That’s all, Lauren. What do you have to lose?”

  Conveniently Wed!

  Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!

  Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved...she’s got no choice but to say, “I do!”

  But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they imagine marriage will be that easy...

  Soon their convenient brides become the objects of inconvenient desire!

  Find out what happens after the vows in:

  Claiming His Christmas Wife by Dani Collins

  My Bought Virgin Wife by Caitlin Crews

  The Sicilian’s Bought Cinderella by Michelle Smart

  Crown Prince’s Bought Bride by Maya Blake

  Chosen as the Sheikh’s Royal Bride by Jennie Lucas

  Penniless Virgin to Sicilian’s Bride by Melanie Milburne

  Look for more Conveniently Wed! coming soon!

  Caitlin Crews

  Untamed Billionaire’s Innocent Bride

  USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–nominated author Caitlin Crews loves writing romance. She teaches her favorite romance novels in creative-writing classes at places like UCLA Extension’s prestigious Writers’ Program, where she finally gets to utilize the MA and PhD in English literature she received from the University of York in England. She currently lives in the Pacific Northwest with her very own hero and too many pets. Visit her at caitlincrews.com.

  Books by Caitlin Crews

  Harlequin Presents

  Undone by the Billionaire Duke

  Conveniently Wed!

  Imprisoned by the Greek’s Ring

  My Bought Virgin Wife

  One Night With Consequences

  A Baby to Bind His Bride

  Bound to the Desert King

  Sheikh’s Secret Love-Child

  Stolen Brides

  The Bride’s Baby of Shame

  The Combe Family Scandals

  The Italian’s Twin Consequences

  Untamed Billionaire’s Innocent Bride

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  I can’t believe that this is my 50th book for Harlequin! What a delightful ride it’s been so far!

  I want to thank Jane Porter, whose novels inspired me to try to write my first Presents and whose friendship, mentorship and stalwart sisterhood have changed my life in a million glorious ways.

  I want to thank my two marvelous editors, Megan Haslam and Flo Nicoll, who I simply couldn’t do without. What would these stories be without your guidance, encouragement, excitement, fantastic editing and endless help? I shudder to think! And I want to thank the wonderful Jo Grant as well, for always being such a shining light for category romance and those of us who write it.

  But most of all I want to thank you, my readers, for letting me tell you my stories. Here’s to fifty more!

  xoxox

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EXCERPT FROM CLAIMING HIS REPLACEMENT QUEEN BY AMANDA CINELLI

  CHAPTER ONE

  LAUREN ISADORA CLARKE was a Londoner, born and bred.

  She did not care for the bucolic British countryside, all that monotonous green with hedges this way and that, making it impossible to get anywhere. She preferred the city, with all its transportation options endlessly available—and if all else failed, the ability to walk briskly from one point to the next. Lauren prized punctuality. And she could do without stiff, uncomfortable footwear with soles outfitted to look like tire tread.

  She was not a hiker or a rambler or whatever those alarmingly red-cheeked, jolly hockey-sticks sorts called themselves as they brayed about in fleece and clunky, sensible shoes. She found nothing at all entertaining in huffing up inclines only to slide right back down them, usually covered in the mud that accompanied all the rain that made England’s greenest hills that color in the first place. Miles and miles of tramping about for the dubious pleasure of “taking in air” did not appeal to her and never had.

  Lauren liked concrete, bricks, the glorious Tube and abundant takeaways on every corner, thank you. The very notion of the deep, dark woods made her break out in hives.

  Yet, here she was, marching along what the local innkeeper had optimistically called a road—it was little better than a footpath, if that—in the middle of the resolutely thick forests of Hungary.

  Hive-free thus far, should she wish to count her blessings.

  But Lauren was rather more focused on her grievances today.

  First and foremost, her shoes were not now and never had been sensible. Lauren did not believe in the cult of sensible shoes. Her life was eminently sensible. She kept her finances in order, paid her bills on time, if not early, and dedicated herself to performing her duties as personal assistant to the very wealthy and powerful president and CEO of Combe Industries at a level of consistent excellence she liked to think made her indispensable.

  Her shoes were impractical, fanciful creations that reminded her that she was a woman—which came in handy on the days her boss treated her as rather more of an uppity appliance. One that he liked to have function all on its own, apparently, and wit
hout any oversight or aid.

  “My mother gave away a child before she married my father,” Matteo Combe, her boss, had told her one fine day several weeks back in his usual grave tone.

  Lauren, like everyone else who had been in the vicinity of a tabloid in a checkout line over the past forty years, knew all about her boss’s parents. And she knew more than most, having spent the bulk of her career working for Matteo. Beautiful, beloved Alexandrina San Giacomo, aristocratic and indulged, had defied reason and her snooty Venetian heritage when she’d married rich but decidedly unpolished Eddie Combe, whose ancestors had carved their way out of the mills of Northern England—often with their fists. Their love story had caused scandals, their turbulent marriage had been the subject of endless speculation and their deaths within weeks of each other had caused even more commotion.

  But there had never been the faintest whisper of an illegitimate son.

  Lauren had not needed to be told that once this came out—and it would, because things like this always came out eventually—it wouldn’t be whispers they’d have to be worried about. It would be the all-out baying of the tabloid wolves.

  “I want you to find him,” Matteo had told her, as if he was asking her to fetch him a coffee. “I cannot begin to imagine what his situation is, but I need him media-ready and, if at all possible, compliant.”

  “Your long-lost brother. Whom you have never met. Who may, for all you know, loathe you and your mother and all other things San Giacomo on principle alone. This is who you think might decide to comply with your wishes.”

  “I have faith in you,” Matteo had replied.

  And Lauren had excused that insanity almost in that same instant, because the man had so much on his plate. His parents had died, one after the next. His fluffy-headed younger sister had gone and gotten herself pregnant, a state of affairs that had caused Matteo to take a swing at the father of her baby. A perfectly reasonable reaction, to Lauren’s mind—but unfortunately, Matteo had taken said swing at his father’s funeral.

  The punch he’d landed on Prince Ares of Atilia had been endlessly photographed and videoed by the assorted paparazzi and not a few of the guests, and the company’s board of directors had taken it as an opportunity to move against him. Matteo had been forced to subject himself to an anger management specialist who was no ally, and it was entirely possible the board would succeed in removing him should the specialist’s report be unflattering.

  Of course, Lauren excused him.

  “Do you ever not excuse him?” her flatmate Mary had asked idly without looking up from her mobile while Lauren had dashed about on her way out the morning she’d left London.

  “He’s an important and very busy man, Mary.”

  “As you are always on hand to remind us.”

  The only reason Lauren hadn’t leaped into that fray, she told herself now as she stormed along the dirt path toward God knew where, was because good flatmates were hard to find, and Mary’s obsession with keeping in touch with her thirty thousand best friends in all corners of the globe on all forms of social media at all times meant she spent most of her time locked in her room obsessing over photo filters and silly voices. Which left the flat to Lauren on the odd occasions she was actually there to enjoy it.

  Besides, a small voice inside her that she would have listed as a grievance if she allowed herself to acknowledge it, she wasn’t wrong, was she?

  But Lauren was here to carry out Matteo’s wishes, not question her allegiance to him.

  Today her pair of typically frothy heels—with studs and spikes and a dash of whimsy because she didn’t own a pair of sensible shoes appropriate for mud and woods and never would—were making this unplanned trek through the Hungarian woods even more unpleasant than she’d imagined it would be, and Lauren’s imagination was quite vivid. She glared down at her feet, pulled her red wrap tighter around her, thought a few unkind thoughts about her boss she would never utter out loud and kept to the path.

  The correct Dominik James had not been easy to find.

  There had been almost no information to go on aside from what few details Matteo’s mother had provided in her will. Lauren had started with the solicitor who had put Alexandrina’s last will and testament together, a canny old man better used to handling the affairs of aristocrats than entertaining the questions of staff. He had peered at her over glasses she wasn’t entirely convinced he needed, straight down his nose as he’d assured her that had there been any more pertinent information, he would have included it.

  Lauren somehow doubted it.

  While Matteo was off tending to his anger management sessions with the future of Combe Industries hanging in the balance, Lauren had launched herself into a research frenzy. The facts were distressingly simple. Alexandrina, heiress to the great San Giacomo fortune, known throughout the world as yet another poor little rich girl, had become pregnant when she was barely fifteen, thanks to a decidedly unsuitable older boy she shouldn’t have met in the first place. The family had discovered her pregnancy when she’d been unable to keep hiding it and had transferred her from the convent school she had been attending to one significantly more draconian.

  The baby had been born in the summer when Alexandrina was sixteen, spirited away by the church, and Alexandrina had returned to her society life come fall as if nothing had happened. As far as Lauren could tell, she had never mentioned her first son again until she’d made provisions for him in her will.

  To my firstborn son, Dominik James, taken from me when I was little more than a child myself, I leave one third of my fortune and worldly goods.

  The name itself was a clue. James, it turned out, was an Anglicized version of Giacomo. Lauren tracked all the Dominik Jameses of a certain age she could find, eventually settling on two possibilities. The first she’d dismissed after she found his notably non–San Giacomo DNA profile on one of those ancestry websites. Which left only the other.

  The remaining Dominik James had been raised in a series of Catholic orphanages in Italy before running off to Spain. There he’d spent his adolescence, moving from village to village in a manner Lauren could only describe as itinerant. He had joined the Italian Army in his twenties, then disappeared after his discharge. He’d emerged recently to do a stint at university, but had thereafter receded from public view once more.

  It had taken some doing, but Lauren had laboriously tracked him down into this gnarled, remote stretch of Hungarian forest—which Matteo had informed her, after all her work, was the single notation made in the paper version of Alexandrina’s will found among Matteo’s father’s possessions.

  “That was what my father wrote on his copy of my mother’s will,” Matteo had said cheerfully. Cheerfully, as if it didn’t occur to him that knowing the correct Dominik James was in Hungary might have been information Lauren could have used earlier.

  She didn’t say that, of course. She’d thanked him.

  Matteo’s father might have made notes on Alexandrina’s will, but he’d clearly had no intention of finding the illegitimate child his wife had given away long before he’d met her. Which meant it was left to Lauren to not only make this trek to locate Dominik James in the first place, but also potentially to break the news of his parentage to him. Here.

  In these woods that loomed all about her, foreign and imposing, and more properly belonged in a fairy tale.

  Good thing Lauren didn’t believe in fairy tales.

  She adjusted her red wrap again, pulling it tighter around her to ward off the chill.

  It was spring, though there was no way of telling down here on the forest floor. The trees were thick and tall and blocked out the daylight. The shadows were intense, creeping this way and that and making her feel...restless.

  Or possibly it wasn’t shadows cast by tree branches that were making her feel one way or another, she told herself tartly as she willed her ankles not to roll o
r her sharp heels to snap off. Perhaps it was the fact that she was here in the first place. Or the fact that when she’d told the innkeeper in this remote mountain town that she was looking for Dominik James, he’d laughed.

  “Good luck with that,” he had told her, which she had found remarkably unhelpful. “Some men do not want to be found, miss, and nothing good comes of ignoring their issues.”

  Out here in these woods, where there were nothing but trees all around and the uneasy sensation that she was both entirely alone and not alone at all, that unhelpful statement felt significantly more ominous.

  On and on she walked. She had left the village behind a solid thirty minutes ago, and that was the last she’d seen of anything resembling civilization. She tried to tell herself it was lucky this path didn’t go directly up the side of the brooding mountains, but it was hard to think in terms of luck when there was nothing around but dirt. Thick trees. Birds causing commotions in the branches over her head. And the kind of crackling sounds that assured her that just because she couldn’t see any wildlife, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  Watching. Waiting.

  Lauren shuddered. Then told herself she was being ridiculous as she rounded another curve in her path, and that was when she saw it.

  At first, she wasn’t sure if this was the wooded, leafy version of a desert mirage—not that she’d experienced such a thing, as there were no deserts in London. But the closer she got, the more she could see that her eyes were not deceiving her, after all. There was a rustic sort of structure peeking through the trees, tucked away in a clearing.

  Lauren drew closer, slowing her steps as the path led her directly toward the edge of the clearing. All she’d wanted this whole walk was a break from the encroaching forest, but now that there was a clearing, she found it made her nervous.

  But Lauren didn’t believe in nerves, so she ignored the sensation and frowned at the structure before her. It was a cottage. Hewn from wood, logs interlocking and tidy. There was smoke curling up from its chimney, and there was absolutely no reason that a dedicated city dweller like Lauren should feel something clutch inside her at the sight. As if she’d spent her entire life wandering around without knowing it, half-lost in forests of wood and concrete alike, looking for a cozy little home exactly like this one.