Taming the Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Sierra Rose

  “The man’s a force of nature.” His voice softened suddenly, as he saw the look of unadulterated panic on my face. “You look so radiant and beautiful. Have I told you that already? Because you’re absolutely stunning and totally take my breath away.”

  I smiled. “Thank you so much. And I would like to extend the same compliment because you look absolutely dashing handsome.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I pulled myself together with a shaky breath, made the mistake of glancing outside the window, then had to start all over again.

  “You know—this isn’t really what I signed up for when I agreed to be your publicist.”

  Nick’s smile dimmed the longer he looked at me—eventually melting away into something both sad and serious. “I know. I...I appreciate it.”

  It was this sense of quiet gratitude that finally broke through.

  He didn’t have to be here any more than I did. He didn’t care if yet another naked picture surfaced of him on the internet. He was doing this entire thing to protect me.

  “...I appreciate it too.”

  The two of us climbed out of the car in what felt like slow motion. The wind fanned our hair out behind us, as my dress billowed like a silken cloud in the breeze. We came together in a natural pose—his arm linked around my waist as we stood elegantly for pictures.

  Except...no one was there.

  “What is this?” I muttered quietly. The whole point of us throwing this party was to get seen. That was going to be rather difficult if all the cameramen were located at some other mystery entrance. “Nick—where is everyone?”

  As if to answer his question, a sudden cheer rose up from behind the yacht club. With a careful sort of curiosity, we tiptoed around the side—gazing out at the spectacle just beyond.

  Our jaws dropped open at the same time.

  “I thought this was supposed to be held at the yacht club,” I muttered incredulously, staring out toward the sparkling waves. “Not on an actual yacht...”

  IT WAS OFFICIAL: THE great Harold Oates had outdone himself.

  I didn’t know how he’d managed to turn the most exclusive sailing club in all of Manhattan into a glorified coatroom for the real party to come. I didn’t know how he’d cleared passage with the coastguard on such short notice. Not the least of which, I had no idea how in the world he’d convinced the club itself to let Nick Hunter take something out on the water, when the last time he tried, the thing had sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic.

  All that I knew was, about two minutes and eight million photographs later, Nick and I were on board a little motorboat—heading toward the ship.

  “You don’t get sea-sick, do you?” Nick asked, looking a little excited in spite of himself.

  The fresh ocean air and mists of salty spray coming up from the sides had invigorated him. Re-lighting that constant spark of adventure in his eyes.

  The waves had a slightly different effect on me...

  I shot him a dirty look, and struggled to keep my makeup dry, and my dress from flying up around my ears. “You clearly don’t remember the incident in Bermuda.”

  He glanced over with a grin.

  “We were only snorkeling in Bermuda.”

  I shrugged fearfully, gazing up at the giant ship.

  “The sea is the sea.”

  We lifted our heads at the same time, as we fell under the shadow of the massive ship. It wasn’t a yacht so much, as a miniature ocean liner. The kind that looked like something straight out of Titanic. (Yes, in every sense of the word.) The towering waves left trailing in its wake rocked our pint-sized craft from side to side.

  “What are the chances of hitting an iceberg out here...?”

  “Seriously?” Nick shot me a sideways grin. “You can still see the top of that Starbucks we passed on the way over. I think your chances of dying at sea are rather slim.”

  I deliberately ignored his enthusiasm, gripping onto the metal rail like my life depended on it. “That’s just what Jack and Rose thought. One of them turned out to be wrong...”

  Two chains lowered over the side, and another mighty cheer echoed off the top deck as the little boat was lifted slowly into the air. The entire party shifted to greet us when we arrived.

  “Okay,” I muttered nervously, the closer we got to the main deck, “here’s the thing most men don’t know about high-heels—”

  “I’m not going to let you fall,” Nick interrupted. My face paled in preemptive terror, and he flashed me a little wink. “Promise.”

  True to his word, Nick leapt out of the boat first. Landing on the deck of the ship with the grace of a seasoned sailor, before opening his arms wide for me. I saw what he was going for just a second before it happened, and stepped off the railing into thin air—landing inside his arms.

  Another cheer erupted from the crowd, as he dipped me down for a passionate kiss.

  “Remember,” he said through a charming grin, “the whole point of this is to smile.”

  My lips curved obligingly just as he leaned down and kissed me—covering them entirely with his own. The crowd screamed again as he lifted me up, and set me lightly on my feet.

  I swear I was walking on air.

  I soaked in every single moment of it. Fake or not. Being showed off like this was a great feeling. Maybe part of me longed for this. No matter how much I denied it. I was crazy about this guy and we had this amazing spark. His kiss made my heart flutter and my soul dance. I wanted to be his. I needed to be his. Because he simply brought my dead heart back to life. And that’s the kind of guy I needed in my life.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Thank you,” Nick said charmingly, “thank you all so much for coming.”

  A waiter came out of nowhere, and pressed a glass of champagne into his hand. A second later, champagne was handed to me as well. There was no microphone for an impromptu speech, but such a speech was apparently expected, and Nick never failed to impress.

  I could almost feel the eyes of the few reporters who had been allowed on board, boring holes into me as I clutched the crystal goblet. Wondering whether or not I would take a sip. Nick Hunter finally decides to settle down? The girl has to be pregnant, right?

  I fully intended to down the entire thing right in front of them.

  “I know this was rather short notice, so I just wanted express my sincerest gratitude to you all for coming.” Nick smiled graciously, gesturing out at the gathered people. “I’m not going to lie...it was rather short notice for Abby and I as well.”

  A burst of laughter echoed through the crowd, and his arm squeezed around my waist. I could see Mitchell and several of his associates standing together in the back. Rigid and tall in a cluster of dark suits, nodding approvingly all the while. Like the horsemen of the apocalypse, come to see their evil plans take flight.

  Take flight indeed.

  Nick was good at this. As much as he hated it. As much he might rebel against it with every fiber of his being...he was a natural.

  He held up his hand for silence, and the crowd grew suddenly still.

  “The long and short of it is, this woman is no one new to me. She wasn’t a stranger who burst into my life without warning. We didn’t happen to run into each other in some strange twist of fate. She was a friend. A dear friend.”

  His eyes softened tenderly, as they gazed down into mine.

  “A dear friend, who I’m delighted to say...grew into something more.”

  There was a hitch in my breathing, and for a split second, my heart actually stopped. I couldn’t be sure whether he was improvising or not. Whether he was just spinning tales for the benefit of the company, or whether there was actually some truth to his words.

  Nick knew speeches, and he knew the average attention span of crowds. He kept it short.

  “To the beautiful Abigail Wilder.” He raised his champagne high in the air, and locked me in his sights. “The woman I’ve vowed to make my wife.”

  The rest of the ship r
aised their glasses of one accord, toasting the happy couple. A chorus of happy voices echoed after his, ringing out over the cool ocean air.

  By the time I lifted my own champagne, they were already drinking theirs. But I hardly noticed. I was mesmerized. Staring at Nick’s face, as he stared back into mine.

  Wondering so desperately where the fiction stopped, and real life began...

  Before I had even a hope of finding out, there was a sudden cry of trumpets, and the next thing I knew, the entire ship had started to dance. With a sparkle and pizazz that only Sir Harold Oates was able to produce, the band came out, the champagne popped, and the entire party turned into a swinging nightclub. A dazzling array of laughter and lights.

  One that was just getting started as the ship sailed into the horizon...

  FOR THE NEXT TWENTY minutes or so, Nick and I were continually assaulted by every single person who had managed to snag that exclusive ticket onto the ship. The compliments and congratulations were endless, but at the same time—they couldn’t hide their shock.

  I couldn’t tell you how many times a glittering, high profile couple would glance discreetly down at my stomach—convinced that I had to be carrying his child. To counter that suspicion (and to settle my crippling nerves) I downed glass after glass of champagne. Keeping up with even Nick, who eventually regarded my efforts with a twinkling smile.

  “Self-medicating, are we?”

  I set down my empty flute on a passing tray, and picked up another. “Does everyone on the ship think that you’re pregnant?”

  “...probably not.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I tossed back my hair with a little grin, automatically tilting my head toward him as another flashbulb lit up the sky. “Think of it as a personal compliment.”

  “A compliment?” He chuckled, and leaned instinctively down to twice kiss the cheeks of an elderly German ambassador. “And how is that, exactly?”

  I did the same with the German ambassador’s husband.

  “With every glass of champagne I drink, the world knows that I’m not just marrying you because you happened to get me pregnant,” I said practically. “Now they think I’m just marrying you for your money, your looks, and your international celebrity. Problem solved.”

  He bit his lip to keep from laughing. A task that was made much easier, when a portly man came barreling out of nowhere and practically lifted him off his feet.

  “Nicholas, my boy!”

  Nick took a second to find his breath and his balance, before gazing down in shock.

  “Headmaster Paxton?”

  The man was as tall as he was round, and when he gave Nick an extra-exuberant embrace, I saw the latter bite back a grimace.

  “In the flesh!” He pulled back with a jovial laugh, showering the two of us in a spray of spit. “You didn’t think I’d miss an opportunity like this, did you?”

  Nick laughed rather nervously, wiped his face, and pulled me closer.

  “Abby, allow me to introduce Bryce Paxton—he was my headmaster back at Rooks.”

  An elite boarding school for only the best of the best. One that was just as notorious for its Draconian disciplinary system, as it was for the wild parties the boys threw to rebel.

  “So...” I shook his hand with a teasing smile. “You’re the guy who dropped the ball.”

  The joke went over a little too well. A second later, Nick and I were forced to wipe our faces yet again. His hand closed around mine, and pulled me clear of the splash zone.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I did. Never could get it through that thick head,” he jabbed a stubby finger at Nick’s golden hair, “that rules are meant to be followed. We never had such a charming little trouble-maker at Rooks, and I doubt we will again.”

  As Nick blushed apologetically, I nestled my head on his shoulder with a smile.

  “Well thank goodness for that. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t be standing here.”

  Nick shot me a grateful smile, while the headmaster erupted again. It was becoming quickly clear that he man had consumed almost as much champagne as I had myself.

  “Quite right! Quite right, indeed!” He gave Nick an almost stern look, before gesturing to me. “You’ve found yourself a keeper, son. Don’t do anything to spoil it.”

  With just a touch of anxiety, Nick laughed lightly and lifted my hand to his lips for a fleeting kiss. “Trying to seal the deal right now, sir.”

  “Atta boy.”

  Without another word, the man ambled away through the crowd—oblivious to the hordes of people that only managed to leap out of the way just in time. Nick and I stared after him for a long moment, each lost to our thoughts.

  “So...a bit of a handful at school, were you?”

  A rather roguish grin lit the corners of his face, as his eyes danced with a million secret stories that I would probably never hear. “I may have bent the rules once or twice,” he admitted coyly. “But I was hardly the only one. It’s unfair for him to hold me solely responsible—”

  “Well would you look at the happy couple.”

  Speak of the devil...

  Nick and I spun around at the same time, as a handsome man weaved toward us through the crowd. There wasn’t a single head that didn’t do a double-take. There wasn’t a single eye that didn’t linger appreciatively as he passed by. But he had time for none of them. He kept his eyes locked on us, and the second he got close enough, his lips parted in a pearly smile.

  “Allow me to offer my congratulations on this...blessed event.”

  “James!” Nick lit up like a kid at Christmas, throwing his arms around the guy’s neck without a care in the world as to who was watching. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  James embraced him just as warmly, clapping him on the back before pulling away to get a better look. “Well I couldn’t exactly miss your big party, could I?” An unmistakable note of sarcasm tinted the words, but he smiled brightly as he turned to me. “Hey, Wilder.”

  “Cross.” Even trapped on a boat with hundreds of people I didn’t know in the middle of the Atlantic, my face melted into a genuine grin. The two of us embraced almost as warmly as he and Nick. “I was wondering if you were going to show up.”

  James Lysander Cross IV was the eldest son of the wealthiest man in the British Empire.

  Heir to a multi-billion dollar shipping empire, the youngest person ever to be knighted, and an international playboy to boot. In essence, he was the European equivalent to Nick.

  In following with the tradition of the rich and famous (and neglected), the two of them had attended all the same boarding schools, both in the states and abroad. After a brief housing dispute—the likes of which rivaled the Cold War—they were even roommates for a year at Oxford. While the constant proximity would have made anyone close, the boys had bonded to a brotherly degree. Seeing each other through every impossible twist and turn life had to offer.

  From the tragically regular divorces of their parents, to the exhilarating new heights of their celebrity, to a car accident that almost took James’ leg, to the death of Nick’s mom.

  The two of them had gotten each other through it all. Making this sudden engagement of Nick’s—and James’ inadvertent exclusion from it—all the more unspeakable of a slight.

  “If I was going to show up?” he repeated with a dazzling smile. “Well when I found out that my best friend was getting married—found out like everyone else did, by the way, by reading about it in the damn papers—I figured I might as well fly in for his engagement party. Wouldn’t want to be impolite.”

  He and Nick shared a charged smile, before the latter hung his head in shame.

  “I wanted to tell you,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It all just happened so fast—”

  “Oh don’t worry about it,” James said with mock understanding, clapping him with a little more force than was necessary on the back, “that’s the way these things happen. Wait a minute...” his lovely face furrowed with a frown, “...no it isn
’t.”

  “Mr. Cross! Mr. Hunter!” The three of us turned to see a columnist for the New York Times practically jumping up and down to get their attention. He was holding a camera, and looking like he couldn’t believe his luck in seeing two such desirable candidates together in a single frame. “Do you mind if I...”

  The men stepped automatically together, flashing the man matching, pearly smiles as they continued talking through their teeth.

  “You’re mad,” Nick summarized.

  James smiled broadly, squeezing his best friend’s shoulder in a death-grip.

  “Mad? What possible reason would I have to be mad?” By now, more cameramen had joined in on the hunt, and they angled their bodies toward the flashing lights. “I love finding out the details of your life from the press. I love dropping everything at a moment’s notice to fly out to your and Wilder’s engagement party. Which sucks, by the way.”

  Wisely choosing to avoid getting in the middle of the dispute, I melted away to a safe distance—letting the cameramen have their fill.

  On paper, the two men were a perfect fit. Both were educated at the finest of schools, had graduated with the highest of degrees, spoke multiple languages, and had more money than Donald Trump.

  In person, they complimented each other nicely. One was all lights—golden hair, a jet-setters’ tan, and sky blue eyes. While the other was all dark—black wavy hair, pale European complexion, and eyes the exact shade of rich espresso.

  It was a bromance that already promised to go down as one for the ages. And yet, only someone who knew the two very well could sense that something was currently off.

  “James!” a messenger from the Chronicle called out. “Do you have any words you would like to say to the happy couple?!”

  I spat out a mouthful of champagne, as Nick paled to a drastic degree. James, on the other hand, offered his most dazzling smile yet.

  “That’s an excellent question, Norris! As a matter a fact, I do have some words I’d like to say to them.” He turned with great anticipation to the crowd. “I’d like to start by saying—”