Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire

‘But—’

‘It’s nobody’s concern but ours,’ he said, his tone cool and confident, at odds with the banked heat in his enigmatic gaze. ‘This is going to work. Trust me.’

He placed a hand over hers before she could blink and rather than pulling away, the sane thing to do, she turned hers over and curled her fingers through his.

With a squeeze, he smiled and her heart flip-flopped in predictable fashion.

‘That’s my girl. So, you ready for tomorrow?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

She’d found a dress in a high-end boutique, shoes to match and had booked a hairdresser appointment.

Did a simple outfit constitute ready? A smart up-do? In reality, she’d never be ready to walk down the aisle with the only guy she’d ever really loved, knowing their marriage was fake.

‘About the honeymoon…’

She snapped her gaze to his, not liking the naughty twinkle in his one little bit. ‘A honeymoon isn’t part of the deal.’

She all but yanked her hand out of his on the pretext of reaching for her water glass. He shrugged, a roguish smile playing about his mouth, and in that moment she wished she could take it back.

She’d always been a sucker for that smile, from the first moment he’d squatted to pick up her books strewn in the dirt when she’d tumbled off the bus the day they’d met.

He’d smiled his way into her life, her heart, and she’d be damned if she sat here and let him do it all over again.

‘Okay, no honeymoon.’

‘Good.’

She folded her arms, glared at him. With little effect if his growing grin was any indication.

‘But we do need to have a wedding night.’

‘No way—’

‘This marriage has to look real. I’m a prominent businessman in the area and if we don’t go away, we’d have to do something special for our wedding night, otherwise people would talk.’

He had a point, damn him.

No biggie. They could share a room; didn’t mean they’d have to do anything in it.

‘Fine,’ she gritted out, her admission as painful as the time she’d had to admit she’d sent him that secret admirer Valentine’s card in eighth grade.

Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. ‘You won’t be disappointed.’

Hating the surge of lust that made her knees shake beneath the table, she managed a mute nod while sending a silent prayer heavenward for strength.

She had a feeling she’d need it to resist what the reformed bad boy had in mind come tomorrow.

Brittany’s hand shook as she waved the mascara wand over her lashes and she blinked several times, grateful she’d chosen the waterproof kind.

She’d already been near tears twice, first when she’d opened the door to a gorgeous bouquet of frangipanis and then when she’d carefully hung her wedding dress encased in plastic on the back of the door.

Nick had sent the flowers. His note had been brief.

For my bride

Nick, x

While the flowers were breathtaking, that one little x had her clutching them and burying her nose in their heady fragrance, her eyes filling to the brim.

She wanted his kisses, wanted him, and, no matter how many times she told herself this wedding was a necessity to be free of her past, she knew when she walked up the aisle shortly she’d want him more than ever.

As for her dress…

She’d wanted to buy something understated, practical, a dress she could wear again, for why spend money on a real dress when this marriage would be far from real?

That was before she laid eyes on the strapless, sweetheart gown in ruched ivory silk chiffon and her neglected romantic soul demanded she buy it.

And she had, for when she touched the dress she imagined magic.

A magical marriage filled with light and laughter and love.

A magical mirage of a handsome groom with stars in his eyes and a bride who believed in the happily ever after she’d always dreamed about.

A magical mystery, that despite their motivations for this marriage they were embarking on something truly wonderful today.

Taking one last look in the mirror, satisfied she hadn’t streaked her make-up in a fit of misplaced sentimentality, she shook her head.

Magic wasn’t real and she was foolish to dream of anything other than what this marriage was: a business arrangement.

She slipped off her robe and padded across the room to the wardrobe, her fingers trembling as she slid the zip open on the dress’s carrier bag.

Every metallic slide, every crinkle of the thick plastic, every rustle of silk chiffon brought her closer to her wedding and her tummy twisted as she reverently lifted the dress out.

Emotion clogged her throat and she swallowed several times as the soft flowing skirt cascaded to the floor in a silken ripple.

The dress was a dream, and her breath whooshed out as she steeled her nerve and slowly, carefully stepped into it, wishing she could channel some of that magic.

Closing her eyes, she tugged at the bodice, smoothed the skirt, ignoring the sick churning of nerves gone awry as the reality of marrying Nick hit home, and hard.

Almost faint from anxiety, she took a deep breath, another, before opening her eyes…and gasping.

She looked like a bride.

But it wasn’t the divine dress or the fancy hairdo or the immaculate make-up that made all of this real.

It was the starry-eyed expression in her frightened gaze that said it all.