Marrying for King's Millions / The Spanish Aristocrat's Woman: Marrying for King's Millions

“Chérie,” Jean Claude cooed, his pale eyes twinkling as if he were enjoying himself tremendously. “Clearly, you are overwrought.”

“Over—” She hauled her right arm back and Travis gripped both of her arms before dragging her away from the other man.

“Did you ever get a copy of the divorce decree?” Travis whispered the question into her ear.

Julie shook her head, disgusted with herself as much as with Jean Claude. She’d been a complete idiot. Not only in marrying the worm, but also in trusting him to end the marriage, too. Her only excuse was that she’d been so hurt. So totally crushed, she hadn’t really been thinking at all.

“No. He told me he would make me a copy but he never did.” She shot daggers at the man standing there smirking at her.

“And you trusted him.”

“Yes. Damn it.”

Travis’s grip on her arms loosened and when he set her aside, she could see there was still fire in his eyes. His mouth was set and a tic in his jaw let her know exactly how hard he was working to keep his temper under control. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, then turned to face the other man again. “How much?”

“That’s very crass.”

“It’s expedient,” Travis argued. “Let’s hear it. How much for you to keep quiet?”

Jean Claude nodded once. “Very well, be it as you wish. I believe—” he said calmly as he shot his cuffs “—that one hundred thousand dollars will convince me to not seek out the press.”

“One hun—” Julie gaped at him, then turned to face Travis. “You can’t seriously be thinking about paying him off. You can’t do it, Travis. It’s blackmail.”

“I prefer to think of it as paying for privacy,” Jean Claude mused.

“You stay out of this.” Julie stabbed her index finger toward him.

“Julie,” Travis said. “Let me handle this.”

“No. You can’t.” She grabbed his forearm and felt the corded muscles in his arm bunch beneath her hand. “Travis, he won’t stop. This will just be the beginning.”

Travis lifted her hand off his arm and Julie could only watch as he walked slowly across the room to his desk. Opening a drawer, he pulled out an oversized checkbook and glanced at the other man. “One hundred thousand. And if you go to the press anyway, I will bury you.”

Jean Claude gave him a brilliant smile. “But what reason would I have to slay the golden goose, mon ami? No, your—pardon, our—secret will stay with me, I assure you.”

Not looking at him again, Travis grabbed a pen, scrawled across the check, then ripped it free. He stalked across the room, folded the check in half and tucked it into the other man’s breast pocket. Jean Claude lifted one hand to his suit pocket to pat the check, as if assuring himself it was there.

“Make no mistake, Pierre,” Travis said, pushing his face into Jean Claude’s until the other man pulled his head back and, at long last, looked worried. “Open your mouth and you’ll regret it.”

“But of course,” the other man said and bowed elegantly. He stepped back, then crossed the room to the closed door. He opened it, then stopped and turned to look at Julie. “I’d forgotten, you know.”

“Forgotten what?”

“Just what a lovely bride you make.”

“Get out,” she said, fighting the darkness that was rising up inside her like a toxic spill. The coldness swamped her, cutting off her air, spreading chills along her body until she was nearly quivering. “And don’t come back.”

He smiled again, then left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Seconds ticked past before Julie could force herself to look at Travis. She’d known him her whole life and yet, she had no idea what she would see on his face. When she finally faced him, though, his expression was blank. His familiar features no more than a hard mask, hiding whatever it was he was feeling from her.

And the cold rushing through her turned icy.

“Let’s get back to the reception,” he said.

“Are you serious?”

“Damn right I am,” Travis told her, coming across the room to stand in front of her. “And you’re going to smile and laugh and dance like you haven’t got a care in the world. Understand?”

“I don’t think I can. I’m so furious—”

“You’re furious?” He laughed shortly but there was no humor in it. Just as there was no shine of amusement in his eyes or in the hard flat line of his mouth. “I just found out my new wife already has a husband. A blackmailer no less. And you’re furious? Trust me when I say I’ve got you beat.”

Yes, he probably did. Watching him, Julie felt his rage and understood what he must be feeling. But damn it, she’d been lied to, too! “I didn’t know about this.”

“I said we’ll talk about it later.” He took her upper arm in a firm grip and led her across the room to the door. “For now, we’re going back to the party. We’ll smile for the photographers. We’ll dance and we’ll eat wedding cake and we will not let anyone else even guess that there’s something wrong. You understand?”

“I get it,” she said, and was forced to agree with him. She so didn’t need any more drama today. “More acting.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine.” It wouldn’t be easy, but with enough wine, all things were possible. “But then what?” she asked, looking up into dark brown eyes that looked as cold and empty as an abandoned well.

“When the party’s over, we head to Mexico. To get you a damn divorce so we can get married again.”

Three

Travis checked his wristwatch for the tenth time in as many minutes, then looked up at his brothers. Adam and Jackson stood side by side, looking so much alike they might have been twins. But then, Travis knew that all three of them were carbon copies of each other. With only a year separating each of them, they’d grown up close and had gotten even closer over the years. The King brothers were a unit. So much a unit in fact, that it was nearly impossible for one of them to hide something from the others.

For example, without even looking into their eyes, he was fully aware that they knew something was up.

“The vineyard manager, Darleen, should be able to keep things running around here while I’m gone,” he said, glancing around the nearly empty garden area. The wedding and reception were over, the guests were long gone and now the catering crew was cleaning up. A veritable squad of workers was stacking the white chairs, dragging down the garlands of flowers, packing away crystal and china and whatever food was left over.

A low hum of anger still throbbed in Travis’s gut. This should have been a good day. One to celebrate the fruition of his dreams for the winery. Instead, his dream was fast becoming a nightmare.

Shaking his head, he dragged his thoughts back to the business at hand and turned his gaze back to his brothers. “But if she needs help…”

“We’ll be around,” Jackson assured him. “Well,” he corrected with a wry smile, “Adam will be. I’ve got a flight to Paris lined up.”

Jackson ran the King-Jets operation for the family. Building luxury jets and leasing them to the wealthy of the world. They had plenty of trained, experienced pilots on the books, sure, but Jackson enjoyed taking some of the runs himself. Nothing he liked better than heading out to wherever the wind blew him. The job suited him. Jackson never had been one for staying in one place too long.

“And after Paris, it’s Switzerland,” Jackson continued. “Should be gone about three weeks, so Adam’ll have to step in if Darleen needs anything.”

“I’ll be here,” Adam agreed.

“Of course you will,” Jackson said with a laugh. “According to Gina you’re never more than five feet from her and you watch her like she’s a hand grenade about to explode.”

Adam scowled at the youngest of them. “Talk trash when the woman you love is pregnant. Then we’ll see where we stand.”