Sexy Billionaires Read online

  Carol Marinelli is a rising star of Harlequin Presents®, and we hope that you’ll continue to enjoy her stories in the months and years to come.

  Carol’s intense, dramatic and passionate romances will take you on a roller coaster of emotions!

  The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

  is a sensual story, jam-packed with excitement and instinctive desire….

  Where spirited women win the hearts of Australia’s most eligible men!

  Look for the next exciting story in this series, written by fan-favorite author Miranda Lee.

  The Passion Price

  #2398

  Available only from Harlequin Presents®

  Carol Marinelli

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S CONTRACT BRIDE

  For Mario

  With love and gratitude for all your support Carol

  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

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘THEY’RE never going to believe us.’ Taking Aiden’s hand, Tabitha stepped out of the car, her mouth literally dropping open as she watched the guests milling on the steps of the grand old Melbourne church like a parade of shimmering peacocks.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Aiden didn’t look remotely fazed, waving cheerfully to a couple of familiar faces in the crowd.

  ‘They’re never going to believe us,’ Tabitha repeated, after taking a deep steadying breath, ‘because I don’t look like a society wife.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Aiden muttered. ‘Anyway, you’re not a society wife; you’re merely pretending to be my girlfriend. So if it’s any consolation, you’re allowed to have sex appeal. They’ll think you’re my last wild fling before I finally settle down.’

  ‘They’ll see through it straight away,’ Tabitha argued, refusing to believe it could all be so simple. ‘I’m a dancer, Aiden, not an actress. Why on earth did I agree to this?’

  ‘You had no choice,’ Aiden reminded her, before she could bolt back into the car. They started to walk, albeit slowly, towards the gathering throng. ‘I played the part of your devoted fiancé at your school reunion in return for you accompanying me to my cousin’s wedding. Simple.’

  ‘No,’ Tabitha said, pulling Aiden’s hand so he had to slow down. ‘Simple would be telling your family that you’re gay. It’s the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake; it’s not a crime any more!’

  ‘Try telling that to my father. Honestly, Tabitha, it’s better this way, and don’t worry for a second about not looking the part—you look fabulous.’

  ‘Courtesy of your credit card,’ Tabitha scolded. ‘You shouldn’t have spent all that money, Aiden.’

  ‘Cheap at half the price; anyway, I wouldn’t dream of throwing you into the snake pit that is my family without a designer frock and shoes. Oh, come on, Tabitha, enjoy yourself. You love a good wedding!’

  After slipping into the pew and idly scanning the Order of Service, Tabitha let her jade eyes work the congregation, and though it galled her to admit it she had never been more grateful for the small fortune that had been spent on her outfit. What had seemed appropriate for the multitude of weddings she had attended this year definitely wouldn’t have done today.

  Her dress had been a true find, the flimsy chiffon fabric a near perfect match for her Titian hair, which she wore today pinned back from her face but cascading around her shoulders. Her lips and nails were painted a vibrant coral that matched her impossibly high strappy sandals and beaded bag perfectly, and Tabitha felt a million dollars. It was a colour scheme Tabitha would normally never even have considered, with her long red curls and pale skin, yet for once the gushing sales assistant hadn’t been lying: it all went beautifully.

  The guests that packed the church seemed to ooze money and style—for the most part, at least. But there were more than a couple of garish fashion mistakes to giggle over that even Tabitha recognised—born, she assumed, from a bottomless wallet and an utter disregard for taste. Aiden took great delight in pointing out each and every one, rather too loudly.

  An incredibly tall woman with the widest hat imaginable chose to sit directly in front of Tabitha, which ruined any hope of a decent view of the proceedings. But even with Aiden’s and Tabitha’s combined critical eyes there wasn’t even a hint of a fashion faux pas in sight on this ravishing creature. Height obviously didn’t bother this woman either, judging by the razor-sharp stilettos strapped to her slender feet. Oh, well, Tabitha shrugged, it must be nice to have so much confidence.

  Only when the woman turned to watch the bridal procession did Tabitha start with recognition. Amy Dellier was one of the top models in Australia, and, judging by the extremely favourable write-ups in all the glossies Tabitha devotedly devoured, she was all set for international fame. Suddenly the golden chiffon and coral which she had been so pleased with only a few moments ago seemed a rather paltry offering, standing so close to this stunning woman.

  As the organ thundered into the ‘Bridal March’ they all stood, every eye turning as the bride entered and started her slow walk down the aisle. Every eye, that was, except Tabitha’s. She had seen more brides this summer than a wedding photographer. Instead, some morbid fascination found her gaze constantly straying to Amy Dellier. She truly was beautiful—stunningly so. Not a line or blemish marred her perfect complexion, and her make-up highlighted the vivid aquamarine of her eyes.

  ‘Excuse me.’ A deep voice dragged her back to the proceedings. ‘I need to get past.’

  The voice was deep and sensual, and as she turned her head Tabitha almost braced herself for disappointment. It probably belonged to some portly fifty-year-old who did voice-over commercials part-time. But there was nothing disappointing about the face that met hers. If Amy Dellier was the epitome of feminine perfection, then standing before Tabitha was the male version. Jet hair was brushed back from a strong haughty face, and high cheekbones forced her attention to the darkest eyes she had ever seen. At first glance they seemed black, but closer inspection revealed a deep indigo, framed with thick black spiky eyelashes. The heady scent of his cologne and his immaculate grooming indicated he was freshly shaven, but the dusky shadow on his strong jaw conjured images of bandanas and tequila, a world away from the sharp expensive suit he was wearing. He looked sultry and masculine—animal, in fact. As if no amount of grooming, money or trappings could ever take away the earthy, primal essence of man.

  ‘Of course.’ Swallowing nervously, she pushed her legs back against the pew in an attempt to let him past—but her bag was blocking the way, with Aiden’s foot on the strap. Aiden, totally mesmerised by the wedding, was happily oblivious to the obstruction he was causing.

  ‘Sorry.’ His apology was mere politeness, exactly as one would expect when a stranger had to push past—the same as at the movies, when the inevitable hordes returned with their dripping ice-creams and you had to lift your legs up and squash back into the seat to let them past. Except demi-gods like this never appeared at the movies Tabitha attended—at least not off screen—and this moment seemed to be going on for ever.

  If he didn’t want to fall, he had no choice but to steady himself briefly on Tabitha’s bare arm as he stepped over the small bag. The pews were impossibly close, each jammed to capacity with guests. As his hand touched the flesh of her arm Tabitha found she was holding her breath; two spots of colour flamed
on her carefully rouged cheeks as he brushed past her, the scent of him filling her nostrils.

  Aiden turned then, a smile of recognition on his face as he mouthed hello to this delicious stranger. The bride was passing, and he had no choice but to stand between Tabitha and Aiden as the procession slowly passed.

  So slowly.

  It was probably only a matter of seconds.

  It seemed to last for ever.

  Never had she felt such awareness—the whole focus of her attention honing in on this everyday occurrence. Her skin was stinging as she stood next to him, every nerve in her being standing rigid to attention, so painfully aware of his close proximity. But all too soon it was over; the procession had dutifully passed, allowing him to slip into the pew in front and Tabitha to finally breathe again.

  He moved directly into the seat reserved next to Amy, and by the way her hand coiled possessively around his she was only too pleased to see him.

  Tabitha found herself letting out a disappointed sigh while simultaneously admonishing herself for overreacting. Well, what did you expect? she reasoned. That someone as utterly gorgeous as that would be here alone?

  Only she wasn’t talking about Amy Dellier.

  ‘Dearly beloved…’

  The congregation hushed as the service started, but it held no interest for Tabitha. Instead her attention was entirely focused on the delicious sight of the man who had sat himself in front of her. His thick hair was beautifully cut and absolutely black, without even a single grey hair. It sharply tapered into a thick, strong and tanned neck, and his suit was superbly cut over his wide shoulders. As they stood to sing the first hymn Tabitha stared, mesmerised, her eyes unashamedly flicking downward. Despite her height, Amy Dellier seemed almost petite beside her partner; he was incredibly tall. It was no wonder she could get away wearing heels with him around.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Aiden whispered into her ear as the congregation sang heartily.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Tabitha flushed, snapping her attention to the hymn book she was holding in front of her.

  It didn’t work. ‘You’re supposed to be on page forty-five, Tab.’ Aiden grinned. ‘That, my dear, is my brother Zavier.’

  ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

  But Aiden had known her far too long to be fobbed off. ‘You know exactly who I’m talking about, Tabitha, and take it from me—he’d crush you in the palm of his hand.’

  Tabitha winced at the expression. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Just that. Zavier might be a dream to look at, but he’s bad news.’

  Their heads were huddled over the hymn book, and they spoke out of the sides of their mouths, but it wasn’t enough to prevent a few withering looks being cast in their direction. ‘Then it’s just as well I’m not interested,’ Tabitha hissed.

  Aiden gave her a knowing look. ‘On your head be it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  She sang tunelessly, her eyes straying all too often to the delectable diversion so achingly close in front of her. Despite her recent aversion to weddings, this one was turning out to be a sheer pleasure; even the endless wait while the happy couple went off to sign the register passed in a blur of delicious fantasy. Never had she felt such a strong physical attraction to someone—someone she knew absolutely nothing about. He was completely unattainable, of course. Way, way out of her league.

  Despite her protests, Tabitha had to admit that hobnobbing with the seriously rich had its perks. There was no question of standing bored and thirsty as the photographer clicked away for hours. Instead, a small marquee had been set up in Melbourne’s Botanical Gardens and delicious fruit and champagne were being served as the family mingled, disappearing when the photographer called them to do their duty.

  Accepting a glass of champagne, Tabitha smiled as she was introduced to Aiden’s parents. Despite Aiden’s gloomy descriptions, Tabitha was instantly won over and utterly in awe of Aidan’s mother, Marjory, who oozed glamour and wealth.

  ‘A lovely wedding, wasn’t it? Though I’m not sure Simone’s dress was quite the part. I really don’t think thigh-length splits are appropriate attire in a church. What did you think, Jeremy darling?’

  Jeremy Chambers had none of his wife’s effervescence. His black eyes were as guarded as Zavier’s, his haughty face as stern and unyielding as his favourite son’s. ‘She looked like any of the other brides I’ve seen this year,’ he answered loudly, not remotely bothered who overheard him.

  ‘I know the feeling,’ Tabitha groaned, then instantly regretted her comment. ‘I’ve been to rather too many weddings myself this summer,’ she offered by way of explanation, taking a good slurp of her champagne. As Jeremy’s stern gaze turned to her she wished that she’d stayed quiet, but Jeremy actually smiled.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said gloomily. ‘How many have you been to?’

  ‘Ten,’ Tabitha exaggerated, then did a quick mental calculation. ‘Well, six, at the very least,’ she added, rolling her eyes. ‘All my friends seem to have taken the plunge en masse.’

  ‘That’s just the start of it,’ Jeremy said knowingly. ‘The next few years will be taken up with christenings, and before you know where you are all your friends’ children are getting married and the whole merry-go-round starts again. Marjory loves weddings, unlike me, and feels duty-bound to attend each and every one—no matter how distant the relative. Speaking of which, I’d best go and say hello to a few. It was a pleasure meeting you, Tabitha.’ He went to shake her hand, but halfway there seemed to change his mind and instead kissed her on the cheek, much to Aiden’s wide-eyed amazement.

  ‘My goodness, you’ve actually made a hit—my father doesn’t usually like anyone.’

  ‘He seems charming,’ Tabitha scolded. ‘I can’t believe all the awful things you’ve said about him.’

  ‘He is charming, if you happen to be the right son—and talk of the devil…’

  ‘Zavier!’ Marjory exclaimed, kissing him warmly on the cheek. ‘I thought you weren’t ever going to make it to the church. Where on earth did you get to?’

  ‘Where do you think I got to?’ Tabitha noticed his haughty demeanour was somewhat softened when he addressed his mother. ‘I was working.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday,’ Marjory protested. ‘Not that that ever stopped you, Zavier. But that’s quite enough about work—I, for one, intend to enjoy myself today. Have you met Tabitha, Aiden’s darling, er…’ the pause was interminable, but Marjory eventually recovered. ‘…er, friend?’

  Aiden took a hefty swig of his drink, avoiding Tabitha’s eyes. Only Zavier’s gaze stayed steadily trained on her.

  ‘Briefly, in the church.’ He offered his hand and she shook it gingerly, noticing how hot and strong his grip was.

  ‘Where’s Lucy?’ Marjory asked.

  ‘Amy,’ Zavier corrected, ‘is touching up her make-up.’

  ‘Lovely girl,’ Marjory said warmly. ‘She’d make a beautiful bride.’

  ‘Subtle as a brick, as always,’ Zavier groaned.

  ‘Well, what choice do I have? I’ve got two sons in their thirties,’ she said, her eyes on Tabitha, ‘and not even the tiniest hint at a wedding, let alone grandchildren. Simone’s barely twenty; no wonder Carmella’s grinning from ear to ear.’

  ‘The reason she’s grinning is because Simone’s actually managed to nab someone rich enough to get them out of debt—not because of her daughter’s eternal happiness.’

  ‘Ahh!’ Marjory wagged a playful finger. ‘Being out of debt practically ensures eternal happiness.’

  ‘For you, perhaps,’ Zavier quipped. ‘Anyway, given that you can’t even get Amy’s name right, I think that says a lot for your motives. Forget it.’

  ‘It would make your father so proud.’

  Tabitha was actually enjoying the conversation. She liked the gentle verbal sparring between mother and son, and even Zavier didn’t seem so formidable up against the feisty Marjory. But as she mentioned his
father suddenly the temperature seemed to drop, and the affectionate, teasing reply that Tabitha eagerly awaited never came. Zavier Chambers, the epitome of confidence, suddenly seemed lost for words.

  ‘It would, Zavier,’ Marjory said, a note of urgency in her voice. ‘It’s your father’s dearest wish.’

  ‘What’s your father’s dearest wish?’ All eyes turned as Amy appeared. Immaculate, gorgeous, wafting expensive perfume, she sidled up to Zavier and wrapped her arm around him. But Zavier barely acknowledged her presence. ‘What did I miss, darling?’ Amy persisted in a low, throaty purr.

  ‘Nothing,’ Zavier said darkly, shooting his mother a warning look. ‘At least nothing that you have to worry about, Amy.’ And, extracting himself from her clutches, he nodded to the photographer who was hovering on the sidelines. ‘I think we’re wanted.’

  Even though she had just checked her make-up, Amy whipped out a mirror from her bag and started dabbing at her lips.

  ‘Come on, Tabitha.’ Aiden beckoned, but Tabitha shook her head.

  ‘You go. I’m hardly family.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it? Come on.’

  But Tabitha was insistent. Immortalising a lie seemed wrong, somehow. ‘The photographer said family only. Please, Aiden, don’t make me feel any worse about this.’

  ‘You’ll be all right on your own for five minutes?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Aiden, just go. They’re all waiting.’

  Sipping on her drink, she watched as they all lined up; it was easy to tell which side they all belonged to. The Chamberses reminded Tabitha of a Mafia movie—all their suits seemed darker, all the men taller, all their hair cut just that little bit more neatly. The fatal combination of money and a perfect gene pool—only Aiden didn’t quite fit in with the masses. His features were gentler, his gestures more expressive than the tight-lipped brooding looks of his relatives. Zavier stood out also. If the Chambers family were a formidable bunch then Zavier was the pinnacle—taller, darker, and, from the reverent way everyone treated him, the most powerful.