Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires #2) by Lauren Asher

“A leopard!” I clap my hands together.

The guide whistles before giving the driver a look.

“Is that okay?” I ask, concern etching its way into my voice.

He nods. “Of course. We do our best to find the leopards, but they’re cunning creatures.”

“Oh.” My smile falls a fraction.

“We’ll do everything we can to try to find them.”

I nod. “Of course. No pressure.”

The guide turns toward Declan. “And you, sir? What animal would you like to see?”

He gestures toward me. “Whatever she wants.”

“You don’t have a favorite animal?” I ask.

“Seeing as I’m not five, no.”

I try to coax an answer out of him. “Come on. I know it was a long time ago, but think back to your childhood. There had to be at least one animal you liked more than the rest.”

He shoots me a withering glare. “Elephants.”

“Elephants?”

His lips twitch. “What did you expect? A lion?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

“They’re overrated.”

“And elephants aren’t?”

His eyes shift toward the landscape. “My mom liked them.”

My chest tightens from his admission. The lost look in Declan’s eyes threatens my control over my tear ducts. Something about the way he speaks of his mother always seems to soften me toward him like magic.

I don’t think as I grab his balled-up fist and lace our fingers together. “She had good taste.”

A noise gets trapped in his throat before he places his other hand on top of mine, securing it to his thigh. My body vibrates like I touched a live wire.

I look over at the guide. “All right, you heard the man. Let’s go find him some elephants.”





Declan and I have shared plenty of meals together over the years. While most have been strictly business, there have been a select few where we didn’t have a set agenda to discuss. None of those even come close to sitting across from him now without any kind of distraction. No cellphones. No notes to take. Nothing but one another’s company to keep us occupied.

But unlike past dinners, today screams romance.

It’s a honeymoon. What did you expect?

Maybe something a little more discreet? When they mentioned a dinner under the stars in their brochure, I thought they meant a little sandwich and wine out of a canteen. What they really meant was a full-blown dining experience with white linens and top-shelf champagne.

And flowers. And a bonfire. And enough tension between Declan and me to suffocate anyone within a ten-foot radius.

“So isn’t this lovely…” I offer a tight smile.

Declan pulls my chair out before situating himself in the seat across from me. Candlelight dances across his face, bringing out the sharp dips and contours.

My heart beats harder against my chest from the way he looks at me. Our guide breaks the silence as he pops a bottle of chilled champagne for us. For a second, I consider the idea of asking him to join us with our driver, but he leaves before I have a chance.

“So…” I pour a glass of champagne and chug half of it.

“Why are you nervous?”

I should have known while I studied Declan’s tells, he did the same. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re chugging champagne like you won a Grand Prix.”

I grin. “I heard that’s the first step in becoming an F1 WAG.”

“WAG?” His puzzled expression is cute.

No. Not cute! Declan and the word cute belong together as much as water and electricity. Both equally deadly.

I take another long sip of my drink. “Wife and girlfriend.”

He flicks my wedding rings. “This Alatorre crush is spiraling.”

“The man has his own charity. One that gives kids free prosthetics, for crying out loud. He is practically begging for the world to fall in love with him.”

“I’m aware.”

“You are?”

He shrugs. “I sponsor a few kids.”

I shoot him a look. “Donating to charity as a tax write-off doesn’t count as a sponsor.”

The tic in his jaw makes an appearance. “Good thing I don’t include it in the paperwork then. Wouldn’t want my donation to be null and void.” The bitterness in his voice makes me flinch.

Wait. Is he actually a willing sponsor? How is that possible? Declan has grumbled about every charity event we’ve attended over the years, and it took all my power to convince him to go every single time.

His hardened gaze switches from me to the stars above. A vein appears above his eye, and I’m hit with a wave of guilt so hard, breathing becomes difficult.

Shit. Here you are making assumptions about him when he is only trying to talk. I want to slap myself and go back in time if only to replace that look on his face.

“It was shitty of me to assume you were only doing it for a personal benefit.”

He sighs, not breaking contact with the sky. “I don’t give you a reason to think otherwise. It’s not like I’m out here winning any Noble Peace Prizes.”

That he is not. He sure didn’t earn his reputation as a heartless businessman for nothing. People think the CEO has all the power, but the man behind the spreadsheets calls the shots. Because if it doesn’t make the Kanes any money, then it doesn’t serve a purpose, which means it’s cut from the program.