The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

40

Amelie

"How dare he do this?" I mumble under my breath. How dare he tell me that he doesn’t want me, doesn’t want a future with me? Get over it; get over him. Every time he’s pushed me away, I’ve returned to him. Like an ant attracted to sugar, like cream on milk, like jelly on the floor—gah, stop. Even my metaphors are beginning to sound pathetic. Just leave, before he hurts you further. Pulls away at any final shred of self-respect you have left, before he destroys your confidence completely.

"Did you say something?" Kirsten asks me from her perch on the chair opposite me. We are in the waiting room of the hospital in Durham, where the ambulance had taken Rosie.

I’d seen Liam deck Weston, had seen him crumple to the ground, had lost my shit and run to him, then had ridden with him in the second ambulance to the hospital.

Once the doctors had confirmed that he was going to be okay, I had turned to leave, but Kirsten had stopped me. She’d insisted I stay with them while they waited for the ‘all clear’ from the surgeon so they could visit with Rosie.

"I think I should leave." I turn to her, "This is a family matter."

"You are family," she insists. "My asshole brother may not see it yet, but he loves you."

"Does he?" I chuckle, but it’s completely devoid of humor. "He has a funny way of showing it."

She searches my features; her own soften. She takes my hand in hers, "Sweetheart, I understand how upset you must be with his behavior. I have no words to apologize for god-knows-what-all he’s said and done to you. All I can say is, please be patient with him."

"You think I’d be here otherwise?" I swallow. "Only, I’m not sure it’s helping."

"Oh, it is, more than you can imagine." She hesitates, "You’re the first woman he’s brought home. Ever."

"Oh." I swallow, "I… I am…?" My heart begins to beat faster. Does it mean anything? Does it? No.

"That was part of the pretense." I say. "So he could show you all that he intended to settle down. After all, he needs to get married to claim his inheritance, right?"

"Only he doesn't need the money," Kirsten points out. "He's rich enough, not to mention successful enough, in his own right."

"That's true." I admit. "But it doesn't negate that he asked me to pose as his fake girlfriend. Why did he have to boil down the attraction between us to that? Why did he have to turn it into something so...transactional?"

"He can’t seem to stop destroying what’s dearest to him." Kirsten smiles at me, but it’s a sad smile. She holds my hand between her palms.

"Tell me about it," I choke out. "I’ve tried; I really have. When it comes to him, I seem to have some self-destructive tendencies of my own."

"The chemistry between the two of you..." She fans herself, "Honestly, it’s off the charts. I see the way he follows you around with his eyes, like he wants to eat you up."

I redden. "Is it that obvious?"

"You have no idea." Her lips quirk. "It’s different, it’s special, it’s something that’s not easy to come by… Maybe once in a lifetime, even."

"You think I don’t know that?" I tug on my hand and she releases it. I drag my fingers through my hair. Shit, somewhere during the last few hours, my hair had loosened from the chignon I’d pulled it into. Bet I look a sight, to match how I am feeling inside—beaten, broken, sad… Hell. This isn’t why I had left London. This is not what I had bargained for when he’d walked into the cabin naked, swept into my life like a freshly baked baguette which I couldn’t keep away from. OMFG, that’s it then. That last metaphor... Hell, why does it remind me about certain parts of him which are as beautifully endowed? As thick... As gorgeous to put my mouth on. I rise to my feet.

Kirsten glances up at me. "Where are you going?"

"I… I can’t do this." I swallow, "You understand, don’t you? If I want to come out of this with even some small part of me intact, I need to go." I turn to leave.

"It’s the incident," her voice follows me.

I pause, then turn to her. "So I am told," I say.

"You said he mentioned it to you, but has he told you what they did to him?" she queries.

I shake my head.

"Maybe you should ask him."

"Maybe," I tilt my head, "maybe not." Maybe I’ve had enough of Weston and his entire family—much as I have come to like them, Kirsten especially, and the kids, and hell, even his mother… She’s something—formidable, strong, a true matriarch who holds them together. For good or bad, they are a unit. They fight and hate each other, and when there is a crisis like this, they come together too. They have each other’s backs.

Something I’ve never had. I’m not part of a family; I have my own, but I’ve never belonged there. Is that why I had wanted to start a company, a business of my own? To create a family, of sorts? Is that what has driven me thus far? Had I sensed that about Weston, and was that one of the reasons I had been attracted to him. That and his gorgeous, beautiful dick, of course, and that caring demeanor of his, which he hides so bloody well. If it had not been for Max, and how he’d taken care of his nieces… Or how he’d been toward his mother, hell, I’d have missed that completely. All in all… It is time to put this behind me, to go home to the future I would build for myself.

I turn, walk toward the exit.

"Amelie," Liam’s voice stops me.

I turn to find him striding toward me. "Are you leaving?" He frowns. Those features, so like Weston’s, tighten. A lump forms in my throat. Shit, this is not good. Just because he reminds me of the alphahole, who I must try to forget, doesn’t mean I need to get all teary.

"Yes," I straighten my spine, "I must go."

"Have you spoken to Weston?" He tilts his head. His dark gaze, so like Weston’s yet not, sweeps over my features. No, he’s not Weston. He’s colder, darker, unfeeling. Weston has that sly hint of humor in his eyes, that hint of wickedness which tempers that mean edge—not that he couldn’t be horrible, but always, always there was that playfulness that peeked out, that sentiment that compelled me to tug on it and unravel the man inside… The one I love. "Bloody hell." I bring my hand to my mouth.

"What’s wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing." Everything.

A shiver runs down my spine. What have I done? How could I have fallen in love with that…that grumpy ass? A hollow sensation permeates my legs. I stumble. He grips my shoulder and rights me. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"No, I am not," I whisper.

Weston’s voice slices through the air. "Get away from her."

I stiffen. Don’t turn; don’t face him, until you have gotten ahold of yourself.

He sounds so close to me that I draw in a breath.

The hair on the back of my neck rises, and heat invades my back, a sure indication that he’s standing not far from me.

I pull away from Liam, who doesn’t let go. The hell? I frown up at him, and his gaze widens. His lips quirk. Huh? Is he toying with Weston? I tilt my head; he subtly shakes his. "About time you decided to make an appearance," he drawls.

"Take your hands off of her," Weston snaps. My nerve endings crackle and I shuffle back, but Liam’s hold stops me.

"Or what?" He raises his gaze to meet Weston’s. "What are you going to do, little brother?"

"I am going to kill you." Weston’s voice is even—no emotion, no sentiment. The hard edge to it ripples over my skin. Shit, he isn’t joking.

"Let me go," I hiss at Liam, who steps back.

He tilts his head, not breaking eye contact with Weston. "What’s got your knickers in a twist, huh?"

"Step aside, Amelie," Weston growls. My heart begins to race. I take in his features, the messed-up hair, those grey eyes, almost colorless, a clear indication that he’s in the grip of emotions. When he’s like this, he tends to lose control. He doesn’t care how much his actions could hurt him, or those around him. He’s like a wounded animal, ready to hit out at whoever, whatever seems to be a threat.

"Wes," I whisper.

He raises his fist…his left fist… Shit. If he wounds that…it will take him even longer to heal. What if he wrecks any of the fingers of his intact hand? Already, he’s going to be laid up longer than anticipated with his unhealed injury.

"Wes," I grip at his sleeve.

His gaze on Liam, he lowers his chin. "I am going to take you down, motherfucker," he growls.

"Not sure I’d use that adjective considering we are brothers," Liam chuckles.

"How dare you put your hand on her."

"What’s it to you? Thought you weren’t interested in her."

Weston’s features harden.

"None of your business," he snarls. A vein throbs at his forehead. "Come within an inch of her and I’ll deck you."

"Oh, I’ll do better than that." Liam leans in closer, "In fact, I might make a play for her. After all, you’ve relinquished your claim on—"

Weston swings.

I gasp.

Liam laughs.

I stand on tip-toe, throw my arms around Weston’s shoulders… Or as much of him as I can reach, considering how big he is. "Stop it," I snap. "Now."

He blinks, arm raised. Huh? The alphahole stopped in his tracks? Guess Rosie’s not the only one who’s able to bring them to heel. Maybe I picked up something from her, after all.

"Wes," I lean into him, push my breasts into his chest, dig my fingers into his uninjured shoulder, "look at me, babe."

His big body shudders; his chest planes seem to go rock hard.

"I should fucking thrash him for laying a finger on you."

"But you won’t," I declare.

I peer up, to see his throat move as he swallows. The tendons of his beautiful throat flex; the pulse beats at the base of his neck. I reach up and kiss him there, suck on that space where his scent is most profound. Dark edginess, cool pine, warm cloves… My senses cloud with Weston.

"Wes," I tip my chin up, "kiss me."

He glances down, those colorless eyes filled with an emotion… A hint of something that is so very close to… No, not that. He doesn’t feel that for me. Oh, he wants me all right, he lusts for me, needs to possess me and claim me, so no one else can, but love… Ha! The alphahole only loves himself. "Kiss me," I insist. "Do it."

He drops his head, closes his mouth over mine. He swipes his tongue in between my lips and drinks from me. He curves his arm around my shoulders, yanks me to him, crushes me to that beautiful, broad, gorgeous chest of his, and kisses me, and kisses me. My head spins; I swear I see stars. He kisses me until my knees tremble, and I hold onto his sleeves, and then I am kissing him back. I open my mouth wider, grind my pelvis into the hard column that tents his pants and I pour myself into that connection between us, where his mouth takes from me and I offer myself up... Completely, wholly, absolutely. His hand comes up to cup my neck, he tilts his head, softens the kiss, until it’s his lips on mine, nibbling on my mouth, brushing over mine, tasting of me, inviting me, enticing me, to slide my tongue inside his mouth, to partake of him, to drink from him, to open myself to accept what he is offering—his past, my life, our future together, what I am, what he is, a shared path, for he is mine. And I am his. His, and only his. I tear my mouth from his, so fast that my teeth catch on his lip.

He winces.

I stare at the drop of blood that blooms on his lower lip.

"I’m sorry," I whisper.

"I’m not." His lips curl.

"I am leaving you." I peer into his eyes.

"No." He frowns.

"Yes," I reply, "let go of me."

"What?" He shakes his head. "I can’t."

"You can," I thrust out my chin, " and you will."

"No fucking way," he growls.

"Yes, way." My lips tremble and my voice cracks, "Goodbye, Wes."

He looks into my eyes, really looks, and the color fades from his cheeks. "Princess," he whispers. His fingers curve around the nape of my neck. A shiver runs down my back and my sex clenches. Hell, when he does that… Holds me like I am his, promises with his gaze to fuck me like I am his... When he stares at me like I am the only thing in the world that matters… Then I know...

It’s time I get away from him. I hadn't meant to fall in love with him... How could I allow myself to feel so much when I was still the woman he'd paid to bring home to meet his family? I don't mean anything to him. I'd been a challenge... Someone to seduce, to buy with his wealth and use as a fuck-toy to pass the time. Hell. The pressure builds at my temples. I am only making this worse on myself. I need time away, time to process everything that has happened. I needed to get away from here.

"Please," I mumble, "let me have this."

His throat bobs and the skin around his eyes creases. Then he lowers his hand.

I step back, walk around him.

"Princess."

I pause.

"This isn’t over."

I turn to him, "Yes, it is. You know it is."

His features twist.

I turn, head for the exit.