The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele
62
Knock knock!
Who’s there?
Imogen.
Imogen who?
Imogen life without chocolate... (and Weston...)
-From Amelie's diary
Amelie
I walk into Weston's living room just as the doorbell rings.
Weston—who's changed into slacks and shirt— opens it as Saint, Sinclair and Jace walk in carrying a massive Christmas tree wrapped in a net. Weston leads them to the far corner of the room, where they cut off the net and proceed to set it up.
Weston turns to me, crooks a finger. I frown; he smirks. I mentally throw up my hands, walk over to join him. He wraps his arm around me tugs me into his side.
"Did you plan this?" I ask.
"What?" He grins.
"All this." I jerk my chin toward the Christmas tree currently being set up by his three friends, then to the bar where the other three are having an argument about the latest cricket scores.
The doorbell rings again, then the door is pushed open, and Isla walks in, followed by Sienna—Jace's wife, who pushes a pram with their newborn son.
Victoria follows her.
She smooths her hands down the green dress, as always, looking like she's stepped off a catwalk. She pauses halfway into the room, when Saint looks up. He closes the distance between them and pulls her into a kiss. His large hand covers her stomach protectively. Yep, these two are next in line to have a baby.
"Oh! How romantic." Isla waves a hand in front of her face. She turns to me and her face cracks into a big smile. "Well then, did you two make up your differences?"
"What differences?" Weston smirks, pulling me in for a kiss.
She chuckles, then her gaze widens, "Oh wow!" She gasps, then walks over to us, "Is that what I think it is?" She stares down at my hand.
I hold out my palm. She grabs my fingers and squeezes. "Ouch," I gripe.
"That's one big-ass ring, you bitch." She leans back, glowers at me, "You were holding out on me?"
"Relax," I assure her, "It happened only a few hours ago. He proposed—"
She squeals so loudly that everyone else in the room turns to us.
"Omigod, omigod." She claps her hands, " This is awesome! Another wedding to plan."
"Ah...no." I shake my head.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"No way, am I going in for the whole song and dance of a society wedding."
"But Amelie," she whines, “you only get married once."
"Which is why it's going to be something low key, and romantic... Something with a specially-crafted menu of desserts."
Weston, bends his head. "Will it have cock pops?" he whispers.
"Chocolate cockups," I correct him.
"What-fucking-ever," He grumbles, "as long as you bake them only for us, and only you eat them."
"Possessive, hmm?"
"Just don’t want anyone else's mouth on my penis, except yours."
"You got a deal." I grin.
"What did I miss?" Summer flounces in, hair flowing around her. She's in a festive onesie with glitter threaded through almost every inch of it.
"Woman, you're too bright for me." Sinclair prowls toward her. He makes a grab for her, but she evades him and giggles. He swoops down, hauls her close and she melts into his arms. They kiss, until her phone begins to ring. She tries to pull free, but he doesn't let her go. "Sinner," she mumbles against his mouth, "I need to get this."
"Fuck it.," he responds.
"It may be Karma. I’ve been hoping that she'd call."
He releases her lips, but holds her in the circle of his arms.
She pulls out her phone from her bag, "Hello?” she says. Her face brightens. "Karma!" she exclaims. "Where have you been? I was beginning to get worried."
She listens for a second, raises her gaze to Sinner.
He frowns down at her. Everything okay? he mouths.
She raises her shoulders. "You sure, you're fine?" she asks, then listens to the reply. "So you won't be home for the New Year either?"
Her lips curve down. "Aww honey, I miss you." She listens some more. "Well if that's what you want..." She tips up her chin, a worried set to her features. "Right, okay. Well I'll see you soon, I hope. You take care, sweetheart, oh! And Merry Christmas." She cuts the call.
"How is Karma?" I call out to her. "When is she coming back?"
Summer turns to me, "She sounded... Fine... I guess." Her forehead furrows. "She's staying on in Sicily for a while longer."
"Ooh." Isla rubs her hands together, "That's so romantic. Maybe her new boyfriend doesn't want to let go of her, huh?"
"Maybe," Summer says slowly. "I wish she'd come home. I want to meet him, you know? Make sure he's treating her right."
"I'm sure she's fine, babe." Sinclair kisses the top of her head. "He's probably being possessive, that's all."
She snorts, "You should know."
"You bet." Sinclair smirks, "Once you find the woman of your dreams, you never let her out of your sight, or out of your bed. You make sure you keep her satisfied enough that she never wants to leave your side; you—"
"Enough." She turns in his arms, slaps a hand on his mouth, "Honestly Sin, you have no filter."
"Not when it comes to you, I don't." He grins down at her.
"But when it comes to you, I know exactly what turns you on."
His eyes gleam, "And what's that?"
"You're all about the chase, my love."
"Am I now?" His lips curl.
"Yep." She tips up her head, "Like now—"
She yanks back in his grasp. His grasp loosens, and she pivots and takes off toward the inner rooms.
"What the—" He seems startled. "You come back here Summer, and finish what you started," he growls.
"Not happening." She laughs, "You going soft, Sin? Worried you've lost the edge? Bet you can't catch me." She disappears around the corner.
His jaw drops, "Why you little..." He takes off in hot pursuit.
There's another knock on the front door; it swings open, then Julia walks in. She glances around the room, then spots me. Her face brightens.
"Jules." I wave at her, "What are you doing here?"
"I invited her." Weston brushes his lips over my hair. Seems Dr. Alpha Claus can't keep his hands off of me, huh? I snuggle into his side. "Thanks," I say. "And by that, I assume you knew this little get together was happening?"
"I had an inkling."
"Is that my Christmas gift?" Damian draws abreast. I look up to find his gaze arrested by Julia.
"She's my friend," I warn him.
He tilts his head, a considering expression on his features. "She's hot," He declares.
"She's off-limits to you, douche," Weston warns him.
"Shouldn't the woman have a say in that?" Damian interrupts.
"She's Amelie's friend. As long as Amelie gives you the go ahead..." Weston raises his shoulders.
Damian turns to me, "Well?" He smiles, "What do you say?"
"As long as you promise to treat her right," I grouse.
"I promise to treat her however she wants me to."
"Hmm." I frown. "Julia doesn't suffer fools gladly."
"And, rock stars?" He grins, "What does she think of them?
"Why don't you ask me directly?" Julia's voice interrupts us.
Damian pivots to face her, "Better still, how about I show you...?"
To find out what happens next read Damian and Julia's story HERE. This book also features Weston and Amelie's wedding.
Read Sinclair and Summer's story here
Read Victoria and Saint's story here
Read Karma and Michael Byron's story here
Read an excerpt from Damian and Julia's story
Julia
"Show me huh?" I tilt my chin up, "You ain't got nothin’ that I haven't seen before."
"Don't bet on it." The too-full-of-himself asshole stares down that patrician nose at me. His blue gaze narrows and those cerulean eyes seem to bore into my soul. A shiver runs up my spine. This man? His presence is potent. He leans in close and the heat of his body slams into my chest. My thighs clench and moisture leaks from my core. Damn him. Why the hell am I so turned on by this stranger? I'd accepted Weston's invitation to come over and spend Christmas with him and Amelie. I'd expected for some of his friends to be here. What I hadn’t counted on was this overconfident, dominant, macho male to capture my attention from the moment I'd walked through the door. The kind who'd simply declare his intent, stake his claim and take what was his, politeness be damned. Am I his?
The hell am I thinking?
I don't know him, want nothing to do with an over-the-top, possessive male like him. Nope. He'd tear apart my carefully ordered life, the one I've spent way too long building up brick by brick. I've gotten here by sheer grit and hard work and no rich prick is going to turn that upside down.
"I don't bet." I school my features into a mask of indifference. "I prefer certainties, a path to my goal, one I never veer from."
"Is that a challenge?" His eyes twinkle. He curls his lips and that smirk... OMFG... that upper lip of his seems to thin further. Combined with that puffy lower lip, that square jaw, the tendons of his gorgeous throat that stand out in relief and highlight the hollow at the base of his throat... Hell... He's lethal, all right. And too handsome to be real. Guys like him exist on the cover of magazines, in online memes that I drool over in secret. Nah, he exists in a different world, a rarefied space I have no intention of being part of.
"Take it any way you like." I raise a shoulder. "I don’t care."
There is an indrawn breath. I turn to find Amelie staring at me with huge eyes. She shakes her head, moves toward me, only her fiancé pulls her back. He whispers in her ear. She blinks and her cheeks turn pink. He turns her around and they walk off, leaving me alone with this reprobate of the first order... aka this big growly male who glares at me with... Something like intent in his eyes.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. My stomach trembles. "Ah... I... I guess best I circulate among the guests. Uh! Don't want to seem impolite or anything, know what I mean?" The hell am I blathering on about? "Good to have met you." Not.
I turn to leave, take a step forward, another. Okay... Maybe this is going to be fine. I'll just sidle out of here and— Warm fingers encircle my wrist. I am pulled around, and hauled up against the massive chest of said douche canoe... My breasts plastered against those ripped abs, which I had noticed outlined against his sweatshirt. I gulp and my knees tremble... They bloody tremble. "Let go of me." I demand.
"No."
"What?" I narrow my gaze on that sinful-as-fuck face. "You release me right now or else—"
"Or else?" He peels back his lips and his teeth sparkle against the tan of his sculpted features. At my silence, he continues, "You were saying—"
"That this is a misunderstanding. I am not interested in you."
"Neither am I in you."
"Doesn’t seem that way from where I am, buster," I snap.
"So much anger under that tightly-controlled exterior. I wonder how it would be to peel back the mask you wear to the world, to unveil the heat and passion that lurks under the surface, to show you how it could be if the right man were to touch you in your secret places, the ones you think you have hidden away,” his voice lowers to a hush, “but which I can see, feel, touch, suck..."
My sex clenches. I swear my panties self-combust. A whine bleeds from my lips. I purse my mouth, stare at him. "I don’t care for self-obsessed, insufferable, prats. You've got the wrong woman."
"I don't think so."
He lowers his head until our eyelashes tangle. Until I am pressed to him from toe to chest. My nipples tighten to push up against that unforgiving wall of his torso. Something hard stabs into the cradle of my core. I draw in a sharp breath.
"See what you do to me, Juliet?"
"Julia," I stutter. "My name is Julia."
"I prefer to call you lover, and you're welcome."
"I'm not and... For what?" I frown.
"Not yet," he corrects me, "and... for the kiss." He smirks.
"What kiss?" I scowl, "And you have some ego presuming—"
He swoops down and closes his mouth over mine.
To find out what happens next read Damian and Julia's story HERE. This book also features Weston and Amelie's wedding.
Read Sinclair and Summer's story here
Read Victoria and Saint's story here
Read Karma and Michael Byron's story here
Claim your FREE contemporary romance book. Click HERE
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Read an excerpt from Karma and Michael Byron's story...
Karma
"Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day…"
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Goddamn Byron. Always creeps up on me when I am at my weakest. Not that I am a poetry addict, by any measure, but words are my jam.
The one consolation I have, that when everything else in the world is wrong, I can turn to them, and they’ll be there—friendly steady, waiting with open arms. And this particular poem had laced my blood and crawled into my gut when I’d first read it. Darkness had folded into me like an insidious snake that raises its head when I least expect it. Like now. I'd managed to give my bodyguard the slip and veered off my usual running route to reach Waterlow Park.
I look out on the still-sleeping city of London, from the grassy slope of the expanse. Somewhere out there, the Mafia is hunting me, apparently.
I purse my lips, close my eyes. Silence. The rustle of the wind between the leaves. The faint tinkle of the water from the nearby spring.
I could be the last person on this planet, alone, unsung, bound for the grave.
Ugh! Stop. Right there.I drag the back of my hand across my nose. Try it again, focus, get the words out, one after the other, like the steps of my sorry life.
"Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day…"My voice breaks. "Bloody, asinine, hell." I dig my fingers into the grass and grab a handful and fling it out. Again. From the top. I open my eyes, focus on a spot in the distance.
"Morn came and went—and came, and…."
"…brought no day."
I whip my head around. His profile fills my line of sight. Dark hair combed back by a ruthless hand that brooks no opposition.
My throat dries.
Hooked nose, thin upper lip, a fleshy lower lip, that hints at hidden desires. Heat. Lust. The sensuous scrape of that whiskered jaw over my innermost places. Across my inner thigh, reaching toward that core of me that throbs, clenches, melts to feel the stab of his tongue, the thrust of his hardness as he impales me, takes me, makes me his.
"And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light.."
Sweat beads my palm; the hairs on my nape rise. "Who are you?"
He stares ahead, his lips moving,
"Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black."
I swallow, squeeze my thighs together. Moisture gathers in my core. How can I be wet by the mere cadence of this stranger’s voice?
I spring up to my feet.
"Sit down."
His voice is unhurried, lazy even, his spine erect. The cut of his black jacket stretches across the width of his massive shoulders. His hair… I was mistaken. There are strands of dark gold woven between the darkness that pours down to brush the nape of his neck. My fingers tingle. My scalp itches.
I take in a breath and my lungs burn.
This man, he’s sucked all the oxygen in this open space, as if he owns it, the master of all he surveys. The master of me. My death. My life. A shiver ladders its way up my spine. Get away, get away now, while you still can.
I take a step back.
"I won’t ask again."
Ask. Command. Force me to do as he wants. He’ll have me on my back, bent over, on the side, over him, under him, he’ll surround me, overwhelm me, pin me down with the force of his personality. His charisma, his larger-than-life essence that will crush everything else out of me and I… I’ll love it.
"No."
"Yes."
A fact. A statement of intent, spoken aloud. So true. So real. Too real. Too much. Too fast. All of my nightmares…my dreams come to life. Everything I’ve wanted is here in front of me. I’ll die a thousand deaths before he’ll be done with me… And then, will I be reborn? For him. For me. For myself. I live first and foremost to be the woman I am…am meant to be.
"You want to run?"
No.
No.
I nod my head
He turns his head and all of the breath leaves my lungs. Blue eyes—cerulean, dark like the morning skies, deep like the nighttime, hidden corners, secrets that I don’t dare uncover. He’ll destroy me, have my heart, and break it so casually.
My throat burns. A boiling sensation squeezes my chest.
"Go then, my beauty, fly. You have until I count to five. If I catch you, you are mine."
"If you don’t?"
"Then I’ll come after you, stalk your every living moment, possess your nightmares, and steal you away in the dead of midnight, and then…"
I draw in a shuddering breath; liquid heat drips from between my legs. "Then?" I whisper.
"Then, I’ll ensure you’ll never belong to anyone else, you’ll never see the light of day again, for your every breath, your every waking second, your thoughts, your actions…and all of your words, every single last one, will belong to me." He peels back his lips, and his teeth glint in the first rays of the morning light. "Only me." He straightens to his feet, and rises, and rises.
He is massive. A beast. A monster who always gets his way. My guts churn. My toes curl. Something primal inside of me insists I hold my own. I cannot give in to him. Cannot let him win whatever this is. I need to stake my claim in some form. Say something. Anything. Show him you’re not afraid of him.
"Why?" I tilt my head back, all the way back. "Why are you doing this?"
He tilts his head, his ears almost canine in the way they are silhouetted against his profile.
"Is it because you can? Is it a…a..." I blink, "a debt of some kind?"
He stills.
"My father. This is about how he betrayed the Mafia, right? You’re one of them?"
All expression is wiped clean of his face, and I know then I am right. My past… Why does it always catch up with me? You can run, but you can never hide.
"Tick-tock, Beauty." He angles his body and his shoulders shut out the sight of the sun, the dawn skies, the horizon, the city in the distance, the whisper of the grass, the trees, the rustle of the leaves... All of it fades, and leaves me and him. Us. Run.
"Five," he jerks his chin, straightens the cuffs of his sleeves.
My knees wobble.
"Four."
My heart hammers in my chest. I should go. Leave. But my feet are welded to this earth. This piece of land where we first met. What am I, but a speck in the larger scheme of things? To be hurt. To be forgotten. To be brought to the edge of climax and taken without an ounce of retribution. To be punished... By him.
"Three." He thrusts out his chest, widens his stance, every muscle in his body relaxed. "Two."
I swallow. The pulse beats at my temples. My blood thrums.
"One."
Michael
"Go."
She pivots and races down the slope. The fabric of her dress streams behind her, scarlet in the blue morning. Her scent, lushly feminine with silver moonflowers, clings to my nose, then recedes. I reach forward, thrust out my chin, sniff the air, but there’s only the green scent of dawn. She stumbles and I jump forward. Pause when she straightens. Wait. Wait. Give her a lead. Let her think she has almost escaped, that she’s gotten the better of me… As if. I clench my fists at my sides, force myself to relax. Wait. Wait. She reaches the bottom of the incline, turns. I surge forward. One foot in front of the other, my heels dig into the grassy surface as mud flies up, clinging to the edges of my £4000 Italian pants. Like I care? Plenty more where that came from. An entire walk-in closet full of tailor-made clothes, to suit every occasion, with every possible accessory needed by a man in my position to impress… Everything, except the one thing that I have coveted from the first time I had laid eyes on her. Sitting there on the grassy slope, unshed tears in her eyes, and reciting… Byron? For hell’s sake. Of all the poet’s in the world, she had to choose the Lord of Darkness.
I huff. All a ploy. Clearly, she’d known I was sitting near her… No, not possible. I had walked toward her and she hadn’t stirred, hadn’t been aware. Yeah, I am that good. I’ve been known to slice a man from ear to ear while he was awake and fully aware. Alive one second, dead the next. That’s how it is in my world. You want it, you take it. And I… I want her.
I increase my pace, eat up the distance between myself and the girl… That’s all she is. A slip of a thing, a slim blur of motion. Beauty in hiding. A diamond in the rough, waiting for me to get my hands on her, polish her, show her what it means to be…dead. She is dead. That’s why I am here.
Her skirts flash behind her, exposing a creamy length of thigh. My groin hardens; my legs wobble. I lurch over a bump in the ground. The hell? I right myself, leap forward, inching closer, closer. She reaches a curve in the path, disappears out of sight. My heart hammers in my chest. I will not lose her, will not. Here, Beauty, come to Daddy. The wind whistles past my ears. I pump my legs, lengthen my strides, turn the corner. There’s no one there, huh?
My heart hammers, the blood pounds at my wrists and my temples, and adrenaline thrums through my veins. I slow down, come to a stop. Scan the clearing.
The hairs on my forearms prickle. She’s here. Not far. Where? Where is she? I prowl across, to the edge of the clearing, under the tree with its spreading branches. When I get my hands on you, Beauty, I’ll spread your legs like the pages of a poem. Dip into your honeyed sweetness, like a quill into an inkwell; drag my aching shaft across that melting, weeping entrance. My balls throb. My groin tightens. The crack of a branch above shivers across my stretched nerve endings. Instinctively, I swoop forward, hold out my arms. A blur of red, dark blonde hair, skirt swept up in a gust of breeze. She drops into my arms and I close my grasp around the trembling, squirming mass of precious humanity. I cradle her close to my chest, heart beating thud-thud-thud, overwhelming any other thought.
Mine. All mine. The hell is wrong with me?She wriggles her little body, and her curves slide across my forearms. My shoulders bunch and my fingers tingle. She kicks out with her legs and arches her back. Her breasts thrust up, the nipples outlined against the fabric of her jogging vest. She’d dared come out dressed like that…? In that scrap of fabric that barely covered her luscious flesh?
"Let me go." She whips her head toward me, her hair flowing around her shoulders, across her face. She blows it out of the way, "You monster, get away from me."
Anger drums at the backs of my eyes; desire tugs at my groin. The scent of her is sheer torture, something that I had dreamed of in the wee hours of twilight when dusk turned into night. She’s not real. Not the woman I think she is. She is my downfall. My sweet poison. The bitter medicine I must imbibe to cure the ills that plague my company.
"Fine." I lower my arms and she hits the ground butt first.
"How dare you?" she huffs out a breath, her hair messily arranged across her face.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my fitted pants, knees slightly bent, legs apart. Tip my chin down and watch her as she sprawls at my feet.
"You…dropped me?" She makes a sound deep in her throat.
So damn adorable.
"Your wish is my command," I quirk my lips.
"You don’t mean it."
"You’re right." I lean my weight forward on the balls of my feet and she flinches.
"What…what do you want?"
"You."
She pales. "You want to…rob me? I have nothing of value. I’m not carrying anything…except." She reaches for her pocket.
"Don’t," I growl.
"It’s only my phone."
"So you say, hmm?"
"You can…" she swallows, "you can trust me."
I chuckle.
"I mean, it’s not like I can deck you with a phone or anything, right?"
I glare at her and she swallows, "Fine… You… You take it."
Interesting.
"Hands behind your neck."
She hesitates.
"Now."
She instantly folds her arms at the elbows, cradles the back of her head with her palms.
I lean down and every muscle in her body tenses. Good. She’s wary. She should be. She should have been alert enough to have run as soon as she sensed my presence. But she hadn’t. And I’d delayed what was meant to happen long enough.
I pull the gun from my pocket, hold it to her temple. "Goodbye, Beauty."
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