Escapade: Her Billionaire - London (Her Billionare)

by Lisa Marie Rice

  A couple of seconds later and she would have died.

  He shook himself, really glad that his guys couldn’t read minds because Bennett was known as an operator, cool and icy and controlled. Not someone who had stress flashbacks and freaked at the thought of being outside the security of the safe house.

  That kind of shit was for civilians.

  His IT team stood up, stretching. While Bennett had been freaking out at what-might-have-beens, the lesson for today was over and they were crowding around Elle, talking Geek.

  It was late afternoon and beer and tea and soda were available and a big order of pizza and sandwiches had just arrived. IT people, he’d found, had a weird relationship with their bodies. They’d ignore hunger and thirst for hours and hours on end and then come out of their tech trance freaking ravenous.

  Bennett sat back and watched Elle interacting with the tech team. She was now their favorite person. But she was also liked by the operational arm of BMC. The tough guys loved her because she taught them cool new tech tricks that could save their lives, and she beat the pants off them playing video games, even the first-person shooter games.

  Every once in a while, she’d look up and their eyes would meet. Whenever it happened, it was like a kick in the chest.

  Damn.

  It was time. He’d been planning on waiting but there was no waiting. It would be the same a month from now, a year from now, a decade from now.

  Het let a few minutes go by, then clapped his hands. “Okay!” Six startled faces, most stuffed with pizza or sandwiches, turned to him. “Swallow and get out, kids. Time to go home. We’ve got an evolving situation.”

  They were nerds, yes, but they worked for a security company. They knew when it was playtime and when it wasn’t. Plus he put on his Serious Boss face. Five minutes later they evacuated, leaving him and Elle alone with pizza boxes and empty sandwich cases.

  Elle turned to him, frowning. Beautiful face wary. “What’s going on? Has something happened to my father?”

  Bennett sat on the couch and pulled her down to sit next to him. “What’s happened is — good news! Your plan worked!”

  Her eyes grew big. “It did?”

  The plan was ingenious and one only Elle could have pulled off. There was an easy part and a hard part. The easy part was stealing the missing ten million dollars from the company accounts of the Volcic clan. It was so easy, Elle was bored. Alarmed, Bennett had asked her whether she could steal money from any account, anywhere and she cut her eyes at him and answered — of course. That was scary enough.

  But stage two of the Castle Intervention was leaving bread crumbs, Goldilock bread crumbs — not too many, not too few — that led back to the Lipovs, making it look like the Lipovs had stolen the money from the Volcics. You do not look cross-eyed at the Volcics, let alone steal ten million dollars from their accounts.

  “The two top lieutenants of the Lipov clan have been found dead.” He didn’t say how and left out all references to hands and feet. “It was clearly a Volcic execution so that means that they bought the scam. You did what you said you’d do. You stole from the Volcic clan and made it seem like the Lipovs did it. And in the meantime, the Lipovs had contacted your father when they received the ten million. The debt was cleared, no one has any interest in him any more. He’s safe and you’re safe. I heard from your father an hour ago.”

  Her eyes lit up and she threw her arms around his neck. Bennett closed his arms around her, buried his face in her soft neck and closed his eyes. She was safe.

  He could have stayed like that forever but Elle was vibrating with excitement. “I’m sorry those men are dead —”

  “Don’t be.” His voice was hard. “They’d have hurt your father, and killed him if he didn’t come up with their money, and would definitely have hurt and killed you.”

  “You’re right.” She pulled back, smiled, shook her head. “What was I thinking? They got exactly what they deserved.”

  “They did.” He kissed her cheek. “Now that that’s done —”

  “We can go out now, out in the open air!” she cried.

  He wasn’t thrilled at the thought but was happy that she was happy. “We can,” he agreed. “Now, as I was saying —”

  “You got the tickets!” She clapped her hands.

  “The tickets?”

  Elle rolled her eyes. “To Les Mis. You promised. Bennett, keep up.”

  “I did. I mean I will. Get them, I mean. Give me time, I’m an old man. I’m not as fast as you.” Bennett pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe now wasn’t the time. But dammit, he wanted this done. Throughout his adult lifetime he’d taken a lot of decisions and he trusted himself. Trusted his judgement. This was right. And the time was now. “But there’s something else I want to ask you.”

  She primly placed her hands in her lap. Her eyes gleamed. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” He echoed stupidly.

  “Yes.” She clucked her tongue. “Why are you repeating everything I say? I know what you’re going to ask. You’re going to ask if I want to consult on jobs for your company. Absolutely. Yes. Love to. And you don’t even need to pay me. Working with your team is a delight. We’ve already talked about turning my cloaking program into a stealth program. Make people disappear altogether.” She smiled.

  Whoa. She was going to get them all arrested.

  “Ok. I definitely want you working for me. With me. But this is about something else. I want you to listen to what I’m going to say.” Bennett took her two hands in his, sitting side by side with her on the couch.

  Elle nodded. “Sure.”

  He slid off the couch, down on one knee.

  That pretty mouth dropped open. Good. It wasn’t often he caught Elle Castle off guard. He suspected it would be the last time in this lifetime.

  Bennett fished out from his pocket the small box that had been couriered over that morning. He put it on the palm of his hand and held his hand out to her.

  She looked at the box in his hand, up to his face, back to the box. “Bennett?”

  She looked so unsure, so very young and unsure. Bennett, on the other hand, felt certainty settle on him like a coat tailor-made for him. This was right. This was the way it was supposed to be.

  “Open it.” Well, for someone so sure of himself, his voice was a little hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Go on,” he urged.

  She picked the box up delicately. There was no fancy wrapping. He was sure she wasn’t the kind of woman who needed it. When she opened the box she simply stared at the ring.

  It had been designed just for her by her favorite designer. He’d moved heaven and earth to have it made and it was absolutely unique, just like her.

  Made of rose gold, the ring looked like the Sydney Opera House had mated with a Cubist rose. It had its own eerie and strange beauty.

  “Bennett,” she whispered.

  “You know who designed it?”

  “I do. It’s stunning.”

  She didn’t move. A drop of sweat fell down his back. “Put it on.”

  She flicked a glance at him, cobalt-blue eyes like spotlights. Moving slowly, she put it on her finger. The right one, thank God. Or rather the left one, which was the right one. She held her left hand out and they both looked at the ring. It glowed against her skin.

  Bennett drew in a deep breath. “Elle Castle, would you do me the honor —”

  “Yes!” She threw herself into his arms. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Dear Reader, I hope you enjoyed ESCAPADE Her Billionaire – London. If you did, I’d appreciate a review on Amazon or Goodreads. You might also enjoy CHARADE Her Billionaire – Paris and MASQUERADE Her Billionaire – Venice, two other sexy, sophisticated stories. Here are the first chapters of CHARADE and MASQUERADE:

  The Ritz

  Paris

  “More wine?” Mark Redmond asked, hand around the neck of a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Beneath his stylish and very expensive suit, he was at heart a barbarian, but even he kne
w it was an excellent wine.

  He watched as Harper Kendall, the most enticing woman he’d ever met, pondered his question.

  He could almost see the wheels turning in her beautiful head. It really was a good wine and she’d only had one glass to his three. But—was he trying to get her drunk? Trying to seduce her?

  No. And yes.

  God yes, he was trying to seduce her. He’d been thinking about getting her into his bed since he’d first set eyes on her on the business-class trip from Boston to Paris.

  His company had two corporate jets but he had two teams he was sending into failed states and harm’s way. He wanted them to get there rested and refreshed, so he had them use the Falcon 8X and the Gulfstream G3.

  Going to Paris for a few days before his meeting with the head of a big bank had been a last-minute decision; he hadn’t had time off since forever. First class had been fully booked and he’d been amused when he’d caught himself thinking that he’d have to ‘settle’ for business class. Especially considering how, in his military days, he’d crisscrossed the world in noisy, cold C-130s strapped to the bulkhead, pissing in a bottle.

  In the end, going business class was the best thing to happen to him in a long, long time, when he’d seen the beauty sitting in the seat next to his.

  “Sure,” she said and nudged her glass closer to him. Mark filled the big balloon glass one third full, the canonical amount. Any less and it would have seemed stingy. Any more and she would have reason to suspect he was trying to get her drunk.

  He didn’t want her drunk, but he did want her happy.

  Being with a woman like Harper was challenging, full of hidden pitfalls. Good thing he was a man who relished challenges.

  She sipped, watched him a bit warily over the rim of her crystal goblet. “So, do you know Paris well?”

  “Been here a few times but always briefly, for work. In and out.”

  Her lips curled in a smile. “Plumbing supply imports.”

  “That’s right.” Mark leaned back and watched her. He always chose the most boring jobs possible for cover. Plumbing supply importer, accountant, tax software salesman. “Fly in, make a deal, fly out. This time I wanted to take a day or two to sightsee. Do you know Paris well?”

  “Yes, I do.” She took another sip. “I studied French here for a summer, just out of high school, then came for a semester during my master’s. I love this city.”

  There. An opening. Mark waited for her to offer to show him around Paris. But…crickets. He stifled a sigh. Still, he was a man who knew how to make his own opportunities.

  “Maybe some other evening you’d have dinner with me. After work. You’re here for research, right?”

  “Mmm.” She smiled. “Some business and some research.”

  “For that book?” His gorgeous princess had written and published one book and was writing her second, which he really admired. Mark couldn’t write a book to save his life. He could kill a man at a thousand yards, but he couldn’t write a book.

  The smile grew. “That’s right. Linking historical political movements to architectural styles. I’m keeping it accessible though, not a cultural tract. Are you interested in architecture, Mark?”

  He sat back. “I can’t say I’m particularly knowledgeable about architecture and its history. I’ll happily read your first book, though. It sounds really interesting.”

  “Well, that’s kind. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” And he did.

  “I’ll write down the title for you.”

  He deliberately didn’t smile. “The title has three words in it. I think can remember them. So—how about dinner tomorrow evening?”

  She didn’t answer, just looked at him. Mark understood exactly what was happening. She was consulting her internal self on whether she wanted a second date and the only intel she had on him was what he was giving her. He couldn’t tell her who he really was, but he could give her his essence.

  He was a good guy. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He wanted sex with her badly, more than any woman he could ever remember, but it had to be mutual and he’d treat her well.

  He couldn’t say that in words but he could show her via his body language. So he sat very, very still, and watched her face. He was probably emitting pheromones by the ton because she was just so goddamn luscious, and he’d had a semi hard-on all through dinner, but that was okay. She had to know he desired her. They’d been in constant contact since they’d first boarded that flight and though he’d been respectful, he’d also made it clear that he was attracted.

  Putting it mildly.

  She was, too. This was a strong-minded woman and she wouldn’t be sitting here having dinner with him at the Ritz if she didn’t want to be.

  She sighed. “Dinner tomorrow evening? I don’t know when I’ll finish up with my work.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference,” he answered. “I don’t have a timetable. I came in early to rest and to sightsee a little.” He shrugged. “I’ve been working really hard lately, and I decided to just relax for a day or two. So I can work around your schedule, no problem.”

  Harper made a little humming sound, as if thinking over reasons to say no. But she really wanted to say yes. She was a real beauty, so she’d probably spent half her life saying no to men, decisively. She wouldn’t be humming if it was a decisive “no”.

  She looked at their table, at the remains of an excellent meal, at the elegant room. Everyone dressed up, the waiters the most elegant of all, low voices, the gleaming crystal glasses, the chandeliers like crystal clouds, everyone smiling in their comfortable upholstered settees.

  It was a feast for all the senses.

  “Okay, but not at the Ritz. And it’s on me next time.”

  “Not a chance, but nice try,” Mark said. “And we can go anywhere you want. I’m not fussy.”

  He wasn’t. He’d once lived for three weeks on MREs—gummy tubes of nutrients that tasted like cardboard, no matter what the label said. He hadn’t liked it but he’d done it.

  “We’ll see then. Do you want to enter my cell number in your cell?”

  “No need.” He rattled off her ten-digit number. “You gave me your card on the plane, remember?”

  She blinked. “Wow. You have quite a memory if you remember it from my business card.”

  He shrugged. “I’m good with numbers. My business is figures on spreadsheets. A little less interesting than your business.”

  She smiled. “I love what I do. So, what do you know about architecture?”

  “Not much.” He knew nothing about architecture, but he did know a lot about buildings. Particularly how to blow them up. “But I’d love to learn.”

  She looked around. “This building, for example. The façade dates back to the early eighteenth century and it’s part of the seamless Place Vendôme. It’s said that this hotel was the first in the world to offer en-suite bathrooms.”

  He shook his head. “About the only thing I know about its history is that Hemingway ‘liberated’ the Ritz bar in 1944, gulping down its best wine that they’d hidden from the Nazis, while snipers were still shooting on the outskirts of Paris.”

  Harper put back her head and laughed, and all Mark could do was stare at her.

  In the fanciest restaurant in Paris, possibly in the world, Harper Kendall was the classiest, most beautiful woman there. He watched as she tipped her head back slightly, exposing that long, slim neck, and gave a genuine laugh. It wasn’t meant to entice him, she was genuinely amused. But God, she enticed him.

  Tilting her head made that shiny mass cascade over her shoulders. Those light gray cat’s eyes narrowed as she laughed and she simply took his breathe away.

  Though Mark was used to hiding his feelings, something of what was going on inside of him—maybe a sudden surge of testosterone—made her still and look at him, startled and then wary.

  One of the many waiters started walking toward them with the dessert menu in his hand. Mark
caught his eye and made a subtle gesture with his hand.

  Not now.

  You didn’t get to be a waiter at the Ritz by being a fool. A simple nod of the head and the waiter faded away.

  Mark had other plans for dessert.

  He leaned forward slowly. “I know it sounds pedestrian, but I’d really like a Crêpe Suzette for dessert. How about you?”

  He kept his voice even, trying to keep himself under control.

  “Crêpes Suzette wasn’t on the dessert menu. There was pineapple ravioli with wasabi yogurt sauce and Bresse cheese with red onion marmalade.” She smiled at him. “I have a good memory too, just not for numbers.”

  “No, I meant Crêpes Suzette somewhere else. My room, here at the Ritz.” Mark covered her slender hand with his. She was acting cool, but her hand was trembling slightly. “It’s on the room service menu. And we could pair it with some more champagne or some Grand Marnier.”

  She looked at him, her luscious mouth slightly open. Silvery-gray eyes wary.

  He waited.

  She wasn’t saying no.

  She wasn’t saying yes, either.

  He kept his hand over hers. It was warm and soft, fingers long and elegant.

  Mark’s voice was low, without urgency, though desire prickled through his veins. “I have a suite. We could sit and talk in private.” He looked around the beautiful room, full of customers. “Where no one could bother us.”

  He tightened his hold on her hand, but just slightly. He had big strong hands and he didn’t want to hurt her or make her feel coerced. She watched him silently, hand still slightly trembling under his.

  “I promise you that nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen. If all you want is a Crêpe Suzette and a glass of champagne or Grand Marnier and a chat, that’s fine. I’ll take it and I’ll be happy. But I won’t hide from you that I’d like more.”

  She still didn’t say anything. Just sat there, eyes looking into his, darting back and forth, making little silver flashes like lightning.