Billionaire's Bride for Revenge (Billionaire?s Bride for Revenge)

by Michelle Smart

  He hadn’t experienced such heady, evocative feelings from a kiss since...since ever, not even those illicit teenage kisses when he’d first discovered that the opposite sex was good for something more than merciless teasing.

  She stared back, eyes wide and wary, her own breaths coming in shallow gulps, her cheeks flushed. Her hair was still pulled back in that tight bun but there was something dishevelled about her now that made the heavy weight in his loins deepen.

  He put a hand on the table, partly to steady himself and partly to stop himself crossing the room to haul her back into his arms. His loins felt as if they had been set on fire, the burn spread throughout him but concentrated there, an ache such as he had never experienced before that threatened to engulf his mind along with the rest of him.

  Had she reacted to Javier’s kisses with that same intensity...?

  The thought deflated the lust riding through him as effectively as a pin in a balloon.

  He needed air.

  ‘Your pre-nuptial agreement. Where is it?’ he asked roughly.

  A flash of confusion flittered over her features before she blinked sharply. ‘In Javier’s safe but I have a copy of it on an email attachment.’

  ‘Bien. I will get your phone unlocked. When it is working again, forward it to me. I will get it redrafted with both our names on it. It will be ready to sign by the end of the day.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BENJAMIN RAPPED LOUDLY on the door to Freya’s quarters, his heart making as much noise in his chest as his knuckles made on the door.

  It was incredible to think these would be her permanent quarters.

  When he had bought the chateau seven years ago there had been a vague image of a future Madame Guillem to share the vast home and land with but it had been a secondary image. He’d bought it for his mother and, at the time, nursing her through her final months had been his only concern. Not long after her funeral, he’d found himself unable to repay the mortgage and forced to face the reality of his financial situation. Nursing his mother had taken him away from his business. The bills had mounted. Suppliers had threatened court action. He’d been days away from losing everything.

  All thoughts of a future Madame Guillem had been buried. He’d dated. He’d had fun. But nothing permanent and definitely nothing serious. He’d had neither the physical time nor the mental space to make a relationship work.

  It was only when he’d reached a position in his life where he could take his foot off the accelerator and slow things down enough for a real life of his own that he’d reached the inescapable conclusion that he would never trust anyone enough to pledge his life to them. As much as he’d regretted it would likely mean he would never have children, another of those vague in-the-future notions, he would not put himself through it. If he couldn’t trust the people he’d loved all his life how could he trust a stranger?

  He didn’t have that worry with Freya. Knowing there was no trust to fake made taking this step more palatable.

  Reading through the contract she and Javier had signed had made it even more so.

  He had read it, shaking his head with incredulity at what it contained.

  He could easily see his old friend signing this cold, emotionless contract but for the hot-blooded woman whose kisses had turned him to fire to sign such a thing stretched the realms of credulity.

  But then, she was already proving to be far more fiery a woman than he’d thought Javier would commit himself to.

  He hadn’t seen her since their explosive kiss that morning. He’d been busy in his office organising things. She’d kept herself busy doing her own thing, his staff keeping discreet tabs on her.

  He knocked again. After waiting another thirty seconds, he pushed the door open and let himself in.

  Her quarters were large and comfortable, a small reception area leading to a bedroom, bathroom and dressing room to the left, and a spacious living area to the right, where the faint trace of music played out through the closed door. He opened it and paused before stepping over the threshold.

  All the furniture had been pushed against the far wall to create a large empty space. The music came from her freshly working phone.

  Freya had contorted herself into the strangest shape he’d ever seen the human body take right in the centre of the room. Her calves and knees were on the carpet as if she’d knelt to pray but instead of clasping her hands before her and leaning forward, she’d gone backwards into a bridge, her flat stomach arched in the air, her elbows on the floor where her toes rested, her face in the soles of her bare feet with her hands clasping both her heels and her temples.

  It looked the most uncomfortable pose a person could manipulate themselves into but she didn’t appear to be in any discomfort. If anything, she seemed at peace, her chest expanding and her stomach softening in long, steady breaths.

  He found his own breath stuck in his lungs. He didn’t dare make a sound, afraid that to disturb her would cause her to injure herself.

  After what felt like hours but in reality was probably less than a minute she uncoiled herself, walking her hands away from her feet then using them to push herself upright.

  Kneeling, she finally looked at him. She showed no concern or surprise at his appearance in her quarters.

  He’d been so entranced with what he’d seen that it was only when her eyes met his that he noticed all she had on were a black vest and a pair of black knickers.

  If she was perturbed that he had walked into her quarters while she had hardly any clothes on she didn’t show it.

  But then, recalling all the years spent touring with Clara Casillas, he had never met a body-shy ballerina before. He’d seen more naked women in the first ten years of his life than if he’d been raised in a brothel. It was a fact of their life. Freya was a woman who spent her life with her body under a microscope, different hands touching it for different reasons, whether to lift, to shape or to dress.

  Desire coiled through his loins to imagine what it would feel like to lift this woman into his arms as a lover...

  He would bet she had poise and grace even when she slept and felt a thickening in his loins to know it wouldn’t be long before he discovered that for himself.

  And, as his imagination suddenly went rampant with heady thoughts of this beautiful, supple woman in his bed, those long, lithe legs wrapped around him, those black eyes currently staring at him without any expression coming alive with desire, the strangest thing of all occurred. Freya blushed.

  She must have felt the heat crawling over her face for her features tightened before she jumped gracefully to her feet, going from kneeling to standing in the time it took a mortal to blink.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll put some clothes on,’ she said stiffly.

  The lump in his throat prevented him from doing more than stepping aside to let her pass through the door to her bedroom.

  Breathing deeply, he took a seat on the armchair while he waited for her to return, keeping his thoughts and imagination far away from sex, trying to quell the ache burning in his loins.

  They had business to take care of.

  Feeling more together in himself when she came back into the living room, he said, ‘What were you doing?’

  She’d put her three-quarter-length white jeans back on and covered her chest with an off-the-shoulder navy top. Her battered feet were bare. She sat on the leather sofa nestled next to his and twisted her body round to face him. ‘Yoga. That pose was the Kapotasana.’

  ‘It sounds as painful as it looks.’

  The glimmer of a smile twitched on her lips. ‘It’s invigorating and, under the circumstances, necessary.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I need to keep fit. I’m used to dancing and working out for a minimum of seven hours a day. I need to keep my fitness levels maintained, I need to stretch and practise regularly or it will be extra hard when I return to the studio. This is all I have available to me...unless you have a secret dance studio tucked away somewh
ere with a barre?’

  ‘I am afraid not but you are welcome to use my gym and swimming pools and sauna. There’s tennis courts too.’

  She pulled her lips in together. ‘I have to be careful using a gym and swimming. It’s what they do to my muscles—they bulk them in all the wrong places. I’ve never played tennis before and wouldn’t want to risk taking it up without advice.’

  He looked around again at the space she had created for herself in this room and knew without having to ask that this was not suitable for her to practise dancing in.

  ‘Still, I’m sure you’re not here to discuss my fitness regime,’ she said, changing the subject and straightening her back before nodding at the file in his hand. ‘Is that the contract?’

  He’d almost forgotten what he had come here for.

  Pulling his mind back to attention, he took the sheets of paper out of the folder. ‘I’ve booked our wedding for Thursday.’

  She was silent for beat. ‘Thursday?’

  ‘Oui.’

  ‘I was supposed to marry Javier on Saturday.’

  ‘At this short notice there are no slots available for Saturday.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have bribed or blackmailed someone?’

  ‘I pulled enough strings to bypass the notice period. If it’s a Saturday wedding you long for we can always wait a few weeks.’ He stared hard at her as he said this. Having now read the terms of the contract he understood why she was keen to marry on the same day she would have married Javier. On the day of their wedding he would transfer two hundred thousand euros into her account, the first recurring monthly payment of that sum. According to the contract, Javier had already paid her two lump sums of one hundred thousand euros.

  ‘No,’ she declined so hurriedly he could see the euro signs ringing in her eyes. ‘Thursday is fine.’

  He gave a tight smile. ‘I thought so. I will take you to the town hall tomorrow to meet the mayor and fill out some forms but the arrangements are all in hand. Is your passport in your apartment?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve spoken to my flatmate. She’s got it safe.’

  ‘I will send a courier to collect it.’

  ‘I’ll go and get it. I need to collect the rest of my stuff.’

  ‘Your possessions can be couriered over with the passport.’

  ‘I want to get them myself.’

  The thought of her being in the same city as Javier set his teeth on edge. ‘Impossible. There is too much to arrange here.’

  ‘I need my clothes.’

  ‘I have appointments in Paris after our meeting with the mayor tomorrow. You can fly there with me and buy whatever you need.’

  ‘With what? Fresh air? I can’t buy an entire new wardrobe with one hundred and fifty euros, which is all I have in my account.’

  His lips curved in distaste. ‘You have spent all the money Javier has already given to you?’

  ‘Yes. I had...’

  ‘I have no cares for what you spend your money on. I will give you a credit card. Buy whatever you need with it. Consider it an early wedding present. While you are there you can buy a wedding dress.’

  ‘Something black to match your heart?’ she suggested with a touch of bitterness.

  ‘You are hardly in a position to talk of my heart when you were party to a contract like this one.’

  There was the slightest flinch. ‘Javier and I drew up a marriage agreement that suited us both.’

  ‘It does not suit me.’

  ‘You said you would honour it.’

  ‘And I will. I have only changed one item.’

  ‘I’m not signing unless it’s the original with only Javier’s name substituted for yours.’

  ‘You will if you still want the fortune and all the assets that come with it.’

  ‘What have you changed?’

  ‘Look for yourself.’ He handed the file to her. ‘The change is highlighted in red.’

  She took it from him with a scowl.

  ‘May I remind you,’ he said as she flicked through the papers, ‘that it is your choice to marry me. I am not forcing your hand.’

  She didn’t look up from the papers. ‘There was no other choice for me.’

  ‘The lure of all that money too strong to give up?’ he mocked.

  But she didn’t answer, suddenly looking up at him with wide eyes, colour blasting over her cheeks. ‘Of all the things you could have changed, you changed that?’

  ‘I am not signing away a chunk of my fortune and my freedom to spend only one night a week in a bed with my wife.’ He’d read that part of the long, detailed pre-nuptial agreement with his mouth open, shaking his head with disbelief as he’d wondered what kind of a woman would sign such a document.

  Scheduled, mandated sex?

  And then he had read the next section and his incredulity had grown.

  How could the woman who kissed as if she were made of lava agree to such a marriage?

  He stared at Freya now and wondered what was going on in that complex brain. She was impossible to fathom, a living contradiction. Scalding hot on the outside but seemingly cold on the inside. Which was the real Freya: the hot or the cold one?

  ‘I will comply in full with the rest of the contract but when we are under the same roof we sleep in the same bed. If it is not something you can live with I suggest you tell me now so I can make the necessary arrangements for your departure from my home.’

  Freya stared into eyes as uncompromising as his words and dug her bruised toes into the carpet. Her skin itched with the need for movement, the hour of yoga she had done before he had walked into her quarters nowhere near enough to quell the fears and emotions pummelling her.

  Their kiss...

  It had frazzled all her nerve endings.

  How could she have reacted to his kiss like that? To him?

  It had been her first proper kiss and it had been everything a first kiss should be and, terrifyingly, so much more.

  She had spent the day searching for a way to purge her heightened emotions but her usual method of dancing her fears away was not available to her. She’d taken a long walk through his grounds and explored the vast chateau praying that somewhere within the huge rooms would be one she could use to dance in. It had been like Goldilocks searching for the perfect porridge and bed but without the outcome; not one of the rooms had been right. The majority could work with their proportions but the flooring was all wrong, either too slippery or covered in carpet, neither of which were suitable and could be dangerous.

  Meditation and yoga were her fail-safe fall-backs, clearing her mind and keeping her body limber, but they weren’t enough, not for here and now when she was as frightened for her future and as terrified of what was happening inside her as she had ever been.

  Her brain burned to imagine Benjamin’s private reaction when he had read the section that covered intimacy in her pre-nup. Javier had insisted it be put in, just as he had insisted on the majority of all the other clauses, including the one stating they would only have a child at a time of Freya’s choosing. He hadn’t wanted them to ever get to a point in the future where either could accuse the other of going back on what had been agreed. That agreement would always be there, a guide for them to enter matrimony and ensure a long, harmonious union without any unpleasant arguments or misunderstandings.

  The whole document read as cold and passionless, entirely appropriate for a marriage that had nothing to do with love but business and safety.

  Javier had been cold but he had been safe. There had never been any emotional danger in marrying him.

  She had never had to dig her toes into the ground when she was with him. There had been no physical effect whatsoever.

  The brain burn deepened as she read the contents again, the only change being Benjamin’s name listed as Party One. And the new clause stating they would share a bed when under the same roof.

  Her heart thumped wildly, panic rabid and hot inside her.

  When she had envisa
ged making love to Javier it had been with an analytical head, a box to tick in a marriage that would keep her mother alive and ease her suffering for months, hopefully years, to come.

  There was nothing analytical about her imaginings of Benjamin. She had felt something move inside her in that first look they had shared, a flare of heat that had warmed her in ways she didn’t understand and could never have explained.

  Their kiss had done more than warm her. She could still feel the scorch of his lips on hers and his taste on her tongue. Meditation and yoga had done nothing to rid it but it had helped to a small extent, allowing her to control her raging heart and breathing when he had unexpectedly entered her quarters.

  And then he had stared at her with the look that suggested he wanted to strip the last of her clothing off.

  She had never been shy skimpily dressed in front of anyone before but in that moment and under the weight of that look she had felt naked for the first time in her life.

  And she was expected to share his bed and give herself to this man who frightened her far more than her ice-cold fiancé ever had?

  He, Benjamin, was her fiancé now...

  She could do this, she assured herself, breathing deeply. She had faced far scarier prospects, like when she’d been eleven and had left the safety and comfort of her parents’ home to become a boarder at ballet school. That had been truly terrifying even though it had also been everything she’d wanted.

  Joining the school and discovering just how different she’d been to all the other girls had almost had her begging to go home. Having been accepted on a full scholarship that included boarding fees, she’d been the only girl there from a poor background. In comparison, all the others had been born with silver spoons in their mouths. They’d spoken beautifully, worn clothes that hadn’t come from second-hand stores and had had holiday homes. Freya’s parents hadn’t even owned the flat they’d lived in.

  Somehow she had got through the chronic homesickness and the merciless taunts that nowadays would be considered bullying by burying herself in ballet. She had learned to hide her emotions and express it all through dance, fuelling the talent and love for ballet she had been lucky enough to be born with.