The Billionaire's Island Bride (South Shore Billionaires Book 3)

by Donna Alward

  She’d spent enough time with powerful men to know sometimes they did that, too.

  Considering the situation she was leaving behind, the thought that Mr Williams was trying to manipulate her should have angered her. But this was for her job. She had prepared for this her entire career. And for once, she wasn’t the one in the helpless position. So what if the limousines and private planes, the obedient and careful staff, and the access to her favourite things reminded her of the first sixteen years of her life?

  It might be a precursor to the next years of your life, too.

  The thought made her faintly nauseous.

  ‘Ms John?’ The flight attendant was staring at her, his spine so straight, his posture so poised, she wanted to know if he’d practised it. ‘Through here.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She followed him through the blue velvet curtain into the plush luxury of Micah Williams’s private plane. The design was different from her father’s, which was mostly for efficiency and productivity. Here the open space was a balance of that and relaxation, with comfortable-looking chairs on either side of the aisle in front of a modern desk. The biggest difference though was the man standing in front of that desk.

  Micah Williams.

  He was handsome. She didn’t bother tiptoeing around it. His skin was an awe-inspiring shade of brown, as if the heavens had opened and a stream of both light and dark shone on him. His body was clad in a suit that was made for his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, his long legs. His hair was dark and short, his stubble a length that told her it had been purposefully groomed that way. None of it was a surprise. Her research had prepared her.

  What surprised her was the intensity of his gaze. The way he looked at her as if she had the answer to a question he’d had all his life. She wasn’t prepared for how his mouth curved at the side when he realised she was staring. When she realised he was staring right back.

  She resisted the urge to smooth down the red pants suit she wore. She still wore her black coat over it, but the red was visible. She’d purposefully chosen to wear the colour. It was her colour. That knowledge was one of the few things her mother had left her before she’d packed her bags to travel the world.

  Having a colour made Elena feel good; being in her colour made her feel strong. Strength helped her accept that this man was staring at her so intensely.

  ‘Ms John,’ he said smoothly, stepping forward. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘Did I have a choice?’ she asked lightly. She gave herself a moment to enjoy his surprise. It flitted over the intensity, making it seem lighter. She knew it was an illusion. ‘It’s a free trip to Italy.’

  Something twitched on his face. ‘That’s what you meant, is it?’ His tone was dry. ‘It has nothing to do with this being for your job?’

  ‘No. It’s all about a gondola ride.’

  ‘You’ve been on a gondola before,’ he said confidently.

  ‘No.’ She searched his face. ‘Why does that surprise you?’

  ‘For the same reason I don’t believe you need a free trip to Italy.’

  He knew who she was.

  She schooled her face, trying hard not to give in to disappointment. It wasn’t the end of the world. Her identity wasn’t a secret. But—did this mean what she thought it meant? The only way to find out was to ask.

  ‘Are you referring to the fact that my family owns the John Diamond Company?’

  The intense look was back. Bemusement was there, too.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Is that why I’m here, Mr Williams? Because of my family?’

  The seconds ticked by. Eventually, he said, ‘It is.’

  She sighed. ‘Wonderful.’ Paused. ‘Your attempts to butter me up were ridiculous, by the way.’ It was an immature comment, and nowhere near an appropriate response to what he was admitting or the implications of it. But he didn’t get a chance to answer her.

  ‘We’re about to take off,’ the flight attendant said behind her. ‘Can you please take your seats?’

  She settled in a seat next to the window. Tried to steady herself by looking out at the city she loved. There was nothing on the tarmac besides a few other planes. Bright green grass was scattered beyond the tar, the dew of the brisk day settling on it. If she looked close enough, she’d swear she’d find ice sitting on the tips of the blades of grass. If nothing else, she was leaving a cold, wet South Africa for a sunny, warm Italy. If nothing else, she was leaving behind two men who thought they could control her life.

  You’re thinking about letting them though.

  She exhaled slowly.

  ‘I’ve upset you.’

  They were in the air already, though barely, when Micah spoke.

  ‘No.’ She kept her gaze on the window. Outside it was all blue now, with white puffs of clouds around them. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘You insulted my attempts at cordiality.’

  She almost laughed at the indignation in his voice. ‘So try harder next time.’

  A strangled sound came from the vicinity of his seat. She allowed herself to enjoy it, but didn’t turn to look at him, or let him see her smile. It was a while longer before he said anything again.

  ‘I didn’t only ask for you to do this story because of your name, you know.’

  So he had asked for her. Which meant that she likely hadn’t earned this assignment as she initially believed. And she was more helpless than she initially believed. It smarted, and the sting of it coated her tongue, slipping into her words, her tone.

  ‘I’m sure. It’s those pop culture articles I wrote, isn’t it? Speculating on who someone will end up with next truly does display the depth of my talent.’

  ‘I did enjoy the article about the ex-rugby player bad boy who faked a relationship but fell in love for real.’

  At that, Elena turned to look at him. He was sitting on the only other seat opposite her, lounging back in his chair, watching her as if he had nothing else to do. Elena knew that couldn’t be true. The man ran an empire. His business had grown immensely in the ten years since he’d started it. His company sold luxury goods in Africa, primarily South Africa, and he’d recently partnered with two non-African brands worth millions to do that for. She suspected another brand would be added to that in Italy.

  It was all part of why Elena’s newspaper had selected him as their Businessperson of the Year. She was supposed to be writing an article about how amazingly busy he was. There was no way he had time to converse with her.

  ‘You read that?’

  ‘I did.’

  He flicked a forearm out, rolled back his shirt sleeve. He did the same on the other side. She watched, stuck on the fact that he’d taken off his suit jacket. Also, on his forearms. His forearms. They were muscular, with lines of veins that looked as if they were pulsing. They made her want to trace them with her fingertips, then grip that swelling just before his elbow to feel the muscle there. She wanted to—

  Nothing. She wanted to nothing.

  What did Jameson’s forearms look like? Did it matter? The marriage he and her father had proposed was purely business. Purely name. Which made what Micah had done sting sharper. She was there for her name, too. Not for his admittedly good-looking forearms.

  Wait—Micah? When had she started calling him Micah?

  ‘I have to admit, there was a lot of speculation, even in that.’

  Okay, he was speaking again. Yes, right. She needed to reply. That was how conversations worked. If she remembered correctly, and honestly, she wasn’t sure she did.

  ‘Pop culture articles are speculative by nature. Unless you have a reliable source, but that changes things. The tone of the article. It shifts the attention. You have people focusing more on who the source could be as opposed to the content. Generally, I use sources for articles that are already more fact than opin
ion. Which, I guess, is the difference between having my piece in the entertainment section of the printed paper versus only the digital edition.’

  The silence that followed her answer alerted her to how much she’d said. She’d surprised them both with it, but she refused to feel embarrassed. She knew what she was doing. Writing was not only her job, but her passion. She read articles and books on writing, did online courses, followed noted journalists on social media. All of this was over and above her responsibilities at the newspaper.

  She was capable. It was part of why Micah Williams asking for her annoyed her. He shouldn’t have had to ask; she should have been given this. She deserved it.

  ‘This is exactly why I thought you’d do well on this article,’ Micah said. ‘There was something about your work that felt intentional. Even the fluff pieces, which I enjoyed immensely.’

  ‘How could you not?’ she countered. ‘Everyone knows how much people enjoy fluff.’

  He laughed. It was surprising and arousing. At that point, Elena should have known she was already in trouble. Then he said, ‘Ms John, you’ll quickly discover that my tastes aren’t similar to most people’s.’ There was a slight pause. ‘I’m going to enjoy showing you that.’

  The fact that she wanted him to show her? That she thought she would enjoy it? Oh, yeah. Trouble.

  * * *

  Micah Williams hadn’t expected the John heiress to be so...

  Interesting.

  The word seemed woefully inadequate to describe the woman sitting opposite him. As a result, he watched her more than was necessary. Her expressions were animated, her tone dry and sharp in equal measure, and she was surprisingly candid. Surprisingly attractive, too.

  Not her appearance. He’d seen that in pictures. The wild, curly hair. The gloss of her brown skin and the dusting of freckles on only her left cheek, though that detail hadn’t been clear in the pictures. He noted it now because it had a certain charm. As did the way her mouth was painted bright red. Her lips were full, plump, and he’d experienced plenty of people in his lifetime who would have been embarrassed by that abundance. Ms John seemed to have embraced it.

  That peek into her personality was really the most attractive thing about her.

  She embraced plenty of things, it seemed. The admittedly extra nature of how he’d brought her to his plane—not that he’d expected her to point it out. The fact that he knew who she was. That he’d requested her for the article. Micah hadn’t expected it to be easy to get Elena on his side, but now he thought her honesty might aid him. Maybe that was why he offered her such honesty in return.

  Either that, or those red lips. And that luscious body, tall and curved, clad in a red pants suit visible despite her coat. The white T-shirt she wore beneath it clung to ample breasts. And her heels, white as well, highlighted the most beautiful set of ankles he’d seen in his life.

  He blinked. Ankles? Since when had he noticed a woman’s ankles? Of all the things he’d been attracted to, ankles had never appeared on the list. His eyes lowered to her legs. She’d crossed them.

  So maybe he simply hadn’t seen the right pair of ankles.

  Interesting. Irrelevant, but interesting.

  ‘Do you know, if you’d started our conversation with the fact that you’ve read my work, things would have been a lot less contentious?’

  ‘Contentious?’ he repeated. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Ms John.’

  ‘Elena, please.’ There was a slight pause. She hesitated. Undid her seat belt and stood, offering him a hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself properly. I am Elena.’

  She didn’t say her surname. He stored it into the vault of information he had about her, undid his own seat belt, and stood.

  ‘Micah.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Mr Williams.’

  She took his hand. Shook in two quick pumps. It shouldn’t have heated his blood. Shouldn’t have had any effect on him whatsoever.

  It did.

  ‘If I call you Elena, you’ll have to call me Micah,’ he said, hoping to heaven his voice was normal and not tinted with the desire he suddenly felt.

  ‘It feels...’ she hesitated ‘...wrong to call you Micah.’

  ‘Wrong?’ Another interesting fact. ‘How so?’

  ‘Unprofessional,’ she clarified.

  ‘This is about the article.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She frowned. ‘What else could it be about?’

  This unexpected attraction between us?

  ‘Nothing else. We’re on the same page.’

  He pressed the button that called the flight attendant, and when the man appeared ordered himself a drink. With alcohol. To shock his system into behaving. Elena ordered a water. There was that professionalism again. It obviously meant a lot to her. But why?

  ‘I promise not to consider you unprofessional if you use my first name,’ he said, accepting the glass from the flight attendant. ‘I won’t tell anyone at the newspaper either.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her tone was somehow a mixture of dryness and gratitude. Fascinating creature, the John heiress. ‘I’ll call you Micah—’ he ignored the thrill that beat in his heart ‘—for the duration of this week. Since we are spending it together, it might be strange to continue speaking to you so formally.’ She didn’t give him a chance to process before she was asking, ‘Is the itinerary for this week finalised?’

  She was putting distance between them, he realised. He kept his smile to himself. He wasn’t sure what was amusing him more: the fact that she felt the need to put distance between them when they’d barely known one another for an hour; or how seamlessly she’d done so. He was being managed. Expertly. He hadn’t thought much about how her being an heiress would affect this business trip. Well, other than his plan to endear himself to her. But now he was experiencing it.

  A journalist had never put him in his place so skilfully before. Nor a woman. He barely felt that he’d been moved, let alone gently, if firmly, lowered to the ground. It was tied into the professionalism somehow. The attraction. He had no idea—and he wanted to know. Except that wasn’t why she was here. He needed to remember that.

  ‘It is. The one my assistant emailed to you is accurate, apart from two meetings that I have scheduled for our last day in Rome. It was the only time my client was available,’ he added apologetically.

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘I know how it goes with business trips.’

  ‘I imagine you do.’

  Her brow lifted, but she didn’t engage. ‘Is there a reason Serena isn’t joining us?’

  ‘I wanted time to speak with you.’

  ‘That’s why you don’t have your laptop open either?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have my laptop open when I have a guest.’

  She laughed. It was a light, bubbly sound he found delightful. Again, not relevant.

  ‘We both know guests don’t get in the way of business, Micah.’

  He lifted his glass to his lips thoughtfully. ‘I’m beginning to think your experience of business and the way I conduct mine are different.’

  She studied him for a moment, then reached into the huge white handbag she’d brought with her and pulled out her phone. She pressed a few buttons, and suddenly a large red dot was gleaming up at him.

  ‘I’m beginning to think so, too,’ she replied, despite the minutes that had passed. ‘Why don’t we start talking about those differences?’ She touched her finger to her phone’s screen. The device began recording. ‘What inspired you to start this business, Mr Williams?’

  An expert at managing, he thought again, and answered her.

  Copyright © 2020 by Therese Beharrie

  Love Harlequin romance?

  DISCOVER.

  Be the first to find out about promotions, news and exclusive content! />
  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  Instagram.com/HarlequinBooks

  Pinterest.com/HarlequinBooks

  ReaderService.com

  EXPLORE.

  Sign up for the Harlequin e-newsletter and download a free book from any series at

  TryHarlequin.com

  CONNECT.

  Join our Harlequin community to share your thoughts and connect with other romance readers!

  Facebook.com/groups/HarlequinConnection

  ISBN: 9781488065149

  The Billionaire’s Island Bride

  Copyright © 2020 by Donna Alward

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at CustomerService@Harlequin.com.

  Harlequin Enterprises ULC

  22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor

  Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada

  www.Harlequin.com