At the Billionaire’s Wedding

by Maya Rodale, Caroline Linden, Miranda Neville, Katharine Ashe

  “Oh?” She raised one eyebrow teasingly. “So it’s no one famous getting married?”

  He made a stern face. “I can’t really discuss it. Client confidentiality, you know.”

  One side of her mouth curled upward, giving her a sly, sexy look. “Got it.” She folded her arms and rested her elbows on the table. “Why not computers? You said you miss it.”

  It was his turn to take a moment before answering. “I loved it,” he finally said, slowly. “I got my degree in computer science and did a couple of years as a programmer. I wasn’t brilliant,” he added, “just generally competent and brash as heck.” Duke Austen had hacked the New York Times front page as a middle-schooler before channeling his intellect into more socially acceptable—and profitable—directions. Archer had been a very competent mid-level programmer, who would have written search engine algorithms forever if he’d stayed.

  She ran her finger along the edge of her plate, picking up a bit of mayo. She stuck out her tongue and delicately licked it off her fingertip. Archer stared, feeling the stirrings of a very different sort of hunger. Every time he saw Natalie, he liked her more and more. Damn Duke and his suggestion of asking her to be his date to the wedding.

  “Why law?” It seemed her voice had grown throaty and seductive with that lick of mayo.

  He hesitated. “Because of my father.”

  “Oh.” She tilted her head to one side, obviously picking up on his discomfort. “My mother runs the kitchen in our restaurant. I’m following in her footsteps, too.”

  Archer gave a sharp laugh. “My father’s not a lawyer. He told my mother he was divorcing her three weeks after she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She’s so tenderhearted, she told him to go—her cancer was pretty advanced and I think she didn’t expect to survive. But I could have killed him. He’d been banging his assistant for some time, but to leave Mum at that moment…” He shook his head. “I had a friend whose mother did divorce law, and she turned out to be a real shark. Thanks to her, my mother ended up with a good settlement and guaranteed lifetime health insurance. I was impressed. I wasn’t really hitting it out of the park as a programmer, so I decided to go into law.” He shrugged. “Divorce law didn’t do it for me, but corporate law did, and not many attorneys really know their way around tech clients. So that’s my specialty.”

  Her face had grown soft and compassionate during his story. “How’s your mother doing now?”

  “Quite well. She got an experimental drug in a clinical trial and it beat back the tumor. She gardens, she paints, she bakes…” He forced a grin. “If living with my father for twenty years didn’t kill her, cancer seemed unlikely to.”

  “Ah. Still haven’t forgiven him?” She sounded understanding.

  His jaw clenched. “No.” Not forgiven, nor spoken to in years, and Archer was very happy to keep it that way. Ted Quinn was a heartless bastard. He’d been an absent father and an indifferent husband, and Archer didn’t care if they never saw each other again.

  For a few moments all was quiet. Natalie drew circles in the remnants of her coleslaw with her fork. “I still haven’t forgiven my brother, either. He’s actually the reason I left. I take it your father is in San Francisco?” Surprised, he nodded once. “My brother followed my father into the restaurant administrative side. I cooked, Paul learned accounting. But Paul wants to turn the restaurant into a chain, with locations around the country, and I just…” She huffed in controlled temper. “I think he’s wrong. It will ruin what’s special about us.”

  “Which is?” He leaned forward. The sun was on her hair, giving her a halo of red-gold curls. That smear of chocolate was still on her cheek, and he couldn’t stop staring at it.

  “It’s called Cuisine du Jude, after my mother Judy. We made the big time with a review in the New York Times restaurant section, calling it the most perfect date night…”

  “Date night restaurant in America,” he finished with her. “I’ve heard of it! Wow.”

  “Ever been there?” she asked.

  “Nope. Couldn’t get a table.” He shook his head in amazement. “The managing partner at my firm, Jack Harper, takes his wife there every anniversary. I overheard his secretary making next year’s booking before I left—for March.”

  “Oh, good.” She beamed in pleasure. “I love being part of someone’s anniversary tradition!”

  Archer’s lungs seized up. Oh hell; she was something when she smiled. It lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle.

  “Well.” Natalie pushed her chair back. “I’d better get back to custards, and you’ve spent all morning fixing that old computer. Thanks for doing that, by the way.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, still mesmerized.

  She picked up the plates and went back into the kitchen. Archer seized the glasses and followed. Inside, she was scraping the plates over the sink, and moved aside as he put the glasses on the drainboard. “Thanks,” she said again, looking up at him with a smile.

  Archer stared at her. Slowly her smile faded, and the same awareness he felt prickling beneath his skin seemed to affect her. “What?” she said in that throaty voice. “Have I got something on my face?”

  “You do, actually.” He raised one hand and ran his thumb over the dark smear. Her breathing hitched, but she didn’t move. Even more slowly, he repeated the motion. “I think it’s dried chocolate,” he murmured.

  A wash of faint pink came into her cheeks. “Probably. I was making chocolate custard earlier…”

  His mouth crooked up. Of course. “My favorite.”

  “I thought chocolate cake was your favorite,” she breathed, not making any motion to retreat as he angled his head closer to hers.

  “Chocolate is my favorite.” He brushed his lips against hers. “And this.” He kissed her, lightly, his fingertips barely touching the bottom of her chin. Hesitantly her lips moved against his, and then her fingers wrapped around a fold of his shirt and pulled. Archer didn’t waste a moment; his fingers slid around the nape of her neck and he drew her against him with his other arm.

  He’d thought she smelled good; she tasted even better. Her mouth opened under his and she tasted of rosemary and, faintly, of chocolate, and he thought he’d never get enough. Her fingers flexed, gripping his shirt even tighter, and she rose up on her toes, kissing him back. Her tongue met his, hot and bold, and Archer felt the ground give way beneath his feet. He could kiss this woman forever.

  She gave an audible gasp when he broke the kiss so he could taste more of her skin. “I don’t even know you.” Her voice was that husky whisper that drove him wild.

  “I know.” Nor did he know her, but he meant to remedy that. His lips brushed the chocolate smear on her cheek and he had a sudden image of licking chocolate off every part of her.

  “This is really fast.”

  “I know,” he said again, nipping her earlobe between his teeth. Fast and hot and more intense than anything he’d ever felt in his life.

  A fine shudder went through her. “But it feels so damn good… Are you sure you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “Completely unattached.” He kissed her jaw. “You?”

  She gave a faint shake of her head, which exposed her neck better to his kisses. “No one.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  For a moment she was motionless, then another very tiny shake of her head. “No.”

  He smiled, his mouth against hers again. “Good.” He held her tighter, and reveled in the feel of her body moving against his. It was shocking how badly he wanted her—he’d gone from intending a one-time kiss, exploratory and romantic, to crowding her against the door and fending off the driving urge to slip his hand up her shirt and hike her legs around his waist and…

  Something buzzed. Archer ignored it, but Natalie jumped. “Archer,” she said in a shaky voice. “Your phone is ringing.”

  “It does that a lot.” Reluctantly, he let go of her. It felt like molten lava flowed beneath his skin, slow and thick a
nd scorching. Natalie’s face was flushed and her eyes were bright, but she turned her head and stared at the far wall of the kitchen. He took a step back to keep from kissing her again, and pulled the phone from his pocket. It was Duke Austen, and he silently cursed his VIP client’s shitty timing as he answered the call. “Hey, Duke.”

  “Bad news,” said Austen grimly. “Some tabloid dick seems to have gotten wind of the locale, which is going to screw up the magazine deal. Jane is really upset.”

  Archer said a few more curses inside his head. If a tabloid published wedding photos first, the magazine deal was off—along with any hope the couple had of having a private wedding. Brampton House would be crawling with paparazzi within a few hours if word got out, no matter how many security firms were hired to keep them away. “Are you sure? Has he published?”

  “I don’t know.” Duke’s voice seethed with anger. “What can we do?”

  He sighed. This wasn’t his area of expertise, but Duke was his client. He gave Natalie an apologetic glance and stepped away. She gave a jerky nod and began making a clatter with dishes in the sink. Archer lowered his voice. “Let me make some calls. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Where are you?” demanded Duke.

  “On my way back to the hotel. Give me twenty minutes.” He ended the call. Natalie was still washing dishes, scrubbing energetically. “I have to go,” he said quietly.

  She nodded, her curls bouncing. “Okay.”

  He stepped up behind her and laid his hands on her hips. A muscle tensed in her waist, but she didn’t look at him. “I don’t want to.”

  “Well.” She inhaled deeply as he pressed his lips to the back of her neck. “Can’t always do what you want to…”

  Wasn’t that the truth. He wanted to stay right here, exploring the velvety skin at her nape, breathing the intoxicating tropical smell of her skin, kissing his way along the slope of her collarbone. He wanted to throw gasoline on the sparks that smoldered between them and walk into the blaze. For a lingering moment he ignored the call of duty; he refused to think about how many calls he’d have to make to solve Duke’s problem.

  Natalie took a long, shuddering breath and twisted around in his arms. Her hands landed flat on his chest. “Archer—”

  “Don’t tell me it’s too fast unless you want it to stop now,” he whispered, tucking her against him once more. “Do you?”

  Her gaze dropped. “Not at the moment…”

  “Good. Neither do I.” He kissed her again, hard and hungrily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Looking dazed, she nodded. He bent his head and licked the chocolate off her cheek. “My favorite,” he breathed again, right next to her ear. She gave a soft moan, and he made himself let go of her and walk away without looking back.

  Chapter Seven

  Natalie scrubbed at the dishes until they would have passed muster at the White House. Her skin felt electrified, and she did not want to think about how close she’d come to having sex with a man she’d only met four days ago, up against the kitchen pantry door.

  She swiped at the chocolate on her face again. You don’t have to shag him, echoed her mother’s voice in her head. Yeah, but what if I want to? she silently retorted. Her mother had probably said that only because Natalie was definitely not the type who would. Even in college she’d never gotten serious with a guy within the first month. Now she was so turned on by one kiss from Archer, if he’d made any move to take things further she would have dragged him into the other room and started tearing off her clothes.

  “Okay,” she said aloud, horrified by the breathless tenor of her voice. “Okay. You’re a little deprived.” Although she hadn’t felt so bothered by that yesterday. “It’s just hot when a guy comes on to you like that.” So hot, her knees were still shaking. “Get over it, Nat.”

  Her phone shrilled loudly then, and she nearly dropped the glass she was washing for the fourth time. Her heart leapt into her throat. Archer? But no—he didn’t even have her phone number, and when she seized the phone, it was Pippa’s ID on the screen. Taking a deep breath and telling herself it was relief and not disappointment, she answered. “Hi.”

  “Are you still terribly oppressed by the traffic?” said her friend in greeting. “I’ve been feeling just awful for telling you it would be quiet.”

  “Oh… I’m surviving.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’m willing to trade you, my flat in Hammersmith for the cottage. The kitchen’s not as big, but I’m a rotten friend for sending you into a construction zone when you only asked for peace and quiet. I can drive out tonight and help you move.”

  “No, don’t,” she mumbled. Archer was only here for a wedding, which meant he’d be gone in a week or so. That already sounded short.

  There was silence on the phone, almost palpably curious. “Are they done, then? I thought you were ready to detonate the road to put an end to it.”

  “I got used to it, I guess…”

  “Natalie,” said Pippa carefully, “are you okay? You sound stoned.”

  She let her head fall back. “I’m not stoned.” She paused. “I have a serious case of lust for one of the guys attending the wedding at Brampton House,” she said in a rush, almost hearing Pippa’s mouth drop open. “I just kissed him. And made out with him.”

  There was a long silence, then Pippa said in her most proper, bossy voice, “Put the real Natalie back on the line, please.”

  “I know! Totally not like me! But I did, and Pip”—she lowered her voice to a whisper even though only Oliver the cat would hear her—“I would have done more.”

  “Oh my God, was he not into you?” demanded Pippa. “Boot his ass out the door.”

  “No, his phone rang.” She looked out the window, but Archer was long gone. Oliver sprawled on the table where he usually worked. “I think it was work. He works a lot.”

  “Details,” commanded Pippa.

  Natalie obliged. Not that she knew much about him, as was blindingly clear from the brevity of her explanation. “He said he’d see me tomorrow,” she finished. “What do you think: should I have sex with him or not?”

  Her friend snorted with laughter. “You’re absolutely gagging for it! I say sex. Lord knows I never saw anyone worth shagging in Melbury; hot men are like the Loch Ness monster around there.”

  “Not this week. I’ve seen people who must be wedding guests. More than one has been hot.”

  Pippa swore. “You would find the one week in eternity when there are attractive men in town. I lived there for two years, Nat, and saw nary a one.”

  “You only spent summers here.”

  “Two endless summers without so much as a buff delivery man. Carpe diem.”

  Natalie rubbed her toes down the back of her leg. “You don’t think he’s just looking to hook up because that’s what people do at weddings?”

  “Natalie,” said Pippa with great patience, “who cares? You want to shag him; if he wants to shag you, where is the problem?”

  “You are the worst conscience a girl could ever have,” she told her friend.

  Pippa laughed. “I’m the evil genie on your shoulder, not your conscience! Look him up online to satisfy your nerves, then put on that red dress you have and wear nothing underneath.”

  “I didn’t even bring that dress!”

  “Then wear any old skirt. If he wants you, he won’t notice anyway.”

  “Good-bye, Pip.” She hung up and put down the phone. Pippa was wilder than she was—although the very fact that Natalie was considering sleeping with Archer, after only one kiss and zero dates, hardly left her feeling more virtuous. Still…

  She went into the other room, averting her eyes from the pile of discarded electronics on the floor. She opened the browser and typed in Archer’s name in the search bar. And she learned… He was a lawyer. The first several pages of results were all legal related, although they did load much faster than usual, as he’d promised. She clicked the images tab, and the screen filled with his
face, giving her another little jolt of attraction. They were mostly professional photos, but one caught her eye and she clicked it. It was Archer, several years younger, with an older man who had to be his father. The resemblance was unmistakable. Ted Quinn of Quintillion Capital and Archer Quinn of Scarsdale Phillips LLP, was the caption; it had been taken at a charity event in San Francisco. Natalie’s gaze lingered on Archer’s face. He was smiling, but it was almost grim and forced. His father’s smile, on the other hand, was straight out of a mouthwash commercial. Archer said he hadn’t forgiven his dad even years after the divorce. In fact, it sounded like he still hated his father. That sounded … implacable. Rigid, even.

  With a shake of her head, she went back to her original search. She was only contemplating a brief fling. It didn’t really matter what his family relations were like because she would probably never meet them. She only cared that he wasn’t a crazy person, now that he knew about her family restaurant and could find her again, and the Internet was hardly likely to tell her much about that. The only thing to do was put some form of restraint on her hormones and try to get to know the guy. She closed the browser and went back to the kitchen, even though she had very little interest in custards or madeleines anymore.

  Duke’s problem did not turn out to be easily fixed. A handful of photos, allegedly of Jane in her wedding dress, had ended up online, and the magazine was threatening to jettison the charity deal. Duke was in a fury, although he had to back down a bit when Archer discovered the maid of honor had posted the photos—and that her date was the publisher of several tabloid newspapers.

  “You invited Damien Knightly, owner of The London Weekly?” he asked incredulously. “Duke—no offense—but what were you thinking? Did you make him sign a nondisclosure agreement?”

  Duke scowled. “No. But I know he’s behind these photos. Roxanna wouldn’t do this to Jane on her own.”