by Lindsey Hart
ALPHALICIOUS BILLIONAIRES
Box Set V1
Books 1-4
Lindsey Hart
CONTENTS
MARRIED BY MISTAKE
FAKING IT
BABY MISTAKE
SEDUCING MY BEST FRIEND
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PREVIEW OF ‘THE DATING GAME’
PREVIEW OF ‘I KISSED THE BOSS’
LIST OF BOOKS
COPYRIGHT
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email without permission in writing from the publisher. While all attempts and efforts have been made to verify the information held within this publication, neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for errors, omissions, or opposing interpretations of the content herein. The book is for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed are those of the author alone and should not be taken as expert instruction or commands.
Copyright © Passion House Publishing Ltd 2019
All rights reserved.
You can contact the team at [email protected].
MARRIED BY MISTAKE
BOOK DESCRIPTION
What do you do when you wake up in bed next to an Adonis god with a wedding band on your finger and no recollections of the night before?
Except for maybe one single memory where you lost a hand of cards to the sexy stranger and agreed to marry him. Seriously, how drunk was I?!
Well, whatever the case, you sure as hell do not agree to stay married to the Greek God and be his wife!
I mean what if he had a crooked dick or something.
There was bound to be a catch, right?
Because why the hell would he want the plain-Jane-ME as his wife?
Ah, he did say he needed to get married and it would save him all the work of actually having to find someone, date them, propose, and go through months of wedding planning.
But like how the freaking hell is that a valid reason?!
Well, he did ask for a weekend to prove to me that we were perfect for each other. Should I agree? Especially when my body was reacting all on its own and going into instant combustion every time he touched me.
Hey Loves, this is the first book in the new series Alphalicious Billionaires. Come meet those sexy men loaded with more than that cash package and so ready to claim their not-so-reluctant heroine. Each book is a standalone and can be read in any order. And don't forget, we are team HEA all the way!
CHAPTER 1
June
Holy mother of Hannah- whoever that was. Waking up with a splitting headache, compliments of an epic hangover, next to a burly, handsome, ash-blonde giant of a stranger was one thing. Waking up with a hangover, no memory of the night before, a stranger, and a simple gold band glistening on her left ring finger was quite another.
June Lashinsky bolted upright, which was hangover rule number one mistake. She never took her eyes from the glistening ring, not even when she leaned forward and dry heaved nothing but glistening lines of spittle onto the white hotel sheets.
The beast beside her stirred and let out a caveman worthy groan. “What the fuck?” he mumbled sleepily, confused. He stared at her until she managed to get her rolling stomach under control. Thankfully nothing came up. The sour taste in her mouth lingered disgustingly. Obviously, it was the least of her worries.
The caveman with the strong brow, the square jaw, the straight nose, full lips and piercing dark midnight eyes, ran a hand through his long, already disheveled ashy blonde hair. Even half sitting up, it was obvious that he was over six feet of pure jacked sin. He was bronzed. Bronzed. He probably had dimples when he smiled.
Even through the pain knifing through her head, the gut-twisting tornado she had going on and the wall blocking her memories, June realized the guy was handsome. Not just handsome. Total fuck worthy material. Which was… well… obviously the case. She didn’t even need her drunk goggles to want to jump his bones. He was the kind of guy that could walk into a room full of women and up the estrogen production tenfold. What the heck am I doing in bed with a guy most women would give their left tit to have a baby with? He probably causes spontaneous pregnancies just by breathing.
A jolt of hot electricity burned its way shamefully up her spine. June gripped the sheet and tugged it up when she realized the beast was eyeing her naked breasts. Oh god. Oh god. Is that what we did last night? “What the hell?” she asked harshly. Unfortunately, the sheet slipped down, revealing an already pert dark bud. “You are a pervert or something?”
The guy ran a meaty hand through his hair again. His flawless bronzed brow crinkled in confusion, pulling his brown eyebrows closer into the bridge of his nose, which was a nice nose, solid and straight and strong. “Uhh… honestly, at the moment, I don’t know. I hope not though.” He looked her up and down and June burned under the frank inspection. “Judging from the fact that we’re both naked and this is Vegas and my head is splitting, and you look to be in the same boat, I would say it was consensual.”
June let out a low moan. “Why on earth would you say that? Do you ever have non-consensual sex?”
The guy’s frown deepened, and something knifed through his azure eyes. Eyes the color of a dark abyss you could get lost in. What the hell. Seriously? I’m already Grade A pathetic. I don’t have to make it worse.
“Never. Why would you even say that?”
“Because of what you said!”
“I thought you might be an escort or something, okay!”
“An escort!” She choked. “What- that would still have to be- consensual.”
“I’ve never had any sex that wasn’t consensual!” The guy barked. “Jesus!”
“What does he have to do with it?”
The guy rolled his eyes. “I’m hungover as hell at the moment. All I have is a blank sheet in my mind about what happened last night. I have never, ever, ever forced a woman to have sex with me.” He nailed her with a direct stare. “Do I look like I need to?”
“Oh, that’s just great!” June threw back the sheets and exploded out of bed. “Not only did I just spend the night sleeping beside some kind of pervert, I also picked the most humble man in all of Nevada.”
“I’m sure they’re in abundant supply here in Vegas. And I’m not a pervert.” The guy’s icy eyes raked down her body, her naked body, appreciatively. “None of that was what I meant to say. I meant instead of consensual, I meant- god, I can’t think of the word. Mutual, that’s what I meant. And I don’t know where the escort thing came from. I guess I just wanted to see what you’d say. You never know…” He had the nerve to flash her a charming, witty smile. A smile! As if it was funny!
June gasped and hurried over to the black puddle of material on the hotel room floor. She glanced around the room as she picked it up. It was nice. Obviously, a suite. It had a hot tub style bathtub, whatever they were called, in the corner, a huge TV mounted on the wall above a bar with a mini-fridge and actual cupboards, a leather couch, a desk and chair, a small table, and a huge king-sized bed. The carpet was black, the bedding was black, though the sheets were white beneath. Everything looked new and expensive. It smelled new and expensive.
Apparently, she’d done what every other woman out there aimed to do and somehow landed a rich one. A rich pervert. She cursed hersel
f that she didn’t find the idea as repulsive as she should. In fact, the thought of doing things with the infuriating stranger made things throb. The wrong kind of things and the wrong kind of throb.
She wrenched her eyes back to the shimmery puddle of fabric. She folded it this way and that and no matter how she pulled at it, it didn’t turn into a dress. Or even a skirt. Or anything at all.
“You- you ripped my dress apart?” She gaped at the man in the bed. She held up the scrap of fabric. “It’s ruined.” Now, what the hell am I supposed to wear to do my walk of shame? Her eyes dashed about the room and landed on a dark black dress shirt. She stalked over and snatched it up. She didn’t hesitate before she pulled the shirt around her body.
The top two buttons were long gone. The beast obviously had a penchant for destroying his own clothing as well. She did the next one up and the one after that with fumbling, useless fingers. She nearly cried out at the stabs of pain that wracked her brain with each and every single one of her furious erratic movements.
“Looks to me like you wanted to get laid.” The beast had the nerve to cross his arms over his far too broad chest, a movement that made each and every single corded, bulging, rippling muscle bulge and ripple that much more. She wondered if it was actually humanly possible to bench press a car. “That dress says it all.”
“You’re disgusting,” June shot back. “Just like all those men that say a woman was asking for it… this is Vegas. Have you seen what people wear here?” She pointed to the puddle of black silky sparkles on the floor. “That there is long enough and good enough to wear to church in comparison.”
The beast rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Seriously. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry- I definitely didn’t mean it like that.” He trailed off and June almost felt sorry for him. The look on his face was so lost and helpless. Clearly, he was at a loss, just as she was. “I would never say anyone was asking for anything. You come to the worst conclusions. You make me sound like the devil.”
No. No, I will not feel sorry for the bastard. I don’t care that I’m making him feel bad by twisting all his words around. He’s the one making himself look bad by saying them in the first place.
June let out a long frustrated sigh. She had no idea how she was going to get back to her hotel room. She did remember that she’d gone out with her two friends, Jasmine and Mandy, the night before. They’d decided to take a girl’s trip to Vegas, driven down from San Diego where they lived, as a getaway. All because June’s fucking dick of a fiancé, Rob, decided to cheat on her.
With another dude.
If there was a humiliation of the year award, she might just win it.
Doubly so, now that she was in a hotel room with a beast of a man who may or may not be hot as sin if she was willing to admit it, a gold wedding band on her finger, and no memory of what happened. Also, currently, she had zero clothes to get from his place back to the safety of hers to figure out what the hell to do next.
If only she hadn’t let her girlfriends convince her that what she needed were a few wild nights, some good fun, a little gambling, some shows, and maybe, just maybe… a hot guy, to forget all about Rob.
June clenched her hands into tight, sweaty fists at her sides. She was in pain. Her heart ached like someone had just thrust a bloody knife through it and twisted. And twisted. And twisted some more.
She searched the recess of her foggy, painful mind for any recollection of the night before, but there was nothing there. She didn’t remember the guy in the bed even asking her if she wanted a drink. She didn’t remember anything about him at all.
June turned wildly to face the beast. He was sprawled out in bed like he owned it, his hands tucked behind his head, his bronzed skin, broad shoulders, rippling muscle, chiseled abs, hard pecks and perfect, dusky pink nipples on display. FML. Big time. She had a history of falling for the wrong guys. Rob was just the last in a long line of mistakes.
Yup. That confirms it. Failure of the year award, right here.
She had to get out of there. Give herself a chance to think. Put some space between them until she could get herself together and just breathe again. But where? It wasn’t like she could escape outside wearing only the guy’s dress shirt, which hung off of her like a bag since it was about six sizes too big. The bathroom.
“Great. It looks like I’m married to a perverted, asshole, narcissistic, alcoholic,” sinfully handsome, sexy as hell, “prick who likes to go into full beast mode and tear off clothing before he sticks it to his new wife.”
She didn’t wait for a response before she took off, rounded the corner and locked herself away in the only clear refuge she could think of.
CHAPTER 2
Brock
Married? What the ever-living hell?
Brock William’s eyes traced a quick, scalding pattern down to his left hand. Oh no. Oh god no. My parents are going to kill me. Owen is going to kill me. He was already a publicist’s worst nightmare. His parents were always on him to grow up, settle down and give them grandkids. It was the last thing he was interested in.
And now he was married.
To the infuriating woman who’d just tried to vomit in bed. Right beside him. Who’d accused him of being some kind of pervert who forced himself on women. Like a monster in the night who preyed on the defenseless.
This was his wife?
Wait… what?
Wife?
Suddenly he was pretty sure he was the one who was going to empty his stomach onto the bed.
It finally settled in that the ring on his left hand wasn’t just for show. The throbbing pain in his head let up just enough that he realized whatever he’d done the night before was a big mistake. Drinking, okay he did that in moderation. He’d had his fair share of wild nights, but then again, what thirty-five-year-old man could say they hadn’t lived a little along the way? Especially thirty-five-year-old men with a mansion and their own private jet?
Yeah… that made a difference. Women liked that. They wanted to get in the bed of Brock William The Third, just to say they did. Maybe they thought they had a shot at his heart. Maybe they just wanted a shot at his bank account. Okay… no maybe about it.
Brock had thrown himself into work for the past few years. He’d dug in and grew the fuck up as his parents wanted. Oh and Owen as well. The guy hadn’t had to bust his balls in a long time.
And now this.
The whole point of Vegas was just to get away for a week. Do some fun shit without the side of stupid. He planned on having a few drinks, kicking back by the pool, playing hours of poker and maybe even doing a few excursions or tours to top it all off. Riding quads through the desert seemed like a lot of fun for someone whose entire day consisted of home, gym, office in that order. Even if all three of them were located in his house.
He didn’t like to go out anymore. He didn’t like bothering with a disguise and the people of Philadelphia knew that he was still rich and he was still single. Was. As in, he wasn’t anymore.
He’d once been accosted on a morning run, by a group of six women who chased him down like a pack of hungry jackals. It spurred the whole decision to make his home gym. He liked running outside, but hell, he also didn’t like being mobbed like a male stripper on girl’s night.
It was Owen who suggested that he get away to Vegas. It seemed like a good idea at that time. A city he could just blend into. Lots of rich people went there. Hell, half of LA emptied out on weekends and drove on down for a weekend of drunken debauchery.
The black wall assailed him when he tried to recall any of what happened the night before. He’d had a few drinks. That was a given. When the hell had a few got so out of control? And when the hell had he picked up a woman along the way and convinced her that they should get married? Or maybe she picked him up. Maybe it was the other way around.
He’d believe it.
God, if he had to be married, the blonde who just fled to the bathroom wasn’t half bad. Nope. Not bad at all. She was
beautiful, really. Even hungover, her long lush hair matted and tangled. Even after she’d nearly thrown up onto the bed. Even after she chewed him out, emerald eyes blazing fire. Those full sensuous lips were so utterly kissable it took all his strength not to jump out of bed and give her a good spanking for being so rude. With his mouth. On her mouth. His tongue on her tongue.
Brock groaned when he glanced down and realized that his thoughts were leading to a whole lot of sheet tenting. The last thing he needed was to spring a hard-on for a woman who called him a pervert. And a predator. His wife.
When did marriage get so hard?
Oh right. Always.
When the shower clicked on in the bathroom, Brock threw back the sheets. She was probably going to be a while. Maybe she’d left the door unlocked. He could only be so lucky. He had to piss. His bladder was on the verge of rupturing.
Maybe he’d get lucky and the shower wouldn’t be all glass. Maybe it would be one of those things with a pull across cheesy five-dollar curtain. In this suite? Not likely. He tried to push his foggy mind to remember, but just like the details of the night before, memories of the shower eluded him. He’d only been in the bathroom for five minutes before he left. Yesterday was the first day of his week-long holiday.
Of course, he had to ruin it right off the get-go. What better way to get himself accidentally married?
Brock rummaged through the discarded clothing on the floor and picked up his black boxers from the night before. He shrugged and slipped them on. The black sparkly dress that he’d apparently torn off his wife the night before in a frantic burst of honeymoon zeal, sat puddled at the foot of the bed. He barely resisted the urge to pick it up. He imagined bringing it to his nose and inhaling.
What. The. Hell?
