Sexy Billionaires

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’ Her voice was strangled, a strained whisper, yet she couldn’t move, standing frozen like a rabbit trapped in headlights.

  ‘Oh, yes, I do. You’d have to take a lover—discreetly, of course. Was that what this was about? Some sort of audition to see if I have the staying power to sustain you through a lonely loveless marriage?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He dismissed her response with a toss of his head. ‘I assume I passed.’

  ‘You assume one hell of a lot,’ Tabitha flared. ‘You know what? I actually feel sorry for you. You’re so sure everyone’s out for your money, so sure we’re all as hard as you. Is it so hard to believe in happily-ever-after?’

  ‘After what?’

  For a second she thought he was being facetious.

  ‘After what?’ he demanded again.

  Still she thought he was joking, but on closer inspection he looked genuinely perplexed. ‘Happily ever after,’ she repeated, but still there was no reaction to indicate he understood. ‘Like in the fairytales. Didn’t your mother read you bedtime stories?’

  Zavier laughed, but there was no humour behind it. ‘You’ve met my mother. Can you really imagine her tucking us in with some namby-pamby fairytale?’

  It had never entered her head that she might feel sorry for Zavier Chambers. After all, he had everything she didn’t—money, power, parents. And yet… Looking over at his haughty face, his brooding eyes, Tabitha was assailed with a sudden tidal wave of sympathy. Sure, she had only had her parents for seven years, but she wouldn’t trade her memories for a lifetime of Marjory and Jeremy—tucked up in bed with her mother reading aloud as she took her on journeys to castles and princes and happy endings. A world where the good guy always won.

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Tabitha said, but more gently this time.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

  Picking up her dress, he flashed one more look at the designer label before throwing it towards her.

  ‘Stay away from my family, Tabitha Reece. You make me sick.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DANCING had always been her escape. So much more than a job, so much more than a means to an end. The throbbing music, the darkened audience, the sensual smell of bodies dancing, writhing. Losing herself to the rhythm, living only for the moment, the world on hold till the heavy dusty curtain descended.

  But tonight there was no escape.

  There hadn’t been for five days.

  Five long days and five even longer nights. Days spent chasing banks, building societies, waiting for the call that would save her grandmother, the gnawing panic of debt snapping at her heels. But they paled in comparison to the agony of the nights. Lonely nights waiting for a call of a different kind, tossing and turning, watching the moon drift past her window, the Southern Cross twinkling in the inky sky a constant reminder of her insignificance.

  There was no refuge.

  Now, as she danced, every response in her body, every surge of emotion seemed paltry, a pale imitation of what she had felt under Zavier’s masterful touch.

  A one-night stand. It sounded cheap, sordid—sexual gratification for the sake of it. A primitive meeting of desires, then walking away without a backward glance.

  But it hadn’t been like that for Tabitha. She hadn’t walked away without a glance. Her mind was constantly there, remembering the bliss of him. He had hurt her, embarrassed her, humiliated her, yet…

  In his arms, wrapped around his body, when the velvet endearments had poured like silk from his lips, she had found the solace she hadn’t realised she’d craved, felt the mastery of his touch, glimpsed the impossible fantasy of being loved by Zavier.

  Loved.

  The word echoed through her mind like a mocking taunt.

  There was nothing transitory about it.

  So tonight Tabitha danced, danced because she had to, because it was her job, her livelihood, and she danced well—but nothing like the way she had for Zavier. And this time when the curtain came down she didn’t rush off stage with the other dancers, because tonight there was no rush to get home, no haste to get into her large lonely bed and dream her impossible dreams.

  The high-spirited chatter, the buzz of euphoria that came with the end of each show seemed to be in another language as she listlessly pulled off her costume, her dusty tights discarded on the even dustier main dressing room floor as Tabitha rummaged in her bag for her wrap.

  ‘There’s a Mr Chambers here to see you.’ Marcus the stagehand sounded as put out as ever, and Tabitha gave him an apologetic smile as she turned to greet her friend. Aiden was becoming a regular feature backstage, his excuses to Marcus legendary as he wrestled with a reason not to drink alone.

  ‘So what was the crisis tonight? Has your pet goldfish finally succumbed…?’

  Her teasing sentence died on her lips as she stared into the face of Zavier, as familiar as her own, the face that had filled her dreams, fuelled her imagination since the moment she met him.

  ‘Nothing quite so dramatic.’ He made his way over, the sea of dancers parting, staring shamelessly from him to Tabitha, undisguised admiration on their faces. ‘I have to go to America in the morning and I thought we ought to go over some details.’

  ‘Details?’ Her perplexed voice was barely audible as she stared at him dumbfounded.

  Only as his eyes flicked down to her pink, glistening body did she become acutely aware of the fact that all she was wearing was a flesh-coloured G-string. It had never been an issue—the changing room was permanently littered with naked bodies—but under Zavier’s gaze there was nothing casual in her nakedness, no innocence in the way her body responded to his mere presence. She had dreamed of this moment, determined that when—if—she ever saw him again, she would look cool and aloof; she had even gone so far as to practise in the mirror—a gentle furrowing of her brow, a slight snap of her fingers as she tried to recall his name.

  A wasted effort.

  There was nothing sophisticated in the way he had found her, nothing aloof about the burning blush creeping over her near-naked body.

  ‘The wedding—it’s only four weeks away. We really ought to be finalising a few things.’ The usual post-performance gaggle was deathly quiet, every ear straining to hear, every eye on them. ‘Marcus?’

  She vaguely registered Zavier turn to the stagehand, noticing how strange it was that he knew his name, how even Marcus seemed only too happy to please the might that was Zavier Chambers.

  ‘Is there somewhere we could go? Somewhere a bit more private?’ He flashed a malevolent smile at a mute Tabitha. ‘My fiancée looks as if she might need to sit down.’

  It only took a moment to dress, to drape her wrap around her, to pull on her short Lycra skirt and slip on some sandals, but it felt like a lifetime. The eyes of her colleagues, her friends, her boss, were on her, but they didn’t compare to the heavy stare of Zavier, the impatience in his stance as she fiddled to tie her wrap.

  Of course when you are Zavier Chambers your affairs aren’t expected to be discussed in a dusty backstage dressing room. Doors open, or rather private dressing room doors open. Five-star ones, with mirrors and mini bars. And, though it was a world she inhabited daily, such sumptuous surroundings were painfully unfamiliar. Zavier immediately made himself at home, tossing aside his jacket and pulling a bottle out of the fridge with all the arrogance of a man who was used to having the best of everything.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ Her voice, which had failed her for the past few minutes, didn’t sound as assured as Tabitha would have liked, but it would have to do. ‘How dare you just barge in here? How dare you stroll in and drop a bombshell like that, only to leave me to pick up the pieces? I have to work with these people.’

  ‘Chambers wives don’t work,’ came the swift riposte. Annoyingly unmoved by her anger, he popped a champagne cork with ease and filled two glasses. He handed her one, topping up the pale liquid until the bubbles fl
ooded her trembling hands.

  ‘I mean it, Zavier. I want you to tell me what all this is about!’

  ‘It’s really very simple.’ He flashed that dangerous smile. ‘It’s about us.’

  Us?

  It was hard to remain focused on the words coming from him as she lost herself in the simple word. Us. You and I. Him and I. Me and you. You and me.

  The simplest of words with the biggest of connotations.

  ‘What us?’

  ‘Us getting married.’

  He said it so lightly, so easily, that for a moment Tabitha didn’t even register his words, her mind too much filled with remembering when his lips had been closer, the taste of his cool tongue exploring hers. It was only after a few seconds that she parted the fog where her brain had once been and his statement filtered through.

  ‘Married?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Zavier nodded.

  ‘Marry you?’

  ‘Right again.’ The dressing room, not big, seemed to have taken on minuscule proportions. It wasn’t just his size that was daunting; everything about him oozed confidence and over-abundance. She felt like Alice in Wonderland in reverse, as the walls seemed to close in around her. Actually—Tabitha shook her head ruefully—maybe she wasn’t so far off with her fairytale analogy. A proposal from someone like Zavier Chambers was the stuff of pure fantasy. It must be every girl’s dream that a man as infinitely desirable might say those three little words while looking into your eyes. Except there wasn’t a hint of romance in the air, and from the way he was distractedly examining his fingernails, tapping his well-shod foot on the floorboards as he waited for Tabitha to speak, it was clear Zavier wasn’t about to whisk her off to live happily ever after.

  ‘Why on earth would you ask me to marry you?’ The anger had gone from her voice now, replaced instead by sheer bewilderment.

  ‘Because for once one of Aiden’s hare-brained schemes actually has some merit.’

  ‘But all I agreed to was a date. The marriage proposal was as much a surprise to me as it was to you. Why won’t you believe me when I say I’m not after your brother? I never have been. It was a simple matter of helping him out—not some contrived plan to rob him blind. And for your information I spoke about it with Aiden the following morning, when he repeated his offer, and again I said no.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ Zavier replied easily, examining his manicured nails closely, not even bothering to look up as he spoke. ‘And I must admit somewhat surprised too. Were you holding out for more?’

  Dumbly she shook her head.

  ‘I can’t say I blame you,’ Zavier carried on, ignoring her denial. ‘After all, Aiden’s hardly a safe bet.’ He shot her a dry smile. ‘We all know how you like a gamble, but why stack the odds against you with a penniless artist who could be disinherited? Why expose yourself to the risk of his family finding out the truth behind your little sham and run the risk of ending up penniless?’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Zavier said with a thin smile that definitely didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Anyway, for once in your life, Tabitha, you win. This time, darling, you’ve hit the jackpot.’

  ‘What jackpot?’ Her lips were curled in the beginning of a sneer, her nerves at seeing him momentarily overridden by the preposterousness of his words.

  ‘I’m raising the stakes.’ His eyes narrowed and he left his nails, examining her closely now, watching her colour mount under his scrutiny. ‘That’s the bit you like, isn’t it?’ he hissed.

  But Tabitha refused to be bullied. Yes, he was intimidating, and, yes, he was undoubtedly the most powerful man she had ever come up against. Yet she had seen another side to him, been held by him, ravished by him, adored by him albeit fleetingly.

  Fear didn’t come into it.

  ‘If I was confused before, you’ve completely lost me now,’ Tabitha admitted with a slightly exaggerated sigh, then gratefully took a sip of champagne, because it was the only thing she could do other than look into his eyes.

  ‘For once in his gormless life Aiden actually had an idea that might have some merit.’

  He watched as she sat down at the dressing table, watched as she took some tissues and wiped the livid red lipstick from her lips, pulled out the jangle of pins that held her Titian locks.

  He remembered with total recall the feel of those silken curls beneath his fingers, releasing the tight pins, running his hand to free them, the cool tumble of her hair as it cascaded down her pale shoulders, and realised he was clenching his fists, having to physically restrain himself from crossing the room and helping her.

  ‘Maybe this will make things clearer.’ His voice came out too harsh, too sharp, the quilted muscles in his face refusing nonchalance as he reached into his suit and laid a cheque in front of her.

  ‘This is a joke, right?’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life.’

  Her hands were working faster now, pulling out the pins with impatience, and apart from a brief cursory glance downwards, to see what he was doing, her eyes never left the mirror. She had no desire to examine it more closely—no desire to see the undoubtedly ludicrous figure he was offering for her services.

  ‘I suggest you take a closer look,’ he said, his voice deep, his eyes boring into her shoulder. ‘It’s not every day one gets offered this amount of money.’

  ‘It’s not every day one gets to be made to feel a tart.’

  Her words were like a slap to his cheek and Zavier involuntarily winced. ‘That isn’t my intention.’ His response sounded genuine, almost apologetic, but, clearing his throat, he carried on in a more impassive voice. ‘It’s merely a solution to a problem.’

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘You have major financial problems; I have a father who longs to see one of his children married. Time isn’t on my side, and from what Aiden’s told me you’re up against the clock to come up with some money. You’re up to your neck in debt.’

  ‘No.’ The violence behind her denial literally brought Tabitha to her feet. ‘I’m not.’

  He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even deign to look at her. ‘Why do you need money, then?’

  It did enter her mind to tell him—she even opened her lips to speak. But it dawned on her then that telling Zavier the truth would end things here and now. If Zavier knew the debt was her grandmother’s rather than hers then their conversation would effectively be over. And, though his suggestion of marriage was as preposterous as it was ludicrous, Tabitha was intrigued and, perhaps more pointedly, ten minutes more of Zavier’s time were ten minutes she craved.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘I bet you don’t,’ he snapped, before taking a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m offering you a way out, a solution to our respective problems.’ He pushed the cheque towards her again, and this time Tabitha did look, her eyes flicking down to the extravagant scrawl, widening as they saw they impossibly huge figure. ‘This is part-payment.’

  ‘Part-payment?’

  ‘On acceptance,’ he said, his tone businesslike. ‘You’ll get the same amount again after the wedding, and double that in six months—providing, of course, you’ve been a good wife.’

  ‘A good wife?’ The bewilderment in her voice was audible even to Tabitha, and she mentally kicked herself for repeating his words. She sounded like a parrot.

  ‘No scandal, no talking to the press, and no objections to a quick divorce.’

  ‘D-divorce?’ A parrot with a stammer, Tabitha thought ruefully, focusing on anything other than the ridiculous conversation that was taking place.

  He gave a wry smile. ‘I’m not expecting you to sign your life away—just six months.’ He gave a small shrug, but Tabitha knew the nonchalant gesture hid a lot of pain. ‘My father’s been given three months to live at best. Six months will give a respectable time-frame before the family hits the headlines again. Otherwise, it might look a touch callous for you to leave me so s
oon after his death. I’m not out to trash your reputation.’

  ‘Just to trash my self-respect.’

  ‘I think you’ve already taken care of that,’ he said nastily, and Tabitha felt her colour rise as she remembered just how quickly she had jumped into bed with him. But as he continued she realised he wasn’t alluding to their one night together—her vice, as he saw it, wasn’t for impossibly handsome dark-haired men with enough sex appeal to set the world on fire. ‘There’ll also be no more gambling. Naturally, given your weakness and the nature of our marriage, you’ll understand that I shan’t be making you a joint signatory on anything, but of course you’ll have a substantial allowance. Aiden informs me that your debts were incurred in a casino, so I just ask that you stay away from gaming tables unless I’m present—at least while we’re married. What you do after that is your business. You can put the whole lot on black, for all I care, when the divorce comes through, but it might be wise to use this time to get some help. I’m happy to pay for a counsellor.’

  ‘That really won’t be necessary.’

  ‘Fine.’ Zavier sighed. ‘Addicts are always the last to see they have a problem. But if you change your mind the offer’s there. Anyway, it’s all outlined in the contract.’

  Tabitha was about to repeat his last word, but managed to bite her lip as he produced two documents from his briefcase.

  ‘I suggest you sit down to read it. It will take some time. I want you to be absolutely sure you know what you’re getting into before you sign.’