The Billionaire's Revenge: Billionaire Brothers Billionaire Bachelors (Tycoon Billionaires Book 3)

by Farrell, Julie

  The Billionaire’s Revenge by Julie Farrell

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Fonts used with permission from Microsoft.

  Copyright © 2015 by Julie Farrell

  Billionaire Tycoons, billionaire brothers, billionaire bachelors…

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  Prologue – June

  Eleanor’s lust pulsed through her body as she stood on the VIP balcony at the Greenwich Village music club, staring at the wild rock-god on stage. The atmosphere in this dark, hot, and seedy venue overflowed with hormones and passion – and the thousand-strong crowd were as entranced as Eleanor by the sexually-charged young man on stage, lost in his sprawling guitar solo – on his knees, submitting to no one but his music.

  Eleanor hadn’t believed Matthew when he’d told her about Joseph last week, so he’d dragged her along tonight to show off his latest find. And what a visual treat he was. His music was full of grit, passion, and raw emotion – as if someone had cut open the soul of rock and roll and it was pouring out into the world to save humanity… His wide vocal range and primal lyrics dripped with promises of lust-fuelled nights; it was impossible not to be captivated.

  He’d torn his shirt off hours ago, meaning his sweat-drenched muscular body was now covered in nothing but low-slung leather trousers. He was physically incredible – six-foot tall with a masculine toned chest, broad shoulders, six-pack abs, and lush kissable lips… and even from up here, Eleanor could tell that his sparkling eyes were full of mischievousness. Eleanor prided herself on being civilised, but standing here watching him made her what to grope his tight toned buttocks – which swayed alluringly as he turned his back on the crowd, continuing his guitar solo. But there something else about him other than his good looks and musical talent – something exceptional. Star quality. He was charismatic and wild – the sort of man who could get away with anything, and probably did. As Eleanor continued to watch, he let go his guitar, threw a cheeky grin to the pulsing crowd, then cupped his genitals in his hand and jiggled them, making the women in the audience scream with desperate longing. Eleanor’s body quivered. There was an edginess to him – a dangerous excitement. He was like a razorblade smothered with honey, and every woman in this room was dying to lick his sweet exterior, regardless of whether or not they got cut.

  Eleanor found it impossible to stand still as the drummer and bassist enhanced his primal music with their dark and dirty backbeats. She swayed her hips and tapped her feet, unable to look away as Joseph dropped his guitar to the stage and left it to ring out an ear-splitting squeal of electric feedback through the ancient sound system. His head fell back as he danced sensuously – spinning in his bare feet and clapping out a rhythm; losing himself in a hypnotic trance. He stretched out his arms as if he was being crucified by the music, and another surge of lust swirled between Eleanor’s thighs as she caught sight of the most sculpted shoulders she’d ever seen. He oozed confidence and charisma – owning the soul of every person in here tonight. Right now, Eleanor realised, she’d do anything for him.

  Even though the place was heaving – and despite the thousand-strong crowd between them – Eleanor felt as if he was fucking her. But probably every other woman in the room felt that too. It was the Joseph Quinlan effect. His sweat-covered body shone with perfection, and his handsome face smiled coolly with wild abandonment.

  As the music climaxed, Joseph stamped his feet and whirled his arms, restraining himself – getting ready for the big finale. Eleanor’s body prickled with exhilaration. He was like the embodiment of an overwhelming orgasm – and she fully intended to have a long hard think about him in the shower later. He was cocky, thrilling, and rebellious… everything her mother had warned her against. A smile crept onto her face as she suppressed a desire to steal a car, kidnap Joseph at gunpoint, and drive them both across the Mexican border. He’d probably relish such a thrill, knowing him. Not that she did know him. But she sure would like to…

  The fans were going crazy now. Eleanor could see them bouncing up and down, cheering, groaning, and worshipping the rock-god who was whipping them up into a frenzy. Eleanor gripped the handrail in front of her as the cymbals crashed and the music climaxed. Her mind swirled like a waterfall and she laughed out loud – was she actually going to orgasm here? Her heart thrashed in her chest and her breathing quickened. Joseph Quinlan was driving her towards the ultimate expression of ecstasy, and he hadn’t even touched her. Her pussy contracted and–

  Matthew draped his arm around her shoulders. “Enjoying it, honey?”

  “Yeah.” She ripped her eyes away from Joseph. “He’s on form tonight, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, he’s always like this,” Matthew said, grinning. “And let me tell you something: I’m going to tame that kid. I’ll temper all that sexual energy, package it up, and sell it to decent folk – just you wait and see. And when I do, he’s going to make us very, very rich...”

  Chapter One – November

  Joseph gazed out the window of the taxicab as it squeezed through the throng of young women and drew up outside the recording studio. So this was his dream, was it? The rockstar lifestyle of sex, drugs, and rock and roll… Well, it was true there was plenty of sex available, but he was already growing bored of the meaningless interactions with women who just wanted to sleep with him so they could brag about it on social media. The drugs? He’d tried cocaine and it’d done nothing but given him a headache and made his nose bleed. And the rock and roll... no chance – not with the commercialised producer he was being forced to work with – who seemed determined to ruin his music and rip out its soul.

  This was supposed to be his dream... being a professional musician. So why did it feel like a nightmare? There was only one thing in his life keeping him sane right now, and she hated him.

  The cab brakes squeaked, pulling Joseph out of his thoughts. He gazed at the scene that greeted him every morning. A group of thirty young women dressed in band T-shirts – and not much else – waiting for him to get out the car. He sighed. What young guy wouldn’t want to be met first-thing by a frantic group of attractive women, all shouting that they loved him – yelling that they were desperate for him to bend them over and take satisfaction? Well… Joseph for one. Of course he loved sex with groupies, but truthfully, he yearned for something more significant. Because the trouble was, while they were shouting that they loved him, they didn’t actually know him, did they? Joseph missed those simpler times when he could stroll down the street without encountering an assault-course of grasping hands, pressing bodies, and screeching squeals. He’d loved his college days when he’d taken women out to dinner… chatted, laughed – and then made love all night long, without the details appearing in the tabloids the next morning.

  Fun. That was what was missing right now. His current life seemed monochrome but he wanted technicolour.

  He climbed out of the cab onto the icy Manhattan street and pulled his Armani coat around him. It was so dark this morning. Well, everything always looked dark through his Ray Bans, which had become a permanent fixture in an attempt to keep the world out. But winter had come hard this year. It was only November and already the freezing snow had set in. Wher
e the hell had the last few months gone? The band’s tour over the summer had culminated in their appearance on the David Peterson show which had rocketed Joseph into superstardom overnight. The morning after that appearance, he’d been unable to walk down the street unmolested – and he still couldn’t. Now the pressure was on to make this new album – to strike while the iron was hot.

  And he would if he could get into the studio. As the girls spotted him, they surged like a tsunami, and he was immediately struggling against the tide. This crowd of hysterical drooling teenagers was the only thing between him and the sanctuary of the recording studio – where the love of his life would surely be waiting. His muscles tensed, ready to fight.

  He glanced around for the trusty security guard, who darted outside and pushed his way through the girls to make some space for Joseph.

  Joseph drew his elbows into his body and prepared to run the gauntlet of groping hands, autograph requests, and offers of oral sex. It was the same ordeal everyday – the girls on either side of him pushed and shoved inwards, crushing him like a piece of meat in a pulveriser of lust. Luckily, this security guard was well-trained – he’d been through this with Joseph every day for the last three months – so together they fought their way to the inconspicuous studio door. Unfortunately, the security guard was unable to be everywhere at once, and while his attention had been on the screaming girls, a few journalists had blocked the entrance. The guard tried to shove past them, but they were determined. Joseph hated this game, but punching journalists was apparently frowned upon. He’d tried it a few weeks ago and his manager had informed him that if he did it again, public opinion would turn sharply against him. Or worse, he’d end up in jail for assault. He forced himself to stay calm.

  “Joseph,” a journalist said. “You haven’t yet explained why you decided to call your band ‘The Banned’. Could you tell us the reasoning behind that?”

  Oh god, not this question again – it was just a name. “Excuse me,” Joseph mumbled. “I’m late.”

  “Can I just ask you a few questions?”

  “I really need to get to work.”

  “But –”

  His patience snapped. “How would you feel if I blocked your way every day and asked you stupid questions?”

  A different reporter stuck a microphone in his face. “Joseph, you said recently that the music taste of your fans isn’t quite the same as yours – what did you mean by that?”

  He shrugged. “Just what I said.”

  “And what about the fan who you were seen with the other night?”

  “What about her?”

  “What about her taste?”

  Joseph tried not to laugh, but it burst out of him. “I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to taste her, so I couldn’t comment. Now, you really need to move. Excuse me.”

  “Joseph, women have been saying you’re the best lover they’ve ever–”

  “Move it!” He shoved his shoulder between two reporters and pried them apart to get to the door, which was now being held open by the security guard.

  He stepped inside and relished the serene sanctuary that hit him like a summer vacation. “Thanks, Tony. Same time tomorrow?”

  The guard chuckled. “Sure, Joseph. I’ll be here.”

  As the door was closing, a reporter called out, “Joseph, how are you going to spend your money?”

  He turned and raised a cocky eyebrow. “Good question. Ask me again when my manager gets round to giving me some.”

  Chapter Two

  The sound of tinny muzak in this plush reception area always soothed Joseph’s ears, because it signalled his safe passage past the fans and journalists. Contentment swept over him as he removed his shades. This – being here – this was his dream. Several of his favourite bands had recorded their most-influential albums here, and it was an honour for Joseph to soak up their vibes. The building was small, but it consisted of everything his band needed. All the magic happened in the studios upstairs: there was the ‘live’ room, where the music was played; the ‘control’ room, where the mixing desk was set up behind soundproof glass; and there were the two isolation booths, where the drummer could go and make a racket without his sound ‘leaking’. There was also a well-stocked break room, where the band could eat, drink, and unwind, but Joseph could usually be found in one of the isolation booths, jotting down lyrics or composing tablature for a new guitar solo.

  His record-company producer often rejected his ideas, claiming they weren’t commercial enough, and this dismissiveness actually annoyed him more than the screaming girls and stupid journalists. He’d signed with this massive record company amid promises of artistic freedom, but now he realised all they wanted was his handsome face, his stage charisma, and his marketability. Instead of making music the way he’d always dreamed of, they simply wanted him to make lots of money. Money for them. His soul-filled songs were being turned into catchy over-produced ditties, and he felt more plasticated with each overdub and double-track he heard.

  But there was nothing he could do to get off this carousel now. It was what he’d signed up for.

  He grinned at the lady behind the music-note-shaped reception desk. “Morning, Marilyn. How’s it going?”

  She was old enough to be his mother, but he enjoyed their daily exchange. He loved her strong New York accent and brash honesty. “Hassle from the press, Joe?”

  “Hmm… Did I mention how much I hate journalists?”

  She chuckled. “You might’ve mentioned it yesterday. And the day before.”

  “They ask me such mundane questions – and then they twist whatever I say, so what’s the point in even asking? Anyway, you have a great day, okay.”

  “You too.”

  He jogged up the steps towards the studio, setting his expression to supercool, ready for battle to commence. And there she was, standing at the top of the stairs on the thick red carpet, leaning against the sparkling granite wall. Eleanor – the beautiful blonde who he was determined to possess. Over the last six months, he’d spent hours surreptitiously studying her delicate bone structure and desirable body, and he knew every contour by heart – at least, the bits that weren’t covered by her expensive clothes – but he hoped to change that soon. Sometimes, after she’d left the vicinity, her feminine scent would linger – soaking his brain with honeysuckle and jasmine – and driving his cock crazy with desire.

  Today she’d tied her long hair back in a high ponytail, and she was wearing that navy pinstripe suit again – she obviously liked it because she’d worn it several times this month. Joseph liked it too – he wanted to hitch up that pencil skirt around her hips then strip off her chiffon shirt to find out what kind of lingerie a woman like that wore to make her body curve so perfectly. She was like a 1950s movie star with a face like a doll, a body like a goddess, and a bite like a tiger.

  She was beautiful, feisty, and articulate, and Joseph knew she was perfect for him. Other than the fact that she was working for Satan… or rather, she was a journalist. But even that was forgivable because – the truth was – he loved her. The ruder she was to him, the more he wanted to bend her over and fuck her hard – giving her the best orgasm she’d ever experienced – making her think only of him.

  He halted at the top of the steps and threw her his most charming smile. “Good morning, Eleanor.”

  She glanced up from her newspaper. “Is it, Joseph? So nice of you to join us this lunchtime.”

  “Checking my timekeeping?” He shrugged off his heavy coat, revealing his leather trousers and un-ironed shirt. “What are you, my mother?”

  “Huh, your mother must be so proud today!” She folded the newspaper around to show him the front page, where he saw a photo of himself taken last night by some sneaky reporter. He was climbing into a cab with two young women. The headline declared: Joe’s awesome threesome!

  “Oh,” he said. “Another Pulitzer-winning headline from The New York Spin I see.”

  Eleanor inspected him with her s
teely blue eyes. “Well it’s better than yesterday’s headline, isn’t it? The one announcing that you’d been arrested for driving your Ferrari at a hundred miles-an-hour down the freeway.”

  Joseph pushed away his shame. His brother Dylan had bailed him out and given him a lecture, and he’d regretted it, of course. He’d only done it because he’d hoped to flee his problems, but unfortunately they’d come along for the ride.

  He gestured to the newspaper in Eleanor’s hands and threw her a cocky grin. “Jealous of my awesome threesome?”

  She scoffed. “Hardly. The prospect of spending the night with two hookers doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

  “Ha ha. I meant jealous of them.”

  “Why would I be? I must be the only woman in the country who doesn’t find you attractive.”

  Joseph gazed into her eyes, smothering her with his most smouldering glance. It was a well-practised look that had been captured by the best photographers in the business in recent months – and plastered over billboards and magazine covers. Joseph knew his good looks were popular, but he wasn’t particularly proud of them. He hadn’t done anything to be born handsome, and it was just another thing that added to the superficial disconnectedness of his current mental state. People adored him because he happened to look physically attractive. But he felt like a fraud. It was true that he pumped iron for an hour every morning to keep his body toned, but his face just happened to be how nature had made it...

  But right now, he was happy to pull out his most charming grin – the one that always got him out of trouble and into women’s panties. Eleanor blushed under his scrutiny and glanced away. He smirked. She was definitely lying about not finding him attractive. If he could just show her that he was a decent guy… but unfortunately the evidence from the daily tabloids made him look reckless and arrogant.