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

by Farrell, Julie

  “You okay, Ellie?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes snoozily. “Hmm, yeah. I’m just relaxing. Did you write that tune?”

  He stood up and wandered over. “Oh, I was just improvising….”

  They shared an affectionate smile. He knelt at her feet and gazed up at her. “Foot rub?”

  He grabbed a handful of sand and started to massage the prickly grains into her bare soles, which sent jabs of joy up her legs and into her thighs. “Ohhh god, Joseph…”

  “Like it?” he asked, digging his thumbs into her foot.

  She rested her forearms onto her thighs and kissed him on the lips. “Are you kidding me? This is paradise.”

  He laughed. “Good – that was the aim.”

  “Thank you for arranging this for me, Joe. I’m touched and honoured.”

  “Hey, it’s my paradise too.” He cupped her chin with sandy fingers. “I’m going to marry you one day. When all this is over. That’s my dream. Us on an island. How does that sound?”

  She laughed as ribbons of delight swirled through her. “I look forward to the proposal – I assume that wasn’t it!”

  “Nah... It’ll be much more romantic than that. It makes me feel great to do nice things for you.” His tender expressed surged to devilish. “I especially love to hear you cry out my name in the throes of orgasm.”

  She laughed. “I like that too.” She sat back and sighed, so he resumed massaging her feet with his sand-covered hands. “Joe, I need to tell you something. A confession.”

  He stopped massaging. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. When we first started this… God, it was only this week, wasn’t it? But anyway… I was wracked with terrible thoughts of using you as my front page scoop. I’m so sorry. I never would’ve betrayed you I promise, but I just wanted you to know.”

  He chuckled. “Hey, don’t worry. My mom always says that we can’t help what crazy thoughts arise in our minds. But it’s whether or not we act on them that makes us good people, right? I know you’d never betray me. I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t have opened up to you if I’d thought you might.”

  “I’m glad you trusted me. I appreciated that – it really meant a lot.”

  He crept his fingers up her calf and kissed her on the knee. “You know it’s not going to be easy for us, right? I can’t just walk down the street and go for a stroll.”

  She ran her fingers through his lovely blond hair. “I know.”

  “And they’ll hassle you too. The tabloids I mean. Even if we do see off The New York Spin, there’ll always be those sorts of papers.”

  “I’ll cope. It’ll worth it to be with you. And at least I’ll know where you are.”

  He laughed. “You don’t need to ever worry about reading anything sleazy about me in the papers, Ellie. I’m yours. One-hundred percent.”

  An alarm started bleeping in the pocket of Joseph’s leathers. He pulled out his phone. “Shit, that’s our hour.”

  “Already?”

  He offered his hand to help her stand up. “I know. But I guess Sasha and Ashok will want their office back in the morning. And you’ve got a story to write. You’re an ambitious woman, and I fully intend to support your career, okay.”

  She kissed him. “Thank you. And likewise.”

  He wrapped her up in his strong arms. “And if you ever want to return to our private island, just say the word. Whatever you want from now on is yours.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Eleanor’s nerves about the confrontation with Robertson tonight weren’t able to take hold, because the entire day was packed full. Firstly, she went to a luxury costume store with Amy and Sarah to find an appropriate outfit for the event. Only someone as extravagant as Blair Robertson would throw himself a masked ball for his birthday, which meant everyone had to spend thousands of dollars on their costumes. She tried on a few dresses, and Sarah and Amy helped her choose the perfect one.

  It was a bright-red strapless gown, made of floaty layers of chiffon, with a ‘sweetheart’ neckline – meaning that the top of the dress was reminiscent of the top of a love-heart, emphasising her ample bust, and flattering her waist in the middle. The cups were decorated with diamantes, and the skirt rested just above her knee. It made her feel sexy and sophisticated. She’d never worn such luxury, but Sarah and Amy had told her not to worry about the cost – they knew Joseph would want her to have whatever she desired.

  Next was the pampering session. Eleanor had never really bothered with trips to the beauty salon, but the one Sarah and Amy used regularly was luxury. It was an exclusive place, where the best beauticians in the world flocked to, and it was currently being hired out completely by Eleanor and her two new friends for an afternoon pampering session. Eleanor was happy to relax and receive an all-over body massage, a foot scrub, pedicure, manicure, and facial mask. She still felt exhausted after last night’s writing session – as well as the sex and the trip to the beach – but she was feeling content and fulfilled – happy that everything was set up for tonight’s exposure of News Scape.

  The three women chatted as they were pampered, and Eleanor filled them in on what had been happening since she’d last seen them.

  “So is Matthew still in the storeroom?” Sarah asked, laughing.

  Eleanor chuckled. She still couldn’t believe that Dylan’s cop friend had agreed to arrest Matthew for beating up Joseph – promising to keep him locked up safely in a cell until the morning, when he would be released without charge.

  Sarah and Amy were so lovely – genuinely interested in Eleanor and her passion. She felt as if they were the sisters she’d always wanted.

  Then it was time to have her hair done… After the conditioning treatments and the wash-and-blow-dry, she opened her eyes and saw the hairdresser pinning her hair on the top of her head, making her look glamorous. She watched the process; it was like the reverse of a flower unfurling its petals. When the hairdresser had finished, Eleanor saw a dainty young woman staring back in the mirror, which made her grin with pride. The beautician then spent another hour-or-so on her make-up, ensuring that she’d be able to wear her costume mask over the top without ruining it. The mask was beautiful – it was made of the same material as the dress and it was decorated with diamantes and a single red feather at the side. Eleanor fastened it with the red ribbons at the back of her head and inspected the whole outfit in the mirror.

  “You’ll knock ‘em dead,” Sarah said, standing next to her.

  Eleanor grinned. “Thanks. Luckily Joseph’s agreed to do all the talking once he’s finished his performance, so I can just stand there in the audience and direct everyone to the article once he’s finished speaking.”

  Amy squeezed Eleanor on her bare shoulder. “This is the beginning of a new chapter in your life, Eleanor. Tonight, you’ll be stepping into the new you – the new and improved you. And you’ll wear it very well.”

  ****

  Blair Robertson’s birthday party was being held at a mansion twenty-five miles outside of New York City in a Long Island village called Old Westbury. Eleanor and Joseph had decided to arrive separately, because he needed to be there for the sound-check, and she didn’t want to hang around getting nervous and creasing her dress. The taxi drove her down the long and winding driveway, then pulled up outside the sprawling house.

  Eleanor’s heart pounded with intimidation. “Is this the place?” she asked the driver.

  “Sure is, ma’am.”

  “Wow.”

  She paid him, then climbed out and made her way towards the stone steps of the Georgian-style mansion, which must’ve been a welcome retreat to New York City’s wealthiest during the gilded age of the 1880s. Eleanor could imagine them coming here to escape their problems – as well as escaping the social issues of the time. She felt tiny and insignificant as she strode in her gown, heels, and expensive winter coat towards the massive red brick building – it was so imposing that she could only just see the huge pitched roof from down here. The b
uilding was long, wide, and box-like, with six huge windows on both storeys – each side of the bayed entrance. It was lavish and symmetrical, and reeked of wealth through the ages.

  She showed her ticket – Joseph’s ‘plus-one’ – to the tux-clad doorman, then she left her coat in the cloakroom, suddenly feeling overdressed. But surely everyone else would be dressed similarly? She followed the sound of the music, and decided to find out.

  She halted in the entrance of the magnificent Grand Hall and felt the hustle and bustle hit her like a nuclear furnace. It was hard to know where to look. The massive stained glass window that dominated the far wall made her gasp. And the rainbow lights that shone from the glass droplets of the chandelier created emeralds, sapphires, and rubies over the crisp white table-clothed tables – hundreds of which had been set up around the perimeter for guests to sit, drink, and socialise. The oak balconies that stood on massive arches along the two side walls put Eleanor in mind of Renaissance magic – she could imagine minstrels entertaining royalty from those galleries. No matter what else happened tonight, just standing here and looking at this spectacular place was a treat.

  There was an empty stage at the far-end of the huge space – presumably where Joseph would be soon performing – but a string quartet on an ornate bandstand was currently playing Handel’s Water Music to the side of the stage, so – humming along with the music – she pushed herself to stride further inside, glancing around to see if she recognised anyone. But of course, they were all wearing masks and in costume.

  It was actually quite helpful that everyone was wearing masks, because it meant that – somewhere around here – Bob Crowe and Max – the private investigator – were milling around incognito, waiting to give their official confessions after Joseph had exposed Robertson publically. Dylan’s cop friend was going to surround the place with police after Joseph’s performance, meaning no one could flee. And Robertson, being as arrogant as he was, had handily supplied a live TV stream of his birthday bash to all his television channels – as well as selling the rights internationally. Little did he know he’d sold the broadcast of his downfall to the world.

  As Eleanor strolled towards a waiter carrying a tray of Champagne flutes, she soaked up the beautiful bright colours of the costumes and the bustling vibes. It was like walking through a scene from a Disney movie. No expense had been spared on the outfits tonight – there were silks and feathers, leathers and lace. The place was packed to the rafters with masked party-goers, dressed as harlequins, ballerinas, medieval princesses… Peacock feathers and sequins featured heavily. There was even a fire-eater. And the men looked delightful in their velvet jackets, satin britches, and braiding – like hundreds of Prince Charmings ready for the ball. Eleanor grabbed a Champagne flute then turned to face the stage just as Blair Robertson – dressed fittingly as a highwayman – rushed past and almost knocked her over. He looked her up and down, but seemed not to recognise her. Arrogant asshole. She sipped her drink and watched him take a seat at one of the tables – feeling secure behind her mask. It seemed as if everyone had something to hide here tonight – her included. But hopefully her secret would result in good.

  The string quartet’s beautiful music drifted to an end, and the MC came onstage and asked everyone to please put their hands together for Joseph Quinlan and The Banned.

  Eleanor had never heard them introduced like that before – with Joseph’s name singled out as if he was the star. She wondered how his bandmates felt about it. But he was the star. He ambled onto the stage and grabbed his guitar, then he knelt down and played a few restrained sensual notes – ringing them out and highlighting the promises of a wonderful adventure ahead. He seethed like a barrel of gunpowder, ready to explode pure sensuality deep and wide into the universe. He looked incredible. He was wearing a black mask, black satin tight trousers, knee-length boots, and a white dress shirt – which amazingly for Joseph was done up.

  As the drummer and bass player joined in the song, Joseph leapt to his feet and stood sideways to the audience, strumming his guitar like a rebellious punk. Whenever she watched him perform, Eleanor’s rebellious streak was always switched on like a T-bird speeding down a dirt-track at a hundred miles-an-hour. She grinned and started to dance in her heels, gown, and mask – not caring what anyone around her thought. This was what life was about. Doing what made her happy – as long as she wasn’t harming anyone else, then she surely ought to do whatever made her soul shine.

  Joseph’s sexually-charged performance seemed out-of-place here among all these wealthy business owners. They obviously didn’t care for him or his music – but they tolerated him because he was the current trend. Eleanor glanced over and realised that Blair Robertson wasn’t even watching – he was engrossed in telling an anecdote to some colleagues, who were laughing obsequiously.

  Eleanor – on the other hand – was compelled to watch. Tonight Joseph seemed to combine the sleaziness of a seedy nightclub stripper with the glory of a messianic saint. He moved like pure freedom as he fingered his guitar, creating a mesmerising melody. His lips pouted as his head dropped back and he became one with the music. Lust surged through Eleanor’s body and she pictured herself fucking him hard and fast – free-falling into him and his music.

  As the song picked up momentum, Eleanor waited for him to start singing, but he didn’t. Was this his way of breaking up with Robertson Records and giving them the finger? The song dripped with pure lust – all commercial elements were absent. It was rock and roll at its finest – the sort of music with soul that Joseph wanted to create. The music strutted sensuously – as did he – and the crowd was unable to ignore him any longer – he possessed their minds and bodies, just as he did Eleanor’s. His eyes snapped shut and he smiled as his gorgeous fingers caressed the guitar strings, sending the song towards a climactic musical orgasm. His performance – his music – reached into people’s hearts, yanking their souls out from their chests, and changing them forever.

  Still oscillating between a seedy nightclub stripper and the epitome of sensual masculinity, Joseph threw off his guitar and let it clang to the wooden stage. The drummer and bassist continued to play, but Joseph swayed his hips and gazed out into the crowd, seemingly looking for someone. Eleanor watched – enchanted – as he ripped open his shirt, revealing the words ‘Marry Me Ellie?’ written in black marker on his chest. Her body froze with ecstatic delight.

  The room fell away and the air became thick as shock yanked reality out from underneath her quivering legs. Her heart thrashed wildly in her chest with confusion, but as her brain caught up, her mind filled with sweet flowers and the lightness of summer. Marry Joseph? Fuck! She grinned, then burst into laughter. Time sped back up and she stood tall, ready to tell him a definite yes after he’d finished this captivating performance. A few people were looking around now, trying to figure out who Ellie was, and she was suddenly grateful of her mask – which would provide her with plenty of anonymity while Joseph made their little announcement about Blair Robertson which was coming up next. Then perhaps they could go somewhere and celebrate their engagement. A real beach…

  She refocused her eyes on her gorgeous man, who was now stamping his feet like a macho flamenco dancer, losing himself in the rhythm. He grabbed his guitar and ended the song with a sprawling guitar solo – dropping to his knees and hooking one leg around his instrument, thrusting his pelvis as if he was fucking it. Eleanor could sense his fingers all over her, as the music pulsed through her body. The climactic solo clanged to an end, and he let the final note ring out for a long sensual minute, creating a loop of feedback through the amp, and kneeling there, relishing the last few moments of his song.

  The drummer and bass player stood up to leave the stage, so the politer members of the crowd applauded as if they were at the ballet. Joseph wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his shirt, then he propped his guitar on a stand near the back. His microphone was still on, so he stood in front of it and grinned, catching his breath. He gaz
ed out into the thousand-strong crowd of Blair Robertson’s friends, colleagues, and cohorts and scanned his eyes to check that the TV cameras were all broadcasting. Nervous anticipation of what he was about to do flashed through Ellie – this was the moment they’d been waiting for.

  Joseph reached up to remove his mask, then smiled his cheeky grin. He was out of breath from his performance, but that made him all the more captivating. His shirt was undone and Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off the writing on his fit toned chest.

  “Good evening, everyone,” he said. “You might notice that I’ve currently got a black eye. I had a punch-up with my now-ex-manager. But don’t worry… you should see him.”

  A few people laughed nervously. A speech from Joseph Quinlan wasn’t on the agenda. Surely he was here simply to provide music and look sexy.

  He continued. “I’m so grateful to Blair Robertson for inviting me here tonight. I have a love/hate relationship with the press – I love my girlfriend – who’s an investigative journalist. And I hate Gerald Stinger – who’s an asshole.”

  A few more nervous chuckles rippled out across the huge room. Eleanor didn’t know where Stinger was at the moment, but she knew he’d be here somewhere. And she guessed he might be getting hot under the collar.

  Joseph carried on. “As you saw, I just proposed to Ellie – a woman who I’ve been in love with for about six months. She’s intelligent and articulate – and she’s very good at her job. Her professional name is Eleanor Davison. Would you like to meet her?”

  A wave of approval swept over the crowd, muttering that yes they would like to meet her. Eleanor’s muscles tensed with terror and nervous tremors gripped her knees. This wasn’t part of the plan!