Sweetheart Bride: A Tropical Billionaire Marriage of Convenience (Brides of Paradise Book 2)

by Vicky Loebel

  “I’ll have controlling interest long enough to make it happen. I’ll probably be disinherited afterwards, but that’s been coming a long time.” He almost managed to hide his concern. “Do you think you could learn to love a guy who has to live on his wits?”

  “I believe I already do.”

  Ryan's expression flickered from worried to wondering to full of joy. He smiled—almost unrecognizably—without a trace of mockery. “I love you, too.”

  They embraced solemnly, holding each other with hearts too full to do more. At last Ryan pulled away.

  “I want to redo our vows,” he said. “My vow, at least.”

  “What?” Ellie blinked. “Why?”

  “For better or worse.” He took her face in his hands. “For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.”

  Ellie clasped his wrists and repeated. “For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.”

  The missing words filled the air.

  Ryan swept Ellie up and carried her to the bedroom. Hundreds of flickering candles lined the dressers and shelves. A forest of rose petals adorned the bed. They fell onto the covers, laughing, caressing, fumbling with what was left of their clothes, until at last they lay undisguised, face to face.

  “Until death do us part.” Ryan pulled her to him.

  Ellie nodded. “Until death do us part.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ryan had always been good at multitasking. Well, perhaps not multitasking as much as hopping from one thing to another, leaving a littered field of uninteresting chores and projects behind. Still, if anyone had said he’d be able to simultaneously conduct his honeymoon, redesign a casino, and rush through the revised studies and permits, he’d have doubted their sanity.

  Of course, a lot of those tasks had been delegated. The architectural firm, under strict orders of secrecy, was doing most of the design and engineering, delivering fresh stacks of plans and drawings to Ryan’s computer on an hourly basis. Henrik’s office was managing the extensive changes to site inspections and permits. And Henrik himself had volunteered to keep their co-investors—Carl and Bekka—from asking too many questions.

  That left Ryan mostly in charge of his honeymoon, which was going quite well indeed.

  “A little higher,” Ellie instructed.

  Ryan rubbed sunscreen onto his wife’s neck and shoulders. They were sunbathing lazily in the sole place his relatives seemed happy to leave them alone—the stationary high-dive platform thirty-three feet above Villa Louisa’s Olympic pool. The fact Ellie felt obliged to justify their antisocial behavior by periodically leaping into the water wasn’t a problem. The morning was hot, Ellie was fearless, and Ryan—who’d considered becoming a competitive diver until he found out how many hours of practice were involved—was secretly delighted by the chance to show off for his wife.

  “Lower.” Ellie scooted against Ryan’s chest and pulled his hands around to the front. He rubbed her collarbone, regretting the fact he’d warned her not to wear a strapless bikini.

  Well, not regretting, exactly. Ryan had spent his childhood summers in Denmark and had a Scandinavian’s somewhat clothing-optional outlook on life. There’d been a time he would have watched anyone, male or female, fall out of their swimsuit with a good-natured grin. But that was Old Ryan. New Ryan was morally bound to punch anyone who upset his wife, and it would be hard to explain to people why he’d slugged himself in the face.

  “My turn.” Ellie took the sunscreen and swung around behind Ryan.

  “Mmm.” Her gentle touch made him purr. Old Ryan considered capturing Ellie and turning up the heat. New Ryan reminded himself there were several spots on the hill behind Villa Louisa—Bekka’s mansion chief among them—with a view of his pool. He had some ideas about how to change that situation, but for the time being, he’d have to settle for rotating halfway and indulging a little light petting.

  “Ah-hem.” Oscar appeared above the ladder wearing a camouflage-print swimsuit that was strategically ripped to make it look like she’d lost a fight with a ferret. She hauled up a smelly recycled-rubber beach tote and dropped onto the platform. “Why don’t you two get a room?”

  “I have a room.” Ryan kept his arm around Ellie. “Forty-seven rooms counting the chauffeur’s quarters behind the garage. Why doesn’t everyone else go away?” The scent of warm blueberries mingled with eau de vintage-truck-tire. He looked in the tote and found a bowl of muffins wrapped in a tea towel. “Everyone but Mrs. Jamala. She can keep living here.” He chivalrously offered his wife first pick of treats.

  “You’ll have to let Mr. Jamala stay, too,” Ellie pointed out. “Unless you want to handle landscaping and maintenance on the villa yourself.”

  “God forbid. The man works full time just directing work crews.”

  “And their kids, Nicodemus and Mai,” Oscar said. “You can’t throw them out on the beach.”

  Ryan liked kids. “They’re OK.”

  “Mmm.” Ellie bit into her muffin. “And their iguanas.” She closed her eyes and chewed happily.

  “I didn’t even know they had—”

  “Plus the Ãstergaard-Andersens,” Oscar said, referring to a troop of out-of-town relatives who appeared to have settled in permanently since the wedding. “They’re helping me practice my Danish.”

  “You could do that in Denmark.”

  “And Lucas, Kim, Lani, and Lars,” Ellie added. “Lani’s going to teach me to play Halo.” She batted her eyelashes at Ryan. “To fill in time when I’m bored.”

  “Young wives are not permitted to be bored on their honeymoons.”

  Oscar added, “Plus—”

  “I give up.” Ryan threw up his hands. “Everyone stays. You can have the house, the gardens, the beach, the bedrooms, the helicopter landing pad, and the bicycle I keep in the garage. All I ask, apart from my studio, is this small ten foot square family-free space with my bride.”

  “Bah.” Oscar dug into her tote bag. “I had to come up here. You promised to teach me to cliff dive. Besides, we got a postcard from Gigi.”

  “From Gran?” Ellie sat up, taking the card. “It’s from Costa Rica.”

  “Really?” Ryan asked. “I thought they went to Brazil.” Frank and Gigi had left the day after the wedding on an around-the-world adventure beginning with kayaking on the Amazon river.

  “She says they went to the university to try to get my grades reinstated.”

  Ryan had been looking into that, secretly pulling every string he could think of that might unravel Juan Esteban’s mess. Unfortunately, without Ellie’s grades, the university could do nothing. “Any luck?”

  “No.” Ellie passed him the card. “But the private investigator she hired a couple of weeks ago to look for me says Vista de la Selva has reopened, so they’re going up there to see.”

  “Hmm.” Ryan could have thought of that. “Should we join them?”

  “No.” She looked wistful but shook her head. “It would have been nice to show you and Gran the place at its peak, but it was going downhill so fast when I left, I doubt there’s much to see. Besides, you’ve got too much going on with the Casino Paradise—” She glanced at Oscar and didn’t say redesign.

  “Still.” Ryan shifted uncomfortably. “If Juan Esteban’s there, we might be able to bargain for your records.” He knew how much the degree meant to Ellie. “Maybe we should go.”

  “It’s a sweet offer. But no.” She squeezed his arm. “The changes you’re making to…um…be environmentally friendly are more important than my grades.”

  Ryan rubbed the back of his hand on his mouth. There were changes to Casino Paradise. A lot of changes, but they were not the drop to six stories he’d promised Ellie. After a long argument, Henrik had convinced Ryan the smaller casino would go bankrupt, creating an even bigger problem for St. John. So they were building the original structure with several expensive modifications that hopefully addressed all the issues. Ryan was sure…almost sure…he could persuade E
llie to accept the new plan. He simply hadn’t found the right time to mention it.

  “Well,” Oscar said. “Since you’re here, how about teaching me to cliff dive?” Ryan had told her she’d have to practice in the pool first. “Although I already know how to platform dive. I don’t see what’s different about jumping off rocks.”

  “Not today,” Ryan told her. “I’m on my honeymoon.”

  “I’ll give your wife the last muffin.”

  “Sold.” Ellie nudged him. “Go on. Teach me, too.”

  “OK.” Ryan stood up, sucking his stomach flat. “So,” he told Oscar. “The big difference is that you’re going in feet first. You have to change your instincts, and it’s harder to spot the water.”

  Ellie stretched, creating a stunning distraction. “Why feet first? In case of rocks?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to land on a rock with your feet either.” He had a college buddy who’d shattered his leg. “The real reason is that you can smack the water hard enough to get a concussion. So first priority is to always go in feet pointed, toes flexed, body straight up and down.”

  “OK.” Oscar walked to the edge of the platform. “Teach me, wise brother.”

  “Start with a straight jump, arms tight to your body.” Ryan gripped her shoulders, correcting her posture. “Remember—” Without warning, he shoved Oscar hard off of the platform. She shrieked, tucked, and hit the pool in a cannonball.

  Water fountained upward, flooding the deck, and then Oscar broke the surface sputtering. “I wasn’t ready, you—” She hauled herself out, exhibiting the vocabulary of a much older sailor.

  “Hurts twice as much for every five feet in elevation,” Ryan called helpfully. “Toes first every time.” He demonstrated, launching up, performing a neat double somersault before over-rotating, creating his own spectacular splash.

  Oscar flopped into a chair, laughing. “Thanks for showing me how it’s done.”

  “I was making a point.” He climbed out, rubbing his stinging thighs.

  “Ellie.”

  They turned to see Mrs. Jamala coming onto the terrace. “Ellie.” She waved up to the platform. “There’s a call for you. Your Grandpa Frank’s on the phone.”

  “Frank?” Ellie peered over the edge. “OK, coming.” She took the shortest route, diving, rotating, and entering the water smoothly, feet first.

  Oscar shot Ryan a sarcastic look. “Maybe she should be giving me lessons.”

  He grinned amiably. “Me, too.”

  Ellie dried her hands and took the phone from Mrs. Jamala. “Yes,” she said. “Sorry, I can’t hear. What?” Her face blanched. “Yes, OK. As soon as possible.” She returned the phone, trembling.

  “What is it?” Ryan wrapped her in a towel. “What’s wrong?”

  “Gran.” Her pupils expanded. “Some sort of accident at Vista de la Selva. Gran’s hurt.”

  “What happened? How bad?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “We got cut off. There’s no land line anymore and we never had decent cell reception in the camp.”

  Ryan got his own phone from a table by the pool and tapped a couple of buttons. “Lucas? We need the fastest route to Vista de la Selva in Costa Rica. I want to be on a helicopter in half an hour.”

  “Sorry.” Ellie’s teeth chattered and Ryan got her another towel.

  “Try not to panic until we get the whole story.” Damn, this was going to mess up his schedule. Ryan had been too confident, too wrapped up in his honeymoon. Casino Paradise needed to break ground on September fifteenth, barely two weeks from now. He put the problem out of his mind. What mattered, right now, was his wife. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get dressed.”

  “I can handle this alone.” Ellie drew herself in. “There’s too much to do here. Don’t worry. You don’t need to come.”

  “Of course I’ll come.” Her strained expression settled his mind. “We’re a team.”

  “Thanks.” She hugged him tightly. “Really thanks.”

  They raced inside to pack. Twenty minutes later, Villa Louisa was falling away beneath the whirling blades of a helicopter that was rushing them to the airport.

  Ryan hoped they’d still have a home when he returned.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gran’s OK, Ellie repeated silently as their rented Toyota Land Cruiser sloshed along the final muddy stretch of jungle road in the late afternoon sunshine. It’s just a sprain. They’d had an anxious trip to San José—in Carl Andersen’s jet, since there was no direct commercial flight—and Ryan had almost talked Ellie into taking a helicopter up to the eco-resort. But word had reached them that Gran was fine, and it was only a two hour drive. Ellie could hardly believe a journey that had taken her six days, hitchhiking and flying standby from Vista de la Selva to St. John, had been accomplished in reverse in less than six hours.

  Gran’s OK. Emerald rainforest, so much denser than the woods at home, crowded around them. Beside the road, Ellie caught the yellow flash of a toucan, the subtle pink and white of a cascade of orchids. Although the eco-resort was on private land, being so close to La Selva Biological Station meant it shared the huge variety of plants and animals found on the nature preserve.

  The SUV bounced on a pothole and Lucas slowed to a crawl. Ryan, in back beside Ellie, put aside the laptop computer he’d been working on. “And here I was about to comment on how good the Costa Rican roadway system is.” They rocked violently as the car bounced again.

  “During the rainy season, the access road falls apart pretty quickly if nobody’s maintaining it.” Ellie had spent many hours out here with a shovel and rake. “It’s part…used to be part…of our rustic charm.”

  Vista de la Selva was made up of a screened-in octagonal lodge that held an indoor kitchen, communal dining room, and comfy chairs for reading. Behind the lodge, connected by covered walkways, were four smaller buildings containing bathrooms and staff bedrooms on the bottom with eight private guest rooms on top. A spectacular waterfall cascaded down a rocky cliff, providing the resort’s water and power as well as a refreshing place to cool off. Beyond that was the mile-long tree canopy walkway that was their main tourist attraction.

  Lucas parked the Land Cruiser on a gravel strip beside a newish pickup truck and Juan Esteban’s beat-up sedan. “The road,” he commented, “is not the only thing falling apart.”

  He was right. Ellie had been gone barely three weeks, and already the wooden buildings were half reclaimed by clinging ferns and twisting jungle vines. Food scraps, improperly composted, were heaped to one side of the building’s broad wooden steps. A dented water heater lay wrapped in creepers on the other.

  The screen door wobbled open and Juan Esteban, cool and confident in Bermuda shorts, walked toward them through the gathering dusk.

  “Ellie and Ryan. Pura Vida. Welcome to Vista de la Selva.”

  “Juan Esteban, you miserable rat.” Ellie crossed her arms, not trusting her fists within striking distance of the man. “What have you done to Gran?”

  His eyebrows arched. “Why, I have done nothing to your charming grandmama, except to offer the use of my resort, free of charge, while she recovers from her fall.”

  “Your resort.” Technically, Juan Esteban did own the property, although his creditors were bound to claim it soon. “The resort we students built and ran for you. How kind.”

  “You’re welcome.” The man ignored Lucas and bowed directly to Ryan. “Congratulations on your marriage. I feel we met at the ceremony, although there was not time to speak.”

  “Weddings are like that.” Ryan shook hands. “You have an impressive setting here. I can see why you were anxious to return.” He gestured at the waterfall. “Ellie tells me you installed an electric turbine that generates power without interrupting the flow of water….”

  Ellie’s heart softened watching her husband’s good manners. Juan Esteban was going to tie himself into knots, she suspected, trying to out-charm Ryan. Her lips twisted in a small satisfied
smile.

  “Elliegator!” Gran hobbled out of the lodge on crutches. “We’re so happy you’re here.” Frank escorted her down the steps, looking more like a tropical mother hen, thanks to his brilliantly colored Hawaiian shirt, than a Las Vegas gangster. He still wore the gold chain, however, and the suspicious bulge was still visible in a canvas travel pack strapped to his hip.

  “At last.” Ellie ran forward to meet them. “I’ve been so worried.” She clasped her grandmother and met the reassuring safety of a lifetime of hugs. “What on earth have you been up to?”

  “Come in, come in.” Gran’s Hawaiian shirt was every bit as eye-scorching as Frank’s. “We’ve been cooking all day.”

  They followed Gran and Frank into the main building, cluttered with half-empty boxes, stacked furniture, and bags of trash that hadn’t been sorted and recycled. About a third of the kitchen was a dingy grease-spattered mess but the rest, where someone had obviously been working, was scrubbed clean and neatly organized. Sofía Rojas, one of Juan Esteban’s former students and Ellie’s former closest friend, was stirring a pot of fragrant olla de carne—beef and vegetable stew—on the propane stove.

  “Pura Vida, Ellie.” She wiped her hands on an apron above her extremely swollen belly and smiled uncertainly.

  Ellie made an effort to smile back. There’d been a lot of bitterness among the students at Vista de la Selva four months ago when they found out they were all part of Juan Esteban’s harem, but after the initial shock, Ellie and three other women had talked things out and tried to keep the camp going. Sofía, on the other hand, had stormed after Juan Esteban in hysterics. Her pregnancy went a long way toward explaining why she’d been so much more upset than anyone else.

  Ellie glanced from the modest diamond on Sofía’s finger to the proudly possessive look she gave Juan Esteban and couldn’t decide whether to hug her old friend or start yelling. She turned and glared at her former professor. Hadn’t he proposed to Ellie? Hadn’t he tried to blackmail her into marrying him only last week?