The Stubborn Billionaire (a Muse novel)

by Lexxie Couper

  Sienna stood, chewing on her thumbnail as she began pacing the studio. She hadn’t thought about this for so long. She’d put it behind her and moved on. There were other things to focus on. But then James had turned up and bang. Six months of repressed pain and anger was back with a vengeance.

  “Sienna?”

  She sighed, her stomach a churning mess. “Okay. I met James at Clinton’s first exhibition. That one in Paddington. You were in Europe at the time.”

  Carrie nodded. “I remember you mentioning it.”

  “He arrived an hour before the opening. I was helping set up. Clint had left to buy us coffee and this incredibly hot guy arrived.” She frowned. The memory troubled her, even after everything that had happened. She shouldn’t still get so turned on by James after what he’d done back then…and today…

  “It was instant lust for me.” Her throat tightened. “And with the way he looked at me, it was for him as well. We started talking, and he was funny and smart. Not just sexy. We flirted. A lot. I’ve never had the skill, but with him it just seemed to come natural. There was a connection I felt—we felt—on a deeper level. One that seemed to release my inner…inner…” She floundered for a word.

  “Sexy kitten?” Carrie grinned.

  “Let’s go with that. We flirted and chatted, and before I knew it, we were hinting at maybe…y’know…maybe seeing each other after the exhibition.”

  Carrie raised her eyebrows. “Seeing each other? Considering how you grew up, Sienna Roberts, you’re still so sweetly innocent sometimes.”

  Sienna rolled her eyes. “Bite me.”

  Carrie laughed and then grew somber again. “Okay, so you two met once and hit it off. What happened?”

  “Clinton arrived back and introduced us. ‘Sienna, this is my brother, James, the only member of my family I could convince to come tonight. James, this is Sienna, the only person in my life who believes in me.’”

  “Whoa.” Carrie blinked. “That’s some introduction. And Clinton is…was a Dyson? Whoa. Again.”

  A knot twisted in Sienna’s stomach. “It was. The second Clint finished introducing us, everything changed. James didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night. He also didn’t say good-bye to Clint when he left.”

  Carrie frowned. “So he’s a prick? Jealous of his brother?”

  “At the time I thought so.” Sienna sighed. “I didn’t know anything about Clinton’s family at first. It was a few months after he moved in before he told me who he was, but he didn’t want anyone else to know. Remember how he never used his last name? He was a rich kid who was trying to discover who he was. Part of that discovery was art school. You rarely saw his work, locked away in the darkroom as you were, but he was talented. His life drawings were… Well, he had an amazing gift for capturing people. His charcoal sketches were awe-inspiring. I posed for him a few times when he was trying new techniques, and I was always struck dumb by his talent. One nude sketch he drew of me almost moved me to tears.”

  “You posed nude for him, Si?” Disbelief rippled across Carrie’s face. “Really?”

  Sienna shrugged. “We painters and drawers aren’t quite so worried about posing naked as you photographers, Carrie. I paid my way through my first year of art school by being a life-drawing model.”

  Carrie puffed out a breath. “I guess so. I still have trouble stripping off in front of Richard, though. And we’ve been married for a whole four months now. And I thought you knew how Clinton felt. Stripping in front of a guy that wants you without sex being on the table is kinda dumb.”

  Sienna grunted. “You think? I know that now, don’t I? Back then…”

  Clueless. So utterly clueless.

  Worry swam in Carrie’s eyes. “What happened? Did he…did he try to…”

  “No. Not then. He just drew a picture and it was beautiful. Everything was fine, and then, the day after you left for Europe, his father contacted him and demanded he come home, to forget this ‘arty-farty bullshit,’ and join his brother at DMC.” She paused and chewed on her thumbnail some more. God, why did she feel so sick?

  “What did you do?”

  “I told Clint to do what his heart wanted.” She looked at Carrie. God, she needed her to understand how things had gotten to this point. Maybe then she’d understand it herself. “I know from personal experience how life can be with famous parents. Restricting. Confining. I’d made the break, and it was liberating.” She shook her head. “I don’t think it was so easy for Clinton. He seemed lost, so against his father’s wealth and power. But Harvey Dyson is, well, he’s Harvey Dyson. How do you stand up against a man like that? He never told me what was said between them, but he didn’t move out, either, so I assumed they’d worked it out. And then these jokes about eloping to Hawaii started and he became possessive. Not enough to be scary, just enough for me to wonder what was going on.” Sienna dragged her fingers through her hair and dropped back into the armchair she’d only moments ago left. “We used to have so much fun together.”

  Carrie studied her. Was this what it was like being on the end of Carrie’s photographer’s focus? “What happened?”

  “He proposed. Out of the blue, three weeks after his exhibition. He cooked dinner one night and popped the question. Offered me the drawing he’d done of me as an engagement present.”

  “Oh, Sienna.” Carrie slumped in her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Pushing herself from the chair once more, Sienna crossed to one of the large windows that filled her studio with natural light. “It was so weird. Like a different person suddenly took over his body. When I told him we were just friends, had only ever been just friends, he snapped. Ranted about how he’d given up his life for me, given up the family fortune so he could be with me. Told me no one said no to a Dyson.” She turned to Carrie. “It was scary. He was scary. We’d never even kissed. Not once. And he was talking marriage.”

  Sienna turned back to the window. “He tried to kiss me. I mean, he really tried. It got…it got a bit scary for a while, but I kneed him in the crotch, and he got off me.”

  Carrie gaped at her. “Got off you? Are you kidding? Are you freaking kidding?”

  Sienna waved her hand. Holy crap, she’d never wanted to think about this again. Wouldn’t have, until James turned up.

  When she saw him again, she was going to…

  When I see him again? What am I thinking?

  “Clint told me he loved me.” Her chest tightened at the memory. “He begged me to marry him, to love him. When I said no, he left.”

  There was so much more, so many other things he’d said—slut, prick-tease, gold digger, whore—but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Carrie. Even now, six months later, she felt dirty.

  “What happened?”

  A lump filled Sienna’s throat, a painful lump that made it difficult for her to breathe. She blinked at the hot sting of tears in her eyes. “After he left, he went to his brother’s house and overdosed on sleeping pills. James refused to let me enter the church at his funeral, blaming me for Clint’s death.”

  “What?” Carrie’s stunned response was barely a whisper. “He what? Sienna, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sienna shrugged. It was such a glorious day outside. What would she give to be out enjoying it, instead of being in here now, recounting a moment in her life she wanted more than anything to forget? “You were still in Europe, I didn’t want to spoil anything for you and Richard, and then Dad was arrested and life got way too odd.”

  “But you should have said something. No wonder you never date now. God, and to think I’ve been trying to set you up over and over. You must hate me. I’m so sorry.”

  The scraping of furniture filled the room a second before Carrie enveloped her in a warm hug.

  “I don’t hate you,” Sienna said, the words muffled against Carrie’s soft shoulder.

  This is why I didn’t tell you, though. I didn’t want this pity.

  “I’m sorry.” Carrie stepped out
of the hug to wipe at Sienna’s drying tears.

  “That’s okay. It was a while ago, and I’ve got other things to deal with now.” She chuckled, a wry sound that lacked any sign of humor. “Like trying to sort Zach out.”

  Normally, any mention of Zach would distract Carrie and activate her maternal instinct. She’d offer tips and advice on how to handle the problem fifteen-year-old. Why the hell Carrie thought she had all the answers, Sienna didn’t know. It wasn’t like she had children. Still, Sienna liked having someone she could talk out her daily Zach woes with. It made life a little easier.

  Carrie frowned at her. Clearly, the distraction wasn’t working this time. Damn it. “Wait a minute. You still haven’t explained why James Dyson was just here, talking about you and destiny and sex. Great sex, I’ll add.”

  Sienna shrugged. “I have no idea. Honest. After that one brief moment of flirting, I’ve only seen him that time at the funeral, and we definitely weren’t civil to each other then. The man hates me.” She didn’t mention the incredible wild kiss they’d shared. And there was no way she was telling Carrie about the shameless, horny way she’d succumbed to it. Or that she was meant to be painting his portrait for Mason Xavier. As if that was going to happen.

  “But, Si?” Carrie smiled, confusion warring with mischief in her eyes. “Great sex. He pretty much implied you two were going to have great—”

  The studio door banged open, cutting off Carrie’s words.

  “School sucks.”

  Sienna’s stomach sank.

  Zach raged through the room like a thunderstorm, tossing his backpack onto the floor with careless rage before stomping into the kitchen area. He didn’t once look at either Sienna or Carrie.

  “Hi, Zach,” Carrie called. She’d always been one for poking the bear.

  Zach grunted, reaching into the ancient refrigerator and removing a Coke. “Got any Scotch?”

  Sienna glared at his back. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

  Zach leaned against the fridge and cast a surly look around the studio. “No naked people here today?”

  “You should have been here five minutes ago.” Carrie wriggled her eyebrows. “You just missed Taylor Swift.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny.” Zach gulped a few mouthfuls of soda down and then swiped at his lips with the back of his hand. “Any chance of seeing you naked today, Carrie?”

  “Okay.” Sienna smacked her palms together. God, she was tired of being angry. “That’s enough, Zach. Stop being a dick and apologize to Carrie.”

  Green eyes so like hers grew wide with the wounded innocence of a serial killer. “What did I do?”

  “Oh, I wonder.” She crossed her arms, eyes narrow. “Let’s ignore the fact you’ve been expelled from school and focus on what you just said to Carrie, shall we?”

  Zach’s face turned bright red. He glared at her for a long moment before dropping his eyes to the can in his hand. “Mr. Fenchurch rang, ’eh?”

  “Yes, Mr. Fenchurch did ring, ’eh. And just out of interest, why did you tell him I was posing for Playboy?”

  Carrie choked on a laugh, the soft sound carrying around the studio. Sienna shot her a look, her own lips twitching with mirth. Yeah, the day couldn’t get much more surreal.

  Zach looked up from his Coke. “Dunno.” Sullen eyes challenged her. “So what are you going to do? Tell me to go to my room? I don’t have one, remember? The court took it away, along with everything else I own.” He snapped his fingers, an expression of profound realization on his young face. “I know. Why don’t you deal with it the same way you did Dad leaving your mum? Why don’t you just run away?”

  Carrie gasped. “Zachary.”

  “It’s okay, Carrie.” Sienna shook her head, attention locked on Zach. “Zachary, I think you should go take a shower or something. Cool down a bit before dinner. We’ve got some talking to do, and I’m fed up fighting with you every time I open my mouth. I know you hate being here, but unfortunately, until Dad’s appeal is granted, or he finishes his time”—she checked her watch—“four years and seven months from now, you’re stuck with me. Court’s orders.”

  Zach stared at her, and she stared back. She was sick of being the nice half sister. Living in a battle zone for the last five and a half months was damn tiring and stressful, and not at all conducive for her creativity. She needed to be relaxed, composed. She needed to redirect her energies back to her work. Especially when she painted James Dyson.

  Paint James Dyson? What the hell? As if that’s happening.

  “Sienna?” Carrie’s concern scratched at her fraying nerves. “What’s up?”

  Zach threw the empty Coke can over his shoulder and pushed past Sienna. “I’m outta here.”

  “Zach—”

  “No, it’s okay, Carrie,” Sienna interrupted. “Let him go.”

  Carrie flinched as Zach slammed the door. “Not one of his happier days.” She shook her head and gave Sienna a sad frown. “Posing for Playboy? Where did he get that from?”

  “A part of me wishes I was. Zach’s in trouble again. People-threatening-to-sue trouble.” She scrubbed at her hair. “Maybe, if I posed for Playboy, I might make enough money to pay them off?”

  Carrie giggled. “Probably. Platinum Joe’s daughter in the buff would definitely sell magazines. But just think about thousands of strange men drooling over your bare butt.”

  A finger of heat traced its way down Sienna’s spine. Thousands of men seeing her naked? No, just one. One specific man.

  “Give him time,” Carrie said.

  “What?” Sienna’s heart slammed in her throat. “Give who time?”

  James? Give James time until what? He sees me naked?

  “His dad’s in jail,” Carrie continued, unaware. Sienna let out a ragged breath. Zach. Not James. “His very extravagant lifestyle has been taken away from him and he’s getting to know a sister who—up until five and a half months ago—was just a name his dad use to throw around every now and again. The strange one of the family who turned her back on the money, the parties, and the famous and beautiful people to become a poor, lowly artist. He needs to readjust.”

  “I know.” Sienna ran her hands through her hair again. For once, she wished it was Zach on her mind.

  Why had she immediately thought of James when Carrie talked about men seeing her naked? And why on earth had she thought of painting him? That wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t. She had too many other things to deal with to worry about the arrogant bastard and his annoying affect on her body and sanity.

  Like how she was going to tell Mason Xavier, her one benefactor and only source of steady income—and the one person she could not refuse—that she had to refuse his latest commission?

  Sienna frowned. She couldn’t. That was obvious.

  She would have to paint James’s portrait. Hours and hours, possibly even days, alone with the man. Looking at him, studying him, being in his company.

  A sensation stirred low in her stomach. Hot fingers of want twisted into the junction of her thighs and throughout her body. Her pulse quickened.

  “Oh. Oh!” Carrie’s cheery voice popped the silence like a champagne cork. She straightened in her chair, grin wide. “I’ve got the solution. Have great sex with James tomorrow. Have the best damn sex ever. Blow his mind. Hell, blow his everything. Make him your sexual slave, make him fall madly in lust with you, and then ask him to fix everything. The guy’s got more money than God, after all.”

  Sienna rolled her eyes. If only her stomach would stop being a fluttering nest of insane butterflies. Great sex with James… “Great plan.”

  Carrie’s grin stretched wider. “Isn’t it?” Her eyes flashed with devious mischief. “Besides, all you seem to be painting nowadays are those erotic orgy scenes. You obviously could do with some great sex.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Sienna pulled a face, even as a dirty image sprung in to her mind at the mention of great sex with James.

  A very dirty, very appealing
image.

  Hell, she was in trouble.

  Chapter Three

  Smiling, James returned the phone on his office desk to its cradle. A strange warm thrill echoed through him, and he smiled wider.

  He’d half expected her to back out, to refuse Xavier’s commission. He knew she was stubborn—his research on her since Clinton’s funeral told him she didn’t bow to pressure easily, and when she set her mind to something, she stuck to it, a quality he couldn’t help but admire—but her dire financial situation clearly outweighed her dislike of him.

  He had to admit to himself, everything he’d discovered about Sienna in the last few months were at odds with the calculating gold digger Clinton had presented her as. It confused him. He didn’t like being confused. What he liked being was in control, and he needed to stay in control of this situation.

  Which he would, of course. He refused to let it be any other way.

  She’d accepted Mason Xavier’s commission, just as he wanted her to do, which meant he was in control. Everything was going to plan.

  Well, maybe not completely to plan. He hadn’t planned the uncontrollable sexual desire coursing through his blood every time he thought of her. Nor the weakness in his resolve it provoked, a reaction as unsettling as his lust.

  He swung in his chair, studying the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling window of his main office in the DMC building, gazing at the brilliant-blue summer sky stretching over Sydney Harbor.

  Six months ago all Sienna had been was a forbidden itch he would never allow himself to scratch. And then, Clinton had turned up at his house, angry and hurt and already drunk, looking like he’d just had his heart ripped out and flambéed right in front of him. He’d stumbled into James’s home, flinging a framed drawing onto the sofa before helping himself to a Scotch. James hadn’t needed to study the drawing to know who was the subject. The woman in it had been the star of all his wildest dreams since he’d met her at Clinton’s exhibition. Dreams he woke from slick with sweat and hard with lust. He didn’t look at the drawing, but he knew it was there where Clinton had thrown it.

  “God, I wanted her,” Clinton had growled. “The very first time I saw her, I wanted her. Just being with her made me feel like a man. Not a little boy. I wanted her so much, but she wouldn’t let me touch. Ever. Not even when I proposed.” He’d sculled another Scotch, his face twisted with wretched bitterness. “She turned me down, brother. I guess this Dyson wasn’t good enough.”