The Tycoon's Scandalous Proposition

by Miranda Lee

  Leopards really didn’t change their spots, did they?

  Lachlan certainly hadn’t. But his comeuppance was on the horizon. His career had faltered after his last movie, which had had some not too stellar reviews.

  The movie business was a risky business—Kate knew that. And an actor’s popularity could disappear overnight.

  Such thinking sent a nervous shiver down her spine, made her hands twist together.

  ‘Everything is going to be fine,’ Juanita said, and clasped Kate’s trembling hands in both of hers. ‘You are a great actress. That is a great movie.’

  Carlos said much the same on their way to the theatre. But the kind words didn’t lessen Kate’s escalating anxiety. They were friends, after all. And all those other people who’d come to the pre-screening had been fans of Blake’s work. They might not have wanted to tell him the truth: that the movie wasn’t great and Kate was simply awful as a romantic heroine as opposed to playing the conniving villain she played in The Career Wife!

  ‘Are you all right?’ Blake asked her as they pulled up outside the theatre.

  Huge crowds had gathered on the sidewalk, along with lots of paparazzi.

  Kate refused to load her anxiety onto Blake. No doubt he was feeling a little tense himself.

  ‘No, no. I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘Good—because there’s nothing to be nervous about. Byron rang me while you were getting ready. He and Cleo had just watched the copy of the movie I sent him and they were over the moon about it. Said it was going to make us all a small fortune. The only reason they aren’t here in person to celebrate is because their son is due in two weeks’ time.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But let’s not forget Byron and Cleo are biased. They’re friends.’

  ‘And very canny investors. Byron doesn’t wear blinkers when it comes to money. Trust me when I say you’re about to become an even bigger star than you already are.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘That’s not a promise. That’s a fact.’ And he leant over and kissed her on the cheek.

  Kate’s anxiety eased slightly at his confidence, and his love. Somehow she found a smiling face for the photographers, but didn’t linger in the foyer, hurrying into the theatre, where she smiled some more at the already seated guests before thankfully sinking into her own seat.

  Finally, after considerable delays and endless advertisements, the movie started—by which time Kate thought she was going to be sick. She tried to concentrate but her focus seemed blurred. Suddenly all she cared about was what the audience was feeling and thinking. She had to force herself not to look around and stare at people’s faces.

  She did sneak a few surreptitious glances at her parents, who were sitting on her left. They seemed wrapped up in the drama, and her mother’s mouth was slightly agape. Was that a good sign or a bad sign?

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the movie ended and the credits started rolling. For a few seconds there was a deathly silence. Kate didn’t know what to think. And then, as one, everyone in that theatre stood up and started clapping. Clapping and shouting Bravo!

  Even Blake seemed surprised. And touched—especially at the sight of his dad, clapping the loudest.

  Kate was just stunned, and her eyes filled with tears when her mother turned to her and said, ‘Oh, my dear. You were just wonderful. I’m so, so proud of you.’

  Kate and Blake stood up to more cheers, and Kate turned to the man she knew was responsible for this moment—the man responsible for every happy moment in her life.

  Reaching up, she kissed him softly on the mouth and whispered, ‘Thank you, my darling. For everything.’

  Blake’s dark eyes were full of love and admiration as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Thank you.’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed THE TYCOON’S SCANDALOUS PROPOSITION, you’ll love these other stories by Miranda Lee!

  THE MAGNATE’S TEMPESTUOUS MARRIAGE

  THE TYCOON’S OUTRAGEOUS PROPOSAL

  THE PLAYBOY’S RUTHLESS PURSUIT

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S RUTHLESS AFFAIR

  Available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from BILLIONAIRE’S BRIDE FOR REVENGE by Michelle Smart.

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  Billionaire’s Bride for Revenge

  by Michelle Smart

  CHAPTER ONE

  BENJAMIN GUILLEM CAST his eye over the heads of the people scattered around the landscaped garden of the Tuscan-style villa in the heart of Madrid, an easy feat considering he was a head taller than most. The only guest there without a plus-one, he was also the only guest in attendance with no intention of celebrating Javier Casillas’s engagement.

  He snatched a flute of champagne from a passing waitress and drank it in one swallow. The bubbles felt like jagged barbs down his throat, magnifying the hot, knotted feeling that twisted inside him.

  Javier and Luis had betrayed him. The Casillas brothers had taken advantage of their lifelong friendship and ripped him off. All the documentary evidence pointed to that inescapable conclusion.

  He hoped the evidence was wrong. He hoped his instincts were wrong. They had to be. The alternative was too sickening to contemplate.

  He would not leave this party until he knew the truth.

  Benjamin took another champagne and stepped over to the elaborate fountain for a better view. He spotted Luis at the far end of the garden surrounded by his usual entourage of sycophants. Javier, Luis’s non-identical twin brother and host of the party, was proving far more elusive.

  Javier would be hating every minute of this party. He was the most antisocial person Benjamin knew. He’d always been that way, even before their father killed their mother over two decades ago.

  Thoughts of the Casillas brothers swiftly evaporated when a dark-haired woman walked out of the summer room, capturing his attention with one graceful step onto the flourishing green lawn. She raised her face to the sky and closed her eyes, holding the pose as if trying to catch the sun’s rays on her skin. There was an elegance about her, a poise, a way of holding herself that immediately made him think she was a dancer.

  There were a lot of dancers there. Javier’s new fiancée was the Principal Dancer at the ballet company the brothers had bought in their mother’s memory. Benjamin wondered if the fiancée knew or cared that she was only a trophy to him.

  Benjamin had never cared for the ballet or the people w
ho inhabited its world. This dancer though...

  The sun caught the red undertones of her hair, which hung in a thick, wavy mass over glimmering pale shoulders. Her features were interesting rather than classically pretty, a strong, determined jaw softened by a wide, generous mouth...

  Her eyes suddenly found his, as if she sensed his gaze upon her, two black orbs ringing at him.

  A slight frown appeared on her brow as she stared, an unanswerable question in it, a frown that then lessened as her generous mouth curved hesitantly.

  His knotted stomach made a most peculiar twisting motion.

  No, not classically pretty but striking. Mesmerising.

  He couldn’t look away.

  And she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from him either, a moment in time existing only for them, two eye-locked strangers.

  And then a shadow appeared behind her and she blinked, the sun-bound spell woven around them dissolving as quickly as it had formed.

  The shadow was Javier emerging from the sunroom to join his own party.

  He spotted Benjamin and nodded a greeting while his right hand settled proprietorially on the dancer’s waist.

  It came to him in an instant that this woman, the slowly forming smile on her face now frozen, was Javier’s fiancée.

  By the time Javier had steered the dancer to stand before him by the fountain, Benjamin had swallowed the bite of disappointment, shaken off the last of that strange spell and straightened his spine.

  He wasn’t here to party or for romance. He was here for business.

  ‘Benjamin, it’s good to see you,’ Javier said. ‘I don’t think you’ve met my fiancée, Freya, have you?’

  ‘No.’ He looked straight at her. A hint of colour slashed her high cheekbones. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’

  Under different circumstances it would have been a pleasure but now the spell had broken all that remained was a faint distaste that she should have stared so beguilingly at him when engaged to another man.

  But that was all the introduction Javier deemed necessary between his oldest friend and new fiancée, saying, ‘Have you seen Luis yet?’

  ‘Not yet but I am hoping to rectify that now.’ Then, dismissing the striking vision from his consideration, Benjamin added evenly, ‘We need to talk. You, me and Luis. In private.’

  There was a momentary silence as Javier stared at him, eyes narrowing before he nodded slowly and caught the attention of a passing waiter. ‘Find my brother and tell him to meet me and Senor Guillem in my study.’ Dropping his hold on his fiancée’s waist, he turned and strode back into the summer room without another word.

  Two months later...

  Smile, Freya, it’s a party and all for a worthy cause.

  Smile for the cameras. Smile for your fiancé, still not here but expecting you to turn on the charm even in his absence.

  Smile for the gathered strangers, pretend you know them intimately, let them brush their cheek against yours as you greet each other with the fake air kisses that make your stomach curdle.

  Smile, there’s another camera. Smile as you nurse your glass of champagne.

  Smile at the waiting staff circling the great ballroom with silver trays of delicious-smelling canapés but do not—not—be so gauche as to eat one.

  Just. Smile.

  And she did. Freya smiled so much her face ached, and then she smiled some more.

  Being promoted to Principal Dancer at Compania de Ballet de Casillas came with responsibilities that involved more than pure dance. Freya was now the official face of the ballet company and at this, its most exciting time. The new state-of-the-art theatre the Casillas brothers were building for the company opened in a couple of months and it was her face on all the billboards and advertisements for it. She was the lead in the opening production.

  Her, Freya Clements, an East London girl from a family so poor that winters were often a choice between heating and food, a Principal Dancer. It was a dream. She was living her dream. Marriage to Javier Casillas, joint owner of the ballet company, would be the...she almost thought icing on the cake but realised it was the wrong metaphor. Or was it the wrong simile? She couldn’t remember, had always struggled to differentiate between them. Either way, she couldn’t think of an appropriate metaphor or simile to describe her feelings about marrying Javier.

  Javier was rich. Very, very rich. No one knew how much he and his twin Luis were worth but it was rare for their names to be mentioned in the press without the prefix billionaire. He was also handsome. He had chosen her to be, as he had put it, his life partner. When she looked at him she imagined him as her Prince Charming but without the title. Or the charm.

  It didn’t matter that he was morose and generally unavailable. It was better that way. Marrying him gave her deteriorating mother a fighting chance.

  In exactly one week he would be her husband.

  The entire ballet company was, as of that day, on a two-week shutdown so the new state-of-the-art training facilities and ballet school that went hand in hand with the new theatre could be completed. Javier had decreed they would fit their nuptials in then so as not to disturb her training routine.

  Where was he? He should have been here an hour ago. She’d snuck away to the Ladies to call him but found her phone not working. She couldn’t think what was wrong with it but she had no signal and no Internet connection. She would try again as soon as she had a minute to herself.

  The media were out in force tonight, ready for their first public glimpse of the couple, beside themselves that Javier, son of the ballet dancers Clara Casillas and Yuri Abramova, a union that had ended in tragedy and infamy, was to marry ‘a ballerina with the potential for a career as stratospheric as his mother’s had been’. That had been an actual quote in a highbrow Spanish magazine, translated by her best friend, fellow ballerina and flatmate, Sophie, who had mastered the Spanish language with an ease that made Freya ashamed of her own inadequacies. In the two years she had lived and worked in Madrid she had hardly picked up the basics of the language.

  Many of the company’s corps de ballet were in attendance that night, window dressing for the attending patrons of the arts whose money and patronage were wanted. Sophie had begged off with a migraine, something she’d been suffering with more frequently in recent weeks. Freya wished she were there. Just having Sophie in the same room soothed the nauseous panic nibbling in her stomach.

  Just smile.

  So she stretched her lips as wide and as high as she could and accepted yet another fake air kiss from another of Europe’s richest women and tried not to choke on the cloud of perfume she inhaled with it.

  A tall figure stepped into the ballroom of the hotel the fundraiser was being held in.

  Her stomach swooped.

  It was him. The man from her engagement party.

  Benjamin Guillem.

  The name floated in her head before she could stamp it out.

  It was a name that she had thought of far too often since the party two months ago. His face had found itself floating into her daydreams too many times for comfort too. And in her night dreams...

  Suddenly aware of the danger she was placing herself in, she shifted her stance so he was no longer in her eyeline and smiled at an approaching elderly man.

  She must not stare at him again. If he came over to speak to her she would smile gracefully exactly as she had to the other guests and this time she would find her tongue to speak in the clear voice she had cultivated through the years; chiselling the East London accent out of herself so no one in this moneyed world ever doubted she belonged.

  She’d never been so tongue-tied before as she had the first time she’d seen him. She had literally been unable to say a word, just stared at him like some kind of goofball.

  Her senses were on red alert, though, and as hard as she tried to concentrate on what the elderly
man was saying—something about his granddaughter being a keen dancer—her skin prickled with electricity.

  And then he was there, a step behind the old man, waiting his turn to speak to her.

  She didn’t look directly at him as she laughed politely at a joke the old man said. She hoped it was a joke. She could barely hear her own words let alone his. Blood pounded hot and hard in her head, a burning where Benjamin’s gaze rested on her.

  He was well mannered enough to wait for a natural pause in the conversation before stepping forward. ‘Mademoiselle Clements?’

  To her horror she found her vocal cords frozen again and could only nod her acknowledgement at the simple question.

  ‘We met at your engagement party. I am Benjamin Guillem, an old friend of your fiancé.’

  He had the thickest, richest French accent she had ever heard. It felt like set honey to her senses.

  Unlike the other guests she’d met that evening he made no effort to pull her into an embrace, just stared at her with the eyes she’d found so unnervingly beautiful at her engagement party. Olive skinned, he had messy thick black hair and thick black eyebrows, a rough scar above the top lip of his firm mouth and a sloping nose. He reminded her of a film noir star, his dark handsome features carrying a disturbingly dangerous air. Where the other guests wore traditional tuxedos, Benjamin wore a black suit and black shirt with a skinny silver tie. If he were to produce a black fedora it wouldn’t look out of place.

  The only spot of colour on him were his eyes. Those devastating eyes. A clear, vivid green, they pierced through the skin. They were eyes that didn’t miss a thing.

  ‘I remember,’ she said in as light a tone as she could muster, fighting through the thumping beats of her heart. ‘You stole him away from me.’ She’d been thankful for it. Javier had put his hand to her waist. His touch, a touch any other woman would no doubt delight in, had left her cold.