by Alexis Moore
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher or author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.
Copyright © 2012 by Alexis Moore
All Rights Reserved.
www.sexwriteralexis.blogspot.com
Published by Spreadeagle Publications.
CURVES FOR THE BILLIONAIRE
by
Alexis Moore
When her late father’s will stipulates that fuller-figured doctor Samantha McMillan must marry and have a child within three years of his death, or lose her inheritance, her friend Zachary de Luca offers to marry her. She’s unlike the cool, slender blondes always photographed on the playboy billionaire’s arm, so why would he be willing to sacrifice three years of his life for her? There’s no way he could feel the same attraction she feels for him, is there?
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Excerpts from other books by Alexis Moore
Amazon UK & US links to all other books by Alexis Moore
Other books by Alexis Moore
CLUB RULES
ELUSIVE INNOCENCE
IMAGE IS EVERYTHING
MY BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND
MY DAD’S BOSS
MY SISTER’S BOYFRIEND
REAR ENTRY
SPANK ME, SANTA!
TONI
TURNING MY MAN OUT!
Chapter One
Samantha McMillan breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as she slipped into the air-conditioned apartment, grateful to escape the punishing heat of the relentless Rwandan sun. The house phone rang as she threw her medical bag onto the large sofa she often fell asleep on after a gruelling day and she jumped in shock.
No one ever called her on that number.
No one had the number except her father and his housekeeper.
It couldn’t be good news.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the receiver before she lost her nerve.
“Hello?” she queried, praying that it was simply someone who had misdialled a number.
“Samantha?” She would recognize her father’s voice in her sleep. As a child it had been the last thing she heard at night as she drifted off to pleasant dreams of beautiful princesses in peril and dashing heroes who came to their rescue. Its distinctive rasp was a result of his forty-a-day cigarette habit.
“Yes, Dad, it’s me,” she replied, her breath hitching with dreaded anticipation.
Never one to procrastinate, her father got straight to the point, “Darling girl…bad news.”
“Go on.” Samantha’s legs suddenly felt as rigid as elastic bands. She collapsed heavily onto the sofa and waited for him to continue.
“Not been well lately—” a harsh cough interrupted his words and increased Samantha’s sense of foreboding. “Went to Harley Street…yesterday.”
“How bad is it, Dad?”
“Lung cancer…very advanced. I—” he broke off again as another fit of coughing rendered him speechless.
“Dad, I’ll be on the next flight. Try to get some rest and we’ll talk when I get there.”
“OK,” her father barely managed to squeeze the word out before another bout of coughing seized him as he disconnected the call.
Paralyzed by the thought it would be the last time she heard the sound of his voice, Samantha held on to the receiver, afraid to break the link, oblivious to the droning sound of the dead line.
If he died she would be an orphan. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She quickly dashed them away and commanded herself to get it together—she was twenty-seven, for heaven sake, not seven!
Replacing the receiver, she reached into the pocket of her creased, loose cotton dress and pulled out her mobile phone. The tears started flowing again as she pressed the button to dial the last number which had called her.
“Sam?” The deep voice at the end of the line was filled with concern. It made her cry harder. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“Oh, Zac.”
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, sounding ready to cause serious injury to whoever had dared cause her harm.
Like her father, her friend Zachary De Luca, had tried to dissuade her from volunteering at the children’s clinic in Rwanda. They’d both agreed it was a worthy cause and had contributed substantial amounts, but neither had appreciated the risk to her life.
“No, I’m not,” she quickly assured him and heard his harsh breath of relief. “Dad’s been diagnosed with lung cancer. It’s pretty bad. I’m flying home as soon as I can.”
“Darling, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I feel so guilty, Zac! He was relieved when my stint here was over and I went home at Christmas. I should have never come back for another six months! Daniel would have eventually found someone else. Dad must have known something was wrong. I should have been at his side. I would have recognized his symptoms and made him go to the doctor sooner”
“Sam, don’t beat yourself up,” Zachary chided gently. “He should have told you.”
“But—”
“Sam.” Zachary was the only person who ever called her the masculine diminutive of her name. It should have annoyed her or added to her insecurity of not being desirable enough for him, but instead it did the exact opposite—made her feel incredibly cherished. “Sweetheart, I have to get back to the boardroom, but I will call you as soon as I’m finished. How soon can you be ready to fly?”
“You shouldn’t have left the meeting!” Samantha felt like kicking herself. Needing to hear his voice, she hadn’t given the matter a second thought. She should have known better than to dial the private number only a handful of people had access to. She really should have called his executive assistant. She just prayed that he hadn’t been in the middle of some multi-million dollar negotiation.
“I knew it had to be important because you never call me,” he accused, sounding extremely bothered by the fact. Even in her distressed state a thrill of pleasure ran through her, but it was quickly doused by the briskness of his voice as he asked, “Can you fly tomorrow?”
“Yes. Daniel will understand.” The clinic had managed to engage the services of two doctors and five nurses, all Rwandan born, from America and things had improved significantly in the last weeks. Daniel had enticed them by matching their American salaries and Samantha was heartened by their dedication.
“It’s the least he can do.” Samantha never understood Zachary’s animosity each time she mentioned Daniel’s name. “I’ll have a seat booked for you on the first flight out tomorrow.”
“I can do that my—”
“Sam, let me do this for you.” His voice softened, infused with the persuasive quality that had convinced wealthy investors to take a chance on him when he had first started his software company. “Pack the things you need and then try to get some sleep. You’ll need to be rested for the challenge ahead.”
“Thanks, Zac.” She felt horribly guilty for disrupting his busy schedule, but it was a relief to have someone to turn to at a time like this.
“No need, sweetheart. I’m just glad you called me.”
Samantha pondered his last words as she ended the call, got up and started packing as he’d advised. With no siblings to
share her joys and sorrows growing up, she had learned to depend wholly on herself. The private girls’ school she’d attended had been filled with slender, coltish girls who danced ballet and counted calories—she’d stuck out like a sore thumb with her softer, rounder body. They hadn’t been unnecessarily cruel to her, but their constant worry about gaining weight and their fascination with size-zero supermodels and celebrities had somehow made her feel that they pitied her with her fuller figure. She hadn’t needed their pity. She’d been comfortable in her own skin even then. In fact, she had pitied them. Three girls had died of anorexia in the seven years she had attended the school and several more had been hospitalized from time to time. Whenever she met them now at school reunions or out shopping in the West End, they marvelled that she still had the same lush body of her school days; she marvelled that they mostly still had the starved, emaciated look of war victims.
***
When will this blooming flight be over? Samantha stared blindly out of the window at the clouds. Dear Lord, please don’t let him die before I get there.
She felt empty and numb…and so guilty. She had travelled halfway across the world to help strangers while the person she loved the most suffered alone and in silence.
Losing her mother had been traumatic for her, at fifteen and on the cusp of womanhood—losing her father at twenty-seven would be no less painful.
Her lecturers at University College of London had said that as doctors they would become accustomed, even immune to death. Perhaps that came with years of practice; at the clinic she still felt profoundly affected each time another innocent child surrendered to its waiting arms. She often shed bitter tears in the privacy of her room at night when a child who seemed on the road to recovery, giving its parents and the medical staff hope, succumbed unexpectedly.
She’d always known that it was more likely when, not if, her father would develop lung cancer. It had only been a few puffs after meals or when out socializing, and he’d been careful not to smoke in the house or around her. But then her mother had died in a car crash in Scotland while visiting her parents. Several hours after they’d received the devastating news, Samantha had stood at her bedroom window and watched through tear-filled eyes as he had smoked one cigarette after another, shivering in the frigid February air. He had never remarried. When Samantha encouraged him to go out with friends or join a dating agency, he always said that no one could replace the love of his life.
Those words always chilled her. She had been in love with Zachary since she’d met him, weeks before her sixteenth birthday, but there was no hope that she would ever be more to him than a good friend. She prayed that she would be able to find happiness with someone else one day because she loved children and being an only child and growing up lonely she wanted four. But every time she imagined them, two boys and two girls, they all had Zachary’s dark hair and his beautiful green eyes.
Zachary. She couldn’t even begin to estimate his personal wealth and influence. He always travelled in style and comfort, so the fully-reclining first class seat he’d booked for her wasn’t much of a surprise, but she had been shocked when a chauffeured Mercedes from the British High Commission had arrived to pick her up promptly at seven to take her to the airport.
She was pleased with his success. It gave her a quiet thrill to see his chiselled face plastered on the front pages of newspapers and magazines and know that the ever-widening gap between their financial statuses hadn’t altered their friendship. He still called her at least once a week, from wherever he was in the world and flew over to see her whenever his busy schedule allowed.
The tiny jolt as the plane touched down safely at Heathrow Airport brought Samantha back to her surroundings. Guiltily she realized that daydreaming about Zachary had distracted her from thoughts of her father’s illness.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she slipped on her winter coat and grabbed her carry-on luggage.
Brr-rrr! The difference in temperature was noticeable as she exited the plane.
Within minutes of disembarking, she was headed towards Arrivals, looking for the distinctive wide smile of Zachary’s Dominican chauffeur, Edward Mahoney.
“Sam!”
She turned incredulously at the sound of the dark brown velvet voice which had filled her ears less than twelve hours ago, soothing all her fears and reminding her that he was the rock she could cling to in any of life’s storms. He wasn’t to be blamed if he was unaware of the fact that she wanted to cling to him in an entirely different way—sated and weak after a bout of incredible sex.
“How did you get here so quickly?” she asked, her voice muffled against his broad, heavenly-smelling chest as she was enveloped in his steely arms. He had promised to have her met at the airport, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would do so in person.
“I flew in from Rome this morning.” He eased her head back until their gazes met. The green eyes which she’d always secretly envied were filled with tenderness. He ran his thumb softly along the length of her jaw, making her swallow convulsively. “I couldn’t let you face this alone.”
“When did you leave South Africa?” she demanded, breaking the spell before she did something as foolish as pull his head down until his lips covered hers.
It was impossible to keep track of him. He often used the private plane he had bought three years ago when his company had become one of the world’s top 100 companies, but he still sometimes took commercial flights, “to do his bit for the environment”, as he put it.
“I left Johannesburg four days ago.”
“I didn’t mean to drag you away before you completed your business in Italy,” she apologized. One of the country’s luxury car manufacturers had discreetly contacted him weeks ago. They were looking for a private investor but were very specific about the person they wanted—with his Italian ancestry, his love for luxury Italian cars and his personal wealth, they thought he’d be the perfect fit for them. He had been more excited about the prospect than any other he’d mentioned in years, and had intended to spend a week in the country visiting the manufacturing plant and familiarizing himself with their business practices. He’d told her that even if he ultimately decided against investing, he wanted to offer the company some ideas on improving efficiency and lowering costs.
“Rome can wait.” He brushed his thumb against her full lips, and his eyes seemed to spark. “I wanted to be here with you.”
She willed her heart to stop pounding as she fought the temptation to misconstrue his words and the tender look in his eyes. He was simply being a good friend!
“But you were so excited—” she objected.
“They contacted me,” he reminded her, replacing his thumb with a square-tipped finger to stop her protesting further. “I told them I had a family emergency and had to fly home immediately. If they have a problem with that, then they’re not the type of people I want to do business with. It’s better I know now, before I invest millions of pounds with them.”
“I’m glad you are here,” she admitted, rapidly blinking back the tears pricking her eyelids.
“Where else would I be at a time like this?” He bent and kissed her first on one wet eyelid and then the other before giving her a final squeeze and releasing her go. Reaching for the handle of her suitcase with one hand, he enfolded her right with the other and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
***
Companionable silence enveloped them as his Emerald Fire Green Metallic Jaguar XK ate up the miles between the airport and her father’s home in Alcester, South Warwickshire. With both a Lamborghini and a Ferrari in the garage of his Park Lane home, Samantha was pleased that he still occasionally used the car he’d let her help him choose five years ago when his company had first shown a decent profit. That day she’d witnessed firsthand the charm and negotiating skills that would make him the successful businessman he’d become.
She’d never told him that she had chosen the colour purely because of his eyes.
“I know.” She smiled at him, briefly returning the pressure of his fingers before letting his hand go.
As if she could forget! She had been achingly aware of him from the moment she’d met him.
She hadn’t wanted to attend her cousin’s eighteenth birthday party, but her father had insisted, worried that she’d been spending more time than was healthy alone in her bedroom since her mother’s death eight months prior.
Slender as a reed, brunette, hazel-eyed and beautiful, Helen had always referred to Samantha as her ‘fat, red-headed, Scottish cousin’, scathingly remarking that Samantha and her mother Louise, with their Rubenesque figures should have their stomachs stapled or jaws wired if they couldn’t control their appetites. But she was a good enough actress to fake cousinly interest and concern when Samantha’s father was around. He was not only a wealthy uncle but a generous one too. For Helen’s birthday that year he had given her ten thousand pounds towards expenses for her round-the-world, gap-year trip. Helen had hugged him tightly when he had dropped Samantha off that evening and promised to keep an eye on her younger cousin.
With her parents on a golfing weekend in Ireland and her older brother away at Edinburgh University, Helen had seemed to make a determined effort to bond with Samantha, even insisting on her wearing a black strapless mini dress from her own wardrobe instead of the decorous floral pink Samantha had planned.
Self conscious and uncomfortable in the dress, Samantha had stayed in the kitchen, handing out chilled drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
“Why are you hiding in here all by yourself?” A voice had asked about an hour after the party started.
She’d looked up to find a lanky young man with broad shoulders he was yet to grow into, lounging against the doorjamb, his thick dark hair tousled, his eyes drinking in her curves appreciatively.
“I’m not hiding,” she denied, feeling a blush cover her face and the tops of the full breasts that threatened to spill out of the too-small dress.
