Curves for the Billionaire

by Alexis Moore

  “It would have been for a shorter stint. Daniel finally realized that we didn’t physically need to be there. We’ve spent the last months working with seven Rwandan doctors and nurses he recruited from America who will take over the full running of the clinic. He and I were both planning to return to the UK at the end of the month. We will ship medical supplies regularly and Daniel will go back once or twice a year to ensure that things are running smoothly. It’s the best solution. I can’t believe it took us so long to realize it!”

  “Well, I’m glad he’s figured something out because there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t worry about you!”

  “Worry about me?” she asked incredulously. “Zac, you insisted on accompanying me the first time to ensure that it was safe for me to work there! You said that you were satisfied that the risks were minimal.”

  “I know what I said,” he grounded out. “But I was this close to dragging you back home. Minimal risk was still too much risk for my liking!”

  Samantha stared in shock at the sliver of space between his thumb and forefinger. He had called her often, but she’d never imagined that he’d been so concerned about her wellbeing.

  “Forget Rwanda.” He took a deep breath and forcibly brought himself back under control. “Let’s deal with the matter at hand.”

  “Well, Daniel had asked me to marry him,” she mused aloud. “I guess I could accept but—”

  “You’re not marrying that bloody do-gooder!”

  “Why not?”

  “The man has a death wish. I won’t be surprised if he sets up his next clinic in Afghanistan!”

  “He won’t,” she promised. “He plans to take over his great-uncle’s practice in Leeds when he retires next year.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  Secretly Samantha doubted that Daniel would ever be content treating the “well-fed, spoilt people of the Western world” as he referred to them for everyday colds and the flu when there were children dying needlessly of easily-treatable diseases in poorer countries. He was so passionate about his cause, he’d convinced her to go with him to Rwanda as soon as they’d finished their medical training. The year she’d spent there had been emotionally taxing, battling to save lives daily—more often than not succeeding, but failing enough times for her to question the futility of their presence there. Most days she had longed for a quiet practice in the UK with worried mothers and fathers bringing their little darlings in with nothing more than raised temperatures and ear infections. Daniel had asked her to consider marrying him rather than return home at the end of her stint. It had been more a practical proposal of marriage than a loving one, she’d suspected. They were the same age, shared a profession, both heterosexual and neither was attached. She had gently turned him down. Going back to Rwanda when her replacement had walked away from the clinic had been necessary, but it hadn’t been a decision she’d taken lightly.

  “He’ll stay in Rwanda.”

  “You’re not going back there with him,” Zachary informed her with an arrogance he’d never shown before. “I’ll marry you.”

  “You have no say in the…,” she began heatedly and then paused to let his words replay themselves in her head. “What?”

  “I’ll marry you,” he repeated.

  “What happened to your marriage phobia?”

  His father had worked as a commercial airline pilot and it seemed his mother had played the field. Zoë had once confessed that one of her father’s colleagues had come to visit her mother in their father’s absence and had found his way into her bedroom and fondled her breast when she was thirteen. She’d had joked that she’d been as flat as a pancake still, but she’d screamed in fear before the man could clamp his hand over her mouth and Zachary had come running to her aid. Already tall for his age, he’d grabbed the older man by the neck and would have probably choked him to death if their mother hadn’t heard the commotion and come to investigate. She had ordered the man to leave and begged them not to tell anyone what had happened. They had complied, Zoë had said, not because of filial loyalty to their mother but to their father who would have been devastated. Their mother’s infidelity had hurt Zachary deeply and he had never forgiven her for putting his twin in danger. He’d vowed never to marry, though he’d confessed to Samantha that he envied Zoë’s blissfully happy six-year marriage and loved her two daughters and son as though they were his own.

  “I don’t have a marriage phobia,” he denied. “I just think the likelihood of two people remaining faithful to each other for a lifetime is slim. Three years is a more realistic target.”

  “And after that?” How would she find the strength to let him go?

  “We’ll see.”

  “What if we’re not…?” Realizing that she’d spoken the words aloud, Samantha clapped her hand over her lips. She had no problem finding him sexy—he was so yummy she could eat him with a spoon or lick him from head to toe like a delicious ice cream treat. But would he be able to bed her after the size zeroes and minus-twos he’d been dating?

  “Not what?” He queried, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently to her feet. “Sexually compatible?”

  “I mean I’m totally different to—”

  His head swooped downwards and his lips captured hers fiercely.

  Weakly she clung to him, glad that she’d at least gotten out of bed earlier to brush her teeth, shower and change into a fresh nightgown. His tongue stroked hers and ignited a heated response between her thighs. Restlessly she moved her hips against his, seeking a scratching pole for the sudden, maddening itch between her legs. Thankfully she found a bulge and ground herself against it feverishly, wishing that she could ease the ache inside her in the same way. The bulge twitched and rapidly surged into hardness. Zachary expelled a fast hard breath and cupping her bottom, he pressed her against it for a few glorious moments before holding her hips still and fighting to bring himself under control.

  He broke the kiss and stared down at her, looking as aroused as she felt. “I’d say that we’re very compatible, wouldn’t you?”

  Samantha opened her mouth to respond. No sound came out of it and she snapped it shut. It had happened so quickly she wondered if she had been daydreaming again. But no, her breasts felt heavy and tight and her nipples ached and so did between her legs. Oh God, her body was just begging to be filled with Zachary’s stiff length.

  “Give me a week to clear my diary and make the necessary arrangements for the wedding.”

  “A week?” she squeaked, finally finding her voice. “So soon?”

  “We haven’t got much time to make that baby, so the sooner we start the better.”

  Trust him to look at the practicalities and approach the whole idea with level-headed good sense.

  “I just thought that we’d take enough time to…to get used to the idea of—” she stuttered.

  “And get cold feet if we overanalyze it?” Zachary shook his head. “No, let’s just take the plunge.”

  Why was she objecting? It would be like a fairytale come true for her—not that she honestly believed in them. He was the one she feared would have regrets. But being married to him for even one day would be glorious!

  “Okay,” she agreed, trying hard not to show how giddy she felt inside.

  “Have you been tested recently?”

  This is why he’s so successful, she realized. He knew exactly when to ‘stay in the moment’ and when to look ahead and plan the next move.

  “Yes,” she replied. “We had to get tested regularly.”

  The clinic offered treatment to children aged sixteen and under, many who had AIDS or were HIV positive. The medical team had exercised caution, but they had been acutely aware that all it would take was a tiny prick from an infected needle.

  “I’ve always used protection,” Zachary said and Samantha felt her face go warm as she imagined him rolling a condom in place. She shook her head and tried to focus as he continued, “I get tested regularly, too. I’m due for
one in a couple of months, but I’ll have it early to be on the safe side.”

  “I—”

  It was the perfect time to tell him that she only needed the test because of her job, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “It’ll be alright,” he promised, pulling her close and bending to kiss her softly.

  This kiss was different—a little more than a press of his lips against hers—sweet and strangely comforting. Yet, she felt his body surge and his eyes were green fire when he straightened.

  “Why would you think we weren’t compatible?” He rubbed his thumb over her swollen lips before backing away and moving to the door. He turned when he got there and said, “We’ve kissed before, or have you forgotten?”

  “I hadn’t forgotten,”. He smiled and went

  Forgotten? She was more likely to forget her name than the scorching kiss they’d shared on her 18th birthday. It hadn’t proven their compatibility, though. In fact, she’d always thought it had proven the exact opposite!

  ***

  “Happy birthday, Sam,” he’d kissed her cheek and handed her a slim rectangular box.

  She’d opened it and gasped at the delicate necklace with a small multi-faceted, heart-shaped gemstone.

  “Oh Zac, it’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He’d smiled as he lifted it carefully from its velvet nest. “It’s orange topaz which is your November birthstone and signifies friendship. Let me put it on you.”

  She’d stood patiently as he’d fastened the simple clasp and then come around to admire the effect. His eyes had lingered on the pendant nestled in her ample cleavage and when he’d raised his eyes to hers, she’d shivered in awareness at the look in them.

  “Let’s go.” His voice had been husky as he’d grasped her hand and led the way to his slightly-battered but reliable second-hand, black 1998 VW Golf GTI.

  He had reverted to his usual teasing ‘older’ brother persona by the time they’d reached the Indian restaurant.

  She’d enjoyed the meal and her first two legal glasses of wine—a little too much she’d thought later.

  “Goodnight, Zachary.” She’d smiled across at him in the darkened interior of the car after he’d parked in front of her father’s house and turned the engine off. “Thanks again for my necklace.”

  She’d leaned across to kiss his cheek at the same moment he’d leaned across to kiss hers. Their lips had collided and she’d drawn back in embarrassment.

  They had stared at each other wordlessly for what had felt at the time like eons, but must have been only seconds. Then he’d leaned forward and covered her lips with his as he’d wrapped his arms around her.

  When his lips had finally left hers to trail the column of her throat and then lower to the shadowed valley between her breasts, she’d weaved her fingers through his thick hair. He’d rained soft kisses on the upper slopes of her breasts but seemed determined not to take things too far.

  Her nipples had been stiff, aching for his touch. Shrugging the strap of her dress off her shoulder, she’d exposed her right breast and guided his lips to the erect nipple.

  “Sam…,” he’d groaned helplessly before cupping her breast and gently encircled the bud with his tongue.

  She’d gasped as an arrow of sensation shot straight to her core at the first flick of his tongue, then moaned softly and pressed his mouth more firmly against her. He’d drawn the hard peak into his mouth and suckled her.

  Her hand left his hair and swept over the taut muscles of his chest, teasing the small hard points of his nipples through his shirt before moving downwards over his stomach. His hand had tightened on her breast and his lips had tugged more urgently on her aroused nipple as she ran her hand over the unmistakable bulge of his erection. Impatiently she’d reached for the buckle of his belt, wanting to free it…wanting to hold it in her hands. Her fingers had slipped on the supple leather and flown upwards and hit the horn. The sound had startled both of them and they’d sprung guiltily apart.

  Zachary had lowered his head onto the steering wheel, his chest expanding and contracting as he took audible, ragged breaths to bring himself under control.

  She’d hastily pulled the material back in place over her breast and wriggled the strap up over her shoulder.

  They sat in the darkened car for several minutes before he finally raised his head and looked at her.

  The regret in his eyes had almost stopped her heart. “Sam, I have a girlfriend. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No harm done. It was only a kiss!” she’d said breezily and rushed from the car without allowing him to accompany her to the door.

  Three days later he’d brought his girlfriend Melanie to Samantha’s birthday party. She had forced herself to smile and look happy that night and had thought she’d done a great job of convincing everyone, including herself, until she’d seen photographs taken that night.

  Melanie had been the prototype of the slim, coolly blonde women he seemed to be attracted to. The only comfort Samantha, with her fiery red hair and fuller figure, had drawn over the years was that unlike the women who came into and went from his life, she was a constant.

  He was an international playboy who the tabloids predicted would never settle down.

  He was about to prove them wrong—even if it was only for three years, or less if he proved to be every bit as virile as he looked.

  ***

  Chapter Three

  “Fiona, I need your help!” Samantha pleaded into the phone minutes after Zachary had offered her the unexpected solution to her problem. “I’m getting married next week and I don’t know where to start!”

  “Take a deep breath, girlfriend,” Fiona Fuller commanded. “Now tell me how Daniel managed to finally wear you down. Are you pregnant?”

  “No!” Samantha denied. If only she was! “I’m marrying Zachary, not Daniel.”

  Fiona’s response turned the air blue and Samantha’s ears scarlet.

  “Fiona! I won’t invite you to my wedding if you’re going to curse like a sailor and embarrass my guests!”

  “You won’t dare!” Fiona laughed. “We need to discuss this over a bottle of wine, or several. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m staying the night.”

  Fiona hung up without saying goodbye. Samantha could imagine her best friend grabbing one of her flamboyant coats, jumping into her yellow Porsche and speeding over.

  They’d met during their first year at university. They had exchanged smiles across lecture halls in the first days, but hadn’t made an effort to introduce themselves to each other. Then during a particularly sleep-inducing lecture Samantha had noticed Fiona busily sketching away on a blank page of her legal pad. She’d gone over and found a drawing of the most exquisite evening dress. Fiona had confessed she was studying medicine to please her parents who were both doctors, but her real passion was fashion design, especially lingerie. Samantha was no expert but when she’d later seen Fiona’s portfolio, she’d recognized the woman’s creative genius. She was unsurprised when Fiona had switched to Fashion Design after completing the first year of her medical degree. Even though their careers had diverged, the friendship started that day had strengthened and grown.

  The doorbell rang again as Samantha raced to answer it—Fiona would never win an award for patience.

  “Get glasses!” Fiona brandished a bottle of wine being kept chilled in a cooler bag. “And tell Auntie Fiona everything, my dear!”

  “There really isn’t much to tell—he asked me and I said yes,” Samantha replied, having dutifully fetched two wine glasses.

  Zachary had insisted that the reason for their marriage be kept between them and although Fiona was quite trustworthy, Samantha felt the need to respect his wishes.

  “Spoilsport!” Fiona complained, giving Samantha a fierce scowl as she opened the wine. “Surely he kissed you? Took you into his arms and looked deep into your eyes?”

  “We kissed but there was none of that looking-deep-into
-my-eyes business.”

  “But why now?”

  “He doesn’t want me to go back to Rwanda.” That much was true.

  “Hell, I would have married you myself if I’d known that was what it would take for you to stay in the UK!” Fiona finished pouring wine into the second glass and then placed her hands on her rounded hips, looking highly indignant that she’d only just been given this vital piece of information.

  Samantha collapsed laughing onto an armchair.

  Fiona smiled as she picked up the glasses, handed one to Samantha and offered a toast, “Here’s to the sexy billionaire and his voluptuous babe!”

  “He’s not a billionaire!” Samantha protested. Forbes Magazine had hinted that Zachary was worth in excess of a billion dollars but he’d dismissed the article saying that some of their facts were inaccurate. Samantha shied away from the knowledge that his net worth was far higher than she estimated—as a friend she worried having that kind of money would change him. He’d made no mention of a pre-nuptial agreement, but she wouldn’t object to signing one if he asked. He was doing her a huge favour, after all.

  “Do billionaires make love themselves?” Fiona mused. “Or do they have people to care of that for them too?”

  “Fiona, which planet are you from?” Samantha spluttered on a sip of wine. “Multi-millionaire or billionaire, I think that’s one thing Zac will do himself!”

  “But you can see that it would make sense, don’t you?” Fiona persisted. “A man who’s busy jetting all over the world should see the value in having a stand-in when he wasn’t around.”

  “Zachary would never share a woman.” That much Samantha knew with certainty.

  “No, he wouldn’t share you. He loves you too much.”

  “He loves me as a friend but he’s not in love with me,” Samantha corrected.

  “You don’t see the way he looks at you.”

  “He looks at Zoë the same way.” It had been slightly deflating to realize that Zachary’s ‘special’ look was not reserved only for her—Samantha had seen a similar softening of his eyes when he joked around with his sister and played with her kids. The previous Christmas she’d recorded a ten-minute video on her iPhone of Zachary rolling around his sister’s living room with his four- and three-year old nieces. She had since watched it more times than she would admit to anyone even herself.