The Bachelors

by E. S. Carter

  “The catch?” she questioned, knowing there always was one.

  “It will cost you more than ten million.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eliza didn’t want to involve Pemberley in this mess, but she needed the unwavering support she knew her friend would provide. It was different to her relationship with Jane because her sister always saw her as strong, whereas Pembs had seen her break and not judged her for it.

  Observing the two women together, you’d think that they were best friends since the womb—sisters, yet not by blood—but you’d be wrong. Despite the strength of their current relationship, Pemberley and Eliza initially hated each other on sight.

  They met at the age of thirteen at the exclusive Dennybridge Boarding School For Girls. Eliza was battling through the grief of losing her mother, and she did this by ignoring her pain and focusing intently on the goal of becoming her father. Every move she made, every word she uttered, and every part of her existence revolved around pleasing him, imitating him, and being the best of the best just like him.

  Pemberley was the complete opposite.

  She despised her wealthy parents and their much-lauded roots in the landed gentry. She hated their expectations of her—behave like a lady, marry a blue-blood, and spit out at least one male heir. Pemberley lived by her own rules, even then, and Dennybridge—the home of high-born women for over a century—hadn’t fully experienced the word wild until Miss Gardiner became one of their esteemed boarders.

  Eliza thought her brash and uncouth. She wanted nothing to do with the girl who pierced her nose with a safety pin in their shared dormitory and got blood everywhere, including Eliza’s bed. The same girl who tore strategic holes in her tights to seduce the eyes of the male tutors, and the girl who taunted Eliza with slurs of cold, frigid and an ice princess. But somehow along the way, Eliza opened her eyes and saw that this nihilistic, wayward and rebellious girl was the most intelligent, forthright, and loyal person she’d ever met.

  They’d been firm friends ever since. Not time, nor distance or fame could shake the foundations of their friendship. Eliza knew she could rely on Pemberley and she, in turn, knew Eliza would move mountains for her if it were ever needed.

  Despite all this, Eliza didn’t want Lydia’s rushed wedding drama to have an adverse effect on her best friend. You see, Pemberley—for all her anarchic ways—had only every sought love. Hollywood made her a star and Pemberley welcomed the adoration with open arms, including the love of a man who promised her his heart for eternity.

  What Collins Forster gave her instead was infidelity. He hadn’t wanted Pemberley. He’d wanted her youth and beauty on his arm to quell the rumours about his sexuality. He’d wanted her as his beard—a bright star to stand beside while hiding his true self in her blinding rays.

  Pemberley had been smitten with the older and enigmatic Collins, and despite her wild child appearance, she was naïve in the ways of the outside world. The first time she caught him six-inches deep in another man she bought his excuse of it being an ‘experimental phase’. By the seventh or eighth incident, she’d contacted her lawyers, only to find out that the studio had written their marriage into her binding and unbreakable contract. You see, Collins Forster was their biggest action star. They couldn’t afford his thirst for cock to become public, and at the time Pemberley couldn’t afford to take on the Hollywood machine.

  Now she’d eclipsed her husband’s salary and influence, but she remained married to him because she could, because Collins Forster had fallen in love with a lowly farmhand he’d met on location, and he’d wanted a divorce. Pemberley decided she could happily and easily oblige him, but turnabout was fair play, and she wasn’t a woman who could forgive and forget—she was one who would burn down your house and light her cigarette on the flames.

  Even knowing all this about her best friend, Eliza knew Pemberley still craved love. She hated that Lydia’s games had forced her to come to her and disclose that her sister was about to disrespect what Pemberley had once considered the sacred vows of marriage. Former wild child or not, Pemberley’s broken heart still ruled her head, and Eliza knew this news would hurt her. She also knew that Pembs would hide that hurt and support Eliza no matter what.

  Eliza was aware of Jane’s eyes on her, and she knew Darcy’s were too, but chose to look at her sister over that infuriating man.

  “You’re staring at me. Just say what you want to say.”

  Jane blinked and looked over at the Austen brothers before returning her gaze to her sister. Eliza knew Jane was choosing her words carefully and allowed her the time to compose her thoughts.

  “Why are we going to Pembs’ place first rather than the chapel? If we leave now, we might get there in time to talk some sense into Lydia.”

  “There is no talking sense into Lydia, you know that. It’s more than likely the deed has already been done.” Eliza wearily began to explain her decision not to chase their younger sister yet, before leaning forward to rest her hand on Jane’s knee. “You need to rest, and so does everyone else. I’d rather let Lydia think she’s got away with it and catch her unawares. Then we can deal with the fallout. The company’s lawyers assure me that we can get the marriage annulled. It’s easier to let her continue with this folly for another day.”

  Eliza sighed, and with a move she’d never make in public in case it made her look weak, she rubbed her tired eyes with the heels of her hands, smudging her day-old make-up and turning her red-rimmed eyes hazy.

  “But what if they leave Vegas?” Darcy questioned, making no pretence about the fact that he was listening to their conversation.

  Eliza turned her eyes on his and didn’t bother to hide her weariness. His dark brown stare softened, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to sit up and sweep her into his arms to give her comfort.

  “They won’t,” Eliza offered simply. “Raul is under strict instructions to delay any request to leave The Mansion and inform me immediately. That should buy us more than enough time to apprehend them and sort this mess out once and for all.”

  “So we’re just going to let them get married?” Bing asked in confusion, his face even more handsome now that he’d swapped out his contacts for his glasses. Some men could pull off spectacles, and Bing Austen was one of them. Eliza could see exactly why Jane was so enamoured, although she still wasn’t quite ready to admit it was the eldest Austen brother that got her hot in more ways than one. No, Eliza was nowhere near admitting that, even to herself.

  She sank back into the supple leather seat of the town car and closed her eyes, never offering Bing a reply to his question. The board was going to have a shit-fit if she didn’t get a handle on this, but that wasn’t what had her closing her eyes, nor was it her tiredness. It was the stare of the dark-haired man opposite her who hadn’t hidden his gaze or tempered his perusal of her, and Eliza didn’t like it. No, she didn’t like it, but she was starting to crave it.

  Bing was enraptured with Jane Bennet yet even he still noticed the weird change in the air between her sister and his eldest brother.

  Darcy avidly watched Eliza, drinking in her every move, but it was more than that, more than an attraction. Darcy challenged her constantly. Confrontation wasn’t unusual for Darcy, it was part of his nature, but only with those he felt worthy. He never ever wasted his time butting heads with anyone he didn’t believe an admirable opponent. Which meant only one thing—Darcy was interested in Eliza Bennet.

  What were the chances of that?

  What Bing couldn’t ascertain was if the head of TBG returned his interest. Eliza Bennet was a difficult woman to read.

  Bing’s eyes found Jane’s sleepy ones, and he held back a sigh, because his Bennet sister was beautifully transparent, with no mixed signals or underhand motives. He saw in her not only his future but his dreams—ones he’d never even imagined before last night.

  Jane smiled, and it was as if she was so entwined with him that she knew what he was thinking.


  He watched as Eliza’s head found her sister’s shoulder and Jane waited for her to settle against her before resting her cheek on top of her hair, both giving and taking comfort from each other in the way that only close siblings could. Then next thing he knew, his eyes were jolted open as the car door unlocked and the dry Vegas heat poured into the air-conditioned space.

  Bing must have fallen asleep on the less than ten-minute journey to wherever the hell they were going, but it felt like a power-nap, and he came awake as if he’d slept for days.

  “We’re here,” Jane spoke softly at his side, and he noticed that both Darcy and Eliza were already outside and standing in the harsh sunshine.

  A part of Bing wanted to shut the doors and demand that the driver take them far away from this mess, but a bigger part of him wanted to stand beside the woman who had enraptured him, and help her through it all, so that when it was over, it could finally be them. Just them.

  He took the opportunity to steal a sweet kiss, his lips lingering against hers only briefly but long enough to confirm everything he felt the first time his mouth took hers—that he was hers and she was his. A fact he may once have assumed cliché now felt more real than anything else in his life.

  Bing climbed out of the back of the town car and stood before a four-tower high-rise that couldn’t be more than a block away from the Las Vegas strip. Turnberry Place was an upscale condo development that allowed residents to have all the amenities afforded to them in a luxury hotel but with more privacy.

  “Pemberley lives here?” he asked Jane while craning his neck to see the tops of the towers.

  “Not full-time. She has properties almost everywhere, and her main base is in L.A., but the penthouse here is for any Vegas obligations. I’m sure Lize said she’s only in town for a few days for some promotional tour linked to her upcoming film.”

  Bing returned his focus to Jane and their eyes met. With a fond smile for her sister’s best friend she continued, “Pembs hates staying in hotels. She said boarding school scarred her for life and she doesn’t like sharing her space with ‘the unwashed masses’, her words not mine.”

  Bing shook his head and muttered, “But aren’t we the unwashed masses?”

  Jane gasped almost theatrically and Bing took in the affronted look on her face and rushed out quickly, “Gosh, not you. I meant Darcy and me. Miss Gardiner doesn’t know us, and I feel bad for imposing.”

  Eliza stepped up beside them with Darcy hot on her heels, and spoke to Bing with a straight face that even he could see hid a smile.

  “Pembs won’t mind your unwashed mass.” She looked over her shoulder at Darcy before turning back and adding, “I’m not sure I can say the same for your brother.”

  “I heard that.”

  Bing and Jane made eye contact with each other and covered their smiles. They both saw the subtle change between their siblings from a brittle and harsh sting to a more teasing tone, and in sharing this knowledge Bing felt another layer add to the connection between them. It was more than being on the same wavelength; it was the ability to communicate beyond words. One look from Jane and he knew what she was thinking, and he guessed it was the same for her.

  “You were meant to hear that,” Eliza taunted, assuming a bored tone but her eyes said otherwise. She was enjoying this back-and-forth between them. “Now try to be on your best behaviour. Pembs isn’t beyond kicking those she finds annoying to the kerb.”

  “I’m house trained,” Darcy replied with a smirk behind Eliza’s back. “I’ll even let her pet me if she so desires.”

  Bing watched Eliza’s eyes erupt from ice to fire.

  “You may be house trained, but I don’t doubt you probably have fleas.”

  Darcy’s smile widened at the insult and both brothers watched as Eliza took Jane’s hand and guided her into the building leaving Bing and Darcy to follow.

  “You seem to enjoy riling Miss Bennet,” Bing observed quietly to Darcy as they trailed behind the sisters into the impressive foyer of Pemberley’s building. The concierge was apparently expecting them and waved Eliza straight through to the bank of elevators. It was as the eldest Bennet pressed the button for the penthouse suite, that Darcy chose to reply to Bing’s words, but not in the same quiet tone that his brother had used. No, Darcy wasn’t trying to conceal his reply.

  “I find there are many, many things to enjoy about her.”

  He didn’t need to elucidate, everyone in this fancy glass and metal cage knew to whom he was referring.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lydia had chosen to marry in skin-tight jeans, a fitted husband style white shirt complete with a black lace bra underneath, and two-toned Merci Allen, sky-high patent Louboutin heels. Over-sized Bvlgari sunglasses completed her ensemble. She didn’t look like a woman about to pledge her life to someone else. She looked like a Hollywood starlet on her way to meet a friend for an expensive coffee.

  Wick still wore his poorly fitted, rented suit. Lydia could’ve arranged something else for him to wear, but she liked the image of the rich spoiled bitch marrying her commoner. Shame there wasn’t going to be anyone there to document the spectacle. Well, except the officiant of course.

  Sat in the back of a corny and clichéd pink Cadillac, with Wick at her side, and the driver from The Mansion like a giant behind the wheel, the lovebirds—yes, that was what the woman welcoming them to the Little White Chapel’s Tunnel of Love called them—couldn’t look less in love if they tried.

  Wick had attempted to hold her hand, but she’d rebuffed him. He tried to pull her into his side, but she’d pushed him away.

  Was Lydia finally having pre-wedding nerves? No, she just couldn’t go through with this and touch him. It felt too intimate, even though he’d had his head between her thighs on at least three occasions in the last twenty-four hours.

  Sex was different. Lydia knew that sex didn’t mean intimacy, but holding a man’s hand while marrying him was.

  The Cadillac inched its way beneath the ostentatious roof of the drive-through wedding canopy, and a gaggle of cherubs laughed down at them from a navy night’s sky. The words ‘I can’t live without you’ in white script beckoned them further into the tunnel until they slowly pulled up alongside the drive-thru wedding window. Once stationary, a man in a dark grey suit and tie greeted them from behind the small service window with a beaming smile on his face.

  “Welcome to The Tunnel of Love,” he exclaimed. “Do you have your licence please?”

  Lydia pushed herself up until she was sitting on top of the back seat with her heeled shoes dimpling the pristine leather of the Cadillac’s upholstery. Wick followed her lead and his long, lean body pressed alongside her. Lydia held back her flinch at the contact, and handed the wedding officiant their hot off the press license with a steady hand. The broad, fake smile she plastered on her face made her cheeks hurt and her throat dry.

  “We don’t want a drawn-out ceremony,” she informed the man, toning down her smile somewhat before glancing coyly at Wick by her side and fluttering her long lashes even though her sunglasses hid them from view.

  “We’ll triple your fee if you make this happen as quickly as possible. You see, my husband is a ravenous man and we’d like to get on with the consummation part of the day.”

  She finished her offer by saucily lowering her glasses to the end of her nose and winking at the officiant whose face brightened significantly.

  “I can have you out of here in less than twenty minutes.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” Lydia all but purred before handing over an envelope full of cash.

  Sure enough, approximately sixteen minutes later, Lydia and Wick were declared Mr and Mrs Austen. The groom went for a chaste kiss, but the bride decided something far more debauched was required.

  Lydia pushed Wick until he slid down the back of the seat and landed inside the car, before straddling his lap, and kissing him as if they were naked—complete with a few exaggerated grinds of her hips.

&n
bsp; The Cadillac pulled away from The Tunnel of Love to the sound of the officiant’s voice calling, “Enjoy your honeymoon”, and the driver overstatedly clearing his throat as a warning that they were in an open top car in plain view of everyone on the street.

  Lydia didn’t care though, and she continued eating at Wick’s face until they returned the Cadillac for the Rolls Royce. Even after swapping vehicles she was insatiable, and climbed straight out of one car into the other, dragging Wick behind her before continuing to feast on her new husband’s mouth as he sprawled on his back across the seat.

  She finally allowed him up for air as the car came to a rumbling stop outside the villa.

  “Inside, hot tub, five minutes,” she breathed against Wick’s red and kiss-swollen lips, before gracefully climbing from his lap and stepping out of the car. Lydia seemed completely unaffected by their thirty-minute snog-fest, while Wick struggled to hide the evidence of his arousal underneath his fitted suit trousers, and was panting like an unfit man running a marathon.

  “Don’t keep me waiting,” Lydia called out over her shoulder to Wick as her curves disappeared through the open villa door.

  Wick pushed down on his cock and begged it to calm down, catching the eye of the driver as he rearranged his wayward package.

  “Uh, she’s a little… enthusiastic.”

  The driver only raised an eyebrow in response.

  “For life, I mean,” Wick stuttered. “Well, uh… Thanks for the…uh… Yes, thanks then.” He climbed out of the convertible with far less grace than Lydia and cursed his rigid member all the way to the front door.

  Only seconds later he went from damning his throbbing erection to praising his eager and ready cock at the sight of a naked Lydia walking through the villa towards the private decking.

  “Okay, boy, it’s time to come out and play,” Wick whispered as he unzipped his trousers before muttering, “She’s driving me crazy. She’s got me talking to my penis, for God’s sake.”