The Billionaire's Holiday Bride

by Nadia Lee

  She watched him closely. “Were you waiting for me to divorce you?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You agreed to it,” she said simply. “After some token resistance.”

  “No. I just realized I was being a silly child with a piece of candy he couldn’t have but didn’t want to throw away either.” And I realized you would never bend for me, just as I would never bend for you.

  And then he had to run into Stella Lloyd, Barron Sterling’s lady friend. She’d been in town to visit Gavin, and Salazar had been stunned as they exchanged a few empty pleasantries.

  She had wrinkles. More precisely, when she smiled, lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes. When she stopped smiling they remained, although fainter. Ceinlys didn’t have any lines on her face, and the next time he’d run into her at the attorney’s office, he’d realized she hadn’t laughed much in her life.

  “You should’ve said something. About the women.”

  Her throat worked, and she looked down at her hand. “Why?”

  “Then maybe things would’ve been different.”

  “Yes. They would have been humiliating.”

  “But it might’ve given me the confirmation I needed.”

  His test…because he’d wanted to be absolutely certain that the only thing Ceinlys cared about was his money before he did anything drastic.

  He came home late, another woman’s perfume on him. Anger and alcohol simmered in his veins, and he wanted Ceinlys to smell the fragrance. He didn’t even remember the woman’s name, but she’d been eager to rub herself all over him, thinking she would be able to snag him. Stupid. Compared to his wife, she was vinegar trying to pass herself off as vintage wine.

  Ceinlys was already in bed. She cracked open bleary eyes, and a small frown passed over her face. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.

  His body stirred. How could a woman be this addictive and beautiful? Even knowing she was only after his money, he wanted her with an intensity that left him weak. And he hated himself for it.

  “Late,” he said curtly.

  He felt her gaze on him, but he couldn’t see her face in the shadows.

  He leaned forward to make sure she could smell the other woman’s fragrance. Be angry. Claw my eyes out. Curse at me.

  He waited, his entire body tense. Please…care.

  She did none of those things. Instead she nodded once. “Then you should change and get some sleep,” she said before burrowing back into the covers and closing her eyes.

  Bitterness pumped through his body, and he clenched his hands until his nails dug painfully into his palms. Not a hint of jealousy in her tone. She couldn’t even pretend to care. What more proof did he need?

  His mother had been right from the beginning. He’d been a fool to marry her. Ceinlys had never wanted him.

  He should let her go…but somehow he couldn’t. He wanted to rail at her, but his pride stopped him. What could he possibly say? “Why aren’t you mad that I reek of another woman?” was so pathetic, he might as well get on his knees and beg her to love him the way he loved her.

  Salazar Pryce did not beg.

  Ceinlys wiped her fingers on the napkin and got up. “Thank you for lunch, Salazar. It’s time I go, though.” She took her purse and walked past, hips and shoulders moving in elegant counterpoint, her signature Chanel No. 5 wafting over him. The scent was different when it was on her skin—he knew because he’d sniffed it both in the bottle and on other women. Some sort of alchemy happened; on her it was warm, fuller…more feminine.

  Suddenly, she stopped. “I’m going to continue the work on the grove even if Iain and Jane won’t be marrying there.”

  “You won’t be able to get inside without my permission.”

  “Are you going to get me arrested for trespassing?”

  If I can jail you under my roof, I might.

  At the same time, he was beginning to understand that a lot of their perceptions and assumptions had been wrong…or, if not wrong, not exactly right. He studied his ex-wife. He didn’t know why he was so obsessed with her, unable to let her go even though being around her hurt, pricked his pride until he wanted to roar with frustration.

  It was unlike him to give so much of a damn.

  But he could use her need to restore the grove. “The grove is the family’s. It wouldn’t be right for you to have free rein over it.”

  “I know what needs to be done.”

  “For all I know, you might be feeling spiteful and planning to ruin the place. Besides, it’s not like you’ll ever see it again once you leave L.A. I need some assurance.”

  “What do you want?”

  He pretended to take a moment to consider. “Working lunches.”

  “Working lunches.”

  “I want to see what you’re doing and what kind of progress you’re making.”

  “You can’t be serious. I can have my general contractor email you instead.”

  “But he answers to you. And you know how much I hate talking to underlings with no power.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Fine. I’ll make sure to have the staff block your crew, and call the police. I wonder how your general contractor and his men will react when they receive a cease and desist letter from Rosenbaum, McCracken, Wagner and Associates.”

  Ceinlys’s slim hand tightened around the purse strap until the knuckles were bloodless. “I’d forgotten what a petty bully you can be.”

  He raised his glass. “You bring out the worst in me, love.”

  Her lip curled into something between a sneer and a grimace—a sight he’d never seen before. Then she smoothed her expression, turned around and left without giving him an answer.

  He polished off the rest of his sandwich, marveling at its taste.

  * * *

  You bring out the worst in me.

  As if Ceinlys didn’t know that. Still, it hurt.

  Straightening her shoulders, she walked back into her condo and took a seat by the window that overlooked the city. She stared up at the bright blue sky. She would miss the gorgeous southern California sky and the temperate weather in L.A. Of course, Provence wasn’t exactly ugly.

  Maybe she should just let the grove be. Why should she care? It wasn’t as though she’d be around to visit, and if she were, Salazar would undoubtedly bar her from the place just to be obstreperous.

  She should’ve never married him back then, no matter how desperate her yearning. Hadn’t she known they were too different to be compatible? She should’ve held firm and just had an affair while looking for a man who was more compatible. Then she might’ve brought out the best in her husband.

  Yet the idea of leaving the grove as it was…

  She at least wanted to re-plant the Osiria roses. They were rare and difficult to cultivate, but the effort was worth it. The blossoms had a heady, sensual scent, and the dual-colored flowers never failed to take her breath away.

  “Anything worth having is difficult to get,” Salazar had said as he showed her the roses for the first time. “I’m not letting anything get in the way of us being together, Ceinlys.”

  And she’d believed they would live a fairytale life. How wrong she had been.

  You don’t have to make a decision immediately. Salazar’s expecting an answer ASAP, so let him stew.

  Even as she told herself that, she already knew how she’d decide. However, she’d delay telling him…just because.

  Although she’d lost her temper and composure at the mansion, no lightning bolt had struck her down. And she’d realized something—all the decorum and expectations had existed only because she’d become a Pryce by marriage. Now she was back to being a Glazier, and didn’t have to please anyone except herself.

  Maybe that was why she’d let loose earlier and not felt like she’d failed. She no longer had the image of Shirley’s disapproving countenance plaguing her.

  Pulling her mind away from old memories, Ceinl
ys checked her email and texts. None of the photographers she’d contacted said they could take the work. Most were apologetic, but didn’t plan to work around the holidays.

  She could theoretically get somebody less experienced and less competent—and therefore hungrier and more desperate—but she’d seen how bad photographers could butcher special occasions. She would have to look into other options.

  Such as…Ginger.

  She hated to ask Shane’s fiancée for help, but there wasn’t much choice. Twenty thousand really left zero cushion and no flexibility. If money weren’t an issue, she could’ve offered to double or triple their rate, but that wasn’t going to happen, and she wouldn’t be the one to trample all over Jane’s family’s pride, not the way Shirley had done.

  Exhaling, Ceinlys dialed Ginger’s number.

  “Hello, Ceinlys,” came a soft voice.

  “Ginger. Is this a good time to talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m certain you’ve heard about Iain and Jane’s upcoming nuptials.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know a good photographer who might want the work? I don’t mind if they don’t have an extensive portfolio, but they do need to be good.”

  “I can put out some feelers and see. Having trouble finding one?”

  “Unfortunately. And I’m afraid to hire just…anyone. You understand.”

  “Of course. I’ve seen some really botched photo shoots.”

  “Precisely.”

  Ginger cleared her throat delicately. “Have you, um, thought about having Iain pay the photographer’s fee?”

  “That isn’t what Jane’s father would like.”

  “Gotcha. All right. Let me see what I can find.”

  “Thank you, Ginger.”

  The younger woman paused, the silence pregnant with shock. Finally she said, “You’re welcome, Ceinlys.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shane shook his head as Ginger bounced around the penthouse like a pinball. She reminded him of an old Energizer Bunny, only with less sense of direction.

  “Chill. It’s fine. The housekeeper cleaned everything yesterday.”

  “I know, but I sort of feel worried anyway.”

  He sighed. The place was immaculate, but every time they had people over, she fretted that she might’ve left something dirty on the counter or behind the couch or under the coffee table or…something.

  “If you want to reform your slovenly ways…” he began.

  “Not possible.”

  He chuckled. Most would never suspect it, but Ginger was a total slob. She called it the price she paid for her work. She mostly did wedding photos, but she also did some artistic shots. Shane didn’t care if people thought him biased, but his opinion was that his fiancée’s clients should be kissing her feet for being such an awesome photographer. Her work was incredible—absolutely stunning—because she saw beyond what was there into what it could be…and brought out the potential.

  Which explained why she had put up with him for so many years. Without her, he would’ve been lost forever.

  When she walked by, frantically checking the baseboards, he pulled her down on his lap. “Stop.” He ran a palm over the smooth expanse of her thighs. Her taut, heart-shaped ass was covered in nude-colored pants, and her breasts were straining against a fitted pink t-shirt. He would’ve loved to call his siblings and cancel the lunch, but Ginger wanted to have the shindig, so he would bear it.

  She’d thought it would be good for them to bond more tightly. Apparently Dane’s forcing her to go to Thailand to fetch him had given her something to ponder, mainly the fact that none of his siblings considered Shane close enough to drag back home.

  Shane knew that no matter how closely he and his siblings bonded, it would never trump what he and Ginger had, but he was willing to let her do whatever she wanted. Besides, she got extra creative in bed when she thought he was doing her a favor. Sort of sweet in a way, since he would’ve done anything just to see her smile.

  “Nobody’s going to care if the place isn’t perfect. You think Iain’s place is immaculate? There were pie crumbs all over his kitchen last time we visited.”

  “That’s different.”

  “No, it’s not.” He kissed her on the neck. “And Dane’s a total pig, too.”

  She gave him a look. “He is not.”

  He paused for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s totally anal.” That bastard was too cold and exacting to leave his place messy. “But Mark is. And so is Vanessa.”

  “Mark I believe…but Vanessa? No way.”

  “Oh, it’s true. She just never has time to dirty her place. Too many billable hours.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes, but only in a token protest, as he licked the sweet skin on her neck. She was so sensitive there. Delicious shivers ran through her, and he groaned against her as his cock grew hard.

  “Get a room. Or at least put a disclaimer on your invitation if you’re going to be putting on a porno show.”

  Ginger started at Dane’s cold voice, and Shane scowled at his oldest brother. “Once a jerk, always a jerk.”

  “But not socially inappropriate.”

  “I can just see it. Here lies Dane Pryce, who was Never Inappropriate.”

  “Gentlemen,” came Sophia’s soft voice.

  Instantly Dane hugged her. “Sorry about my brother.” She jabbed him in the side, and he grinned back at her.

  Seriously? Shane found himself staring. If somebody had told him that Dane would smile that goofy “I’m so whupped for you” smile at a woman, he would’ve told them they’d have more luck praying for a blizzard in L.A. As far as he knew, the only person Dane had ever loved had been their grandmother, Shirley Pryce.

  Within minutes, the rest of the gang arrived—Mark and Hilary, then Iain and his fiancée Jane, and finally Justin and Vanessa plus Ryan. And because Jane was completely awesome, she brought three different pies—apple, pecan and key lime.

  “I have no idea how you keep eating like this and still stay so trim,” Vanessa said, eyeing the pies with extra avariciousness.

  “You’re one to talk, Ms. I Got My Pre-Pregnancy Body Back in Two Months,” Jane said as she put them on the kitchen counter.

  “It’s called the No Sleep Diet. Try it for a few weeks. Nothing will kill your appetite faster than sleep deprivation because every free second you get, you just want to roll over and zonk out.” But from the way she gazed at Ryan, she would do it all over again.

  Mark patted his belly. “So what’s for lunch?”

  “Quesadillas and some crab dip,” Ginger said. “Not as good as Jane’s, but I think they’ll do.”

  “I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Jane said.

  “No kidding. The only one who can’t cook here is Mark. And Dane,” Iain said.

  “I can’t cook that well. And you forgot to include yourself on the list,” Vanessa put in.

  “I’m an excellent eater, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Justin laughed. “Does that really work?”

  “Yes, especially when I praise the food profusely and load the dishwasher afterwards.”

  Everyone laughed. Even Dane seemed like he might smile. While the women went to the kitchen to help set up lunch, the men stayed in the living room to watch Ryan.

  “Interesting color shirt you have there,” Dane said, as Justin let his baby grab his finger and examine it with rapt attention. The boy was only a few months old, but he seemed to understand what was going on around him.

  “Yeah, pea-green…not really your shade,” Iain remarked.

  Justin nodded tiredly. “It doesn’t show baby puke…much.”

  “Is that how you shop after you have a kid?” Shane pretended to pick up a shirt. “Honey, does this make me look less like vomit?”

  Mark chortled.

  “Wait till Hilary gets pregnant, asshole,” Justin said good-naturedly.

  “Language!” Vanessa called out from the dining room as she laid out si
lverware, and Jane put down three huge platters piled with quesadillas.

  “He can’t understand what I’m saying.”

  “He’s brilliant and understands everything. He just can’t tell you that yet.”

  “Gavin’s going to have to be institutionalized when Hilary takes maternity leave,” Iain said. “Poor guy.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Hilary said as she placed dip and salsa on the table. Then the statuesque redhead slipped her hand into Mark’s. The bright green dress hugged her curves just right. “Besides, there’s no rush.”

  “There isn’t?” Justin said.

  “Looking at you guys, I think it’s better if we wait. I want her all to myself for a while,” Mark said.

  “Aim for twins if you plan to have two anyway.” Vanessa returned from the dining room. “It’s easier. Less trauma to the body.”

  “My sister, the efficiency expert,” Shane said. “And how do you ‘aim for’ twins, anyway? Pull out once, then st—”

  “Lunch is served,” Ginger said firmly.

  Everyone gathered around the table. Despite her worries, the food was fine. After all, she’d learned from her mother, and Shane knew his future mother-in-law cooked like dream.

  “By the way, Ceinlys called today,” Ginger said.

  Everyone except Dane leaned forward. “About…?”

  “I think she’s having a hard time getting a photographer for the wedding.”

  Jane made a face. “It’s probably the short notice. We gave her next to no time to plan anything.” Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her to help. She’s taking on a lot more than I expected. But I honestly have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “For the right price, a photographer can be had,” Dane said.

  She sipped her sangria. “That’s probably true, but since my dad’s paying for it, I don’t think there is a right price in this case.”

  Dane cocked an eyebrow at Iain. Even Shane had to agree with the Artic One this time. Weddings were expensive, and it didn’t sound like Jane’s family had won the lottery or anything since she’d gotten engaged.

  “Mom agreed,” Iain said, his tone flat.

  Shane felt his entire face slacken. “Huh?” He couldn’t have heard that right.