Married to the Secret Billionaire

by Wylder, Penny

  This is one place I’ll be safe, I realize. At least for as long as I’m holed up inside.

  And if I was picking places to be stuck holed up, this is certainly not the worst option. In the middle of the living room is a huge fireplace—gas operated, I realize after Ankor taps a remote control and flames spring to life behind the glass front panel.

  There are three couches, all pristine white, but with comfortable looking cushions and cozy throw blankets. Ankor and I take one couch, with his parents opposite from us. His sister takes the last couch to herself, sprawling across it, directly across from the fireplace.

  “So,” Margot says, with a smile that’s only slightly forced around her eyes. “Tell us all about how you two lovebirds met.”

  Underneath the blanket, Ankor weaves his fingers through mine and squeezes my hand in reassurance. But it’s okay. With him beside me, I can handle this.

  I can handle anything.

  So I take a deep breath, smile, and launch into our story.

  11

  Sinclair

  A week of penthouse life, and I’m already realizing that I could get used to this. Between New York offering delivery of just about any food we can possibly imagine, at any hour, day or night, and Ankor’s building offering anything else we could possibly need—from the rooftop pool where I’ve been practicing swimming laps every morning (no deep end on this one either, so I don’t even need to work myself up to it), to the rain shower and full jacuzzi tub a level down where I rinse off (and more often than not immediately get dirty again, when Ankor’s around), all the way to the sumptuously soft bed we sink into together every night. There’s nothing more I could possibly need or ask for.

  Except for maybe some fresh air, and the ability to walk outside on the street without feeling like I need to check over my shoulder every step of the way.

  But with time, I hope that will fade too. Ankor’s been right here with me, reassuring me that my ex will never find this place, or come this far to hunt me. And even if he does, Ankor has enough security personnel to take him out without even needing to lift a finger himself. Not that Ankor wouldn’t relish the chance to lay into my ex himself. He tries to hide it, but I can tell by the way his fists clench and his jaw tightens anytime I seem worried or frightened. He feels protective of me.

  That, too, is starting to help push my fears away. Just like Ankor helped me conquer my fear of the deep end, once upon a time.

  So all in all, New York has been good to me so far. Even if this morning, after a week of relaxing, Ankor has to go into his offices for a while. He promises me he’ll be back as soon as he can, and that he’ll bring something called khao soi with him. I don’t have any idea what it is, but he says if I like Thai food (which I do) and curry (which I definitely do), then I’ll love this.

  Still, I can’t help pulling him back into bed more than once. And he doesn’t seem to mind being a little late. He pins me down against the mattress and kisses me until my head is swimming, before he finally rolls off the bed and toward the door.

  “Tease,” I call after him.

  “Trust me, Sinclair.” He pauses in the entryway to turn around, eyes locked on mine and filled with heat. “Leaving you right now is torturing me far more than you’ll ever know.”

  My belly tightens, the way it always does when he talks like that. My heart skips a beat as he winks, wearing the jaunty grin I can’t help but love. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “See you later. Oh.” He pauses before he’s about to leave, and smirks. “And I’m stopping at a toy shop on the way home.” His eyes glitter with amusement when I blush, realizing he doesn’t mean kids’ toys. “Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like to try.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Hmm… I might have a few ideas.” After all, years of remaining a virgin while my ex forced me to wait for him means I had to get pretty familiar with some personal pleasure items. But I’ve never used toys with a partner before. And some of the ones, well… they’re not really single user only.

  “That’s my good girl.” Ankor winks and blows me one last kiss before he heads off.

  I watch him go, heart in my throat, before I roll out of bed and stretch, then climb up to the roof for my morning swim. The laps help to distract me, at least for a little while. Before long, though, I’ve finished, then showered and toweled off, and then I’m lounging in the huge, empty living room, the fireplace going beside me, all too aware of every single sound in the house. The distant ping and whir of the elevator, several floors below, is enough to make me startle and yelp.

  I need to do something. Something to distract myself.

  Remembering Ankor’s mention of toys, I grab the laptop he gave me. It’s one of his old ones, of which he apparently has an entire stash. He’s one of those people who always has the latest version of every gadget. I start it up and pull up YouTube. I figure I can search for some ideas, and text them to Ankor.

  In my head, I’m already composing naughty, flirty text messages, when I pause on the homepage, staring at the most recent hit. He must not have cleared the old browser history on this computer, because it knew to load up any websites related to him on YouTube. And the first one that catches my eye is titled “Marco Helmtree: Billionaire Bastard.”

  The poster is someone named LilyLoves, who has millions upon millions of followers.

  I shouldn’t. But curiosity gets the better of me. After all, this is up on the internet for anybody to find. I’m sure it’s all BS, but I can’t help clicking anyway.

  Immediately, a pretty young woman with dark hair fills the screen. She’s sitting at the edge of an infinity pool overlooking a beach, which you’d think would make her happy. But she’s scowling at the screen, like whoever is filming this just kicked a puppy in front of her.

  “Lovers, I have some tragic news for you today,” the girl—Lily, I guess? —starts out, still scowling. “As some of you long-time followers probably know, I am—or should I say was—about to celebrate my one year anniversary with my boyfriend, Marco Helmtree. Until this bitch showed up.”

  There’s a cutaway to a photo I recognize all too well.

  Oh no. It can’t be.

  It’s the photo of Ankor and me at the bonfire. The one that blew his cover and forced us both out of hiding from our self-imposed exiles.

  “‘Who the hell is that?’ you ask? Well, I’d like to know that too. Turns out my boyfriend’s new side piece is a tough girl to find. No social media presence, which, can I just say, I do not trust anybody who doesn’t at least have an Instagram?”

  My stomach churns.

  “All I’ve managed to get so far is her name, and only half of it at that. But—” And here, Lily stared directly into the camera, head-on. “Sinclair Whoever You Are. If you’re watching this? I want you to know something. Marco was mine before he ever laid eyes or hands on you. And he’ll be mine again long after he’s tossed you away like all his other cheap flings. As for you, Marco? Come back to where you belong, before I run out of second chances to give you.”

  The video has thousands upon thousands of likes. And a similar number of comments. People all writing to say how beautiful Lily is—and she is, that’s true—or how sorry they are she’s going through this.

  And then worse comments. Comments from people talking about me. Calling me a homewrecker, an ugly skank, a whore. Worse.

  I close the window before I can read anymore. I realize my hands are shaking, and my breath is hitching. What the actual fuck?

  That’s fake. It has to be. I know Ankor. And I know what he’s told me about his exes, too. He never mentioned any of them by name, but I have enough experience with my own to recognize an abusive personality when I see one. Physical or emotional, abusers have a whole arsenal of manipulative tricks, and I’ve seen them all. That girl isn’t his girlfriend. No way am I buying that for a heartbeat.

  But the way she showed my photo, and mentioned my name… And the things her followers were sa
ying in those comments, the suggestions for what I ought to do to myself…

  My eyes sting with unshed tears. Is this what it’s like to be Marco all the time? No wonder he changed his name and moved to an island in the middle of an ocean. I can’t blame him for running from that kind of vitriol.

  A bell sounds. The front door. I wipe the tears from my eyes and take a few more shaky breaths. This can’t be Ankor back already. It’s probably a package for delivery, or maybe he sent roses again. He did that two days ago when he needed to leave for a while to run some errands—I cast a sideways glance at the white bouquet of roses still in full bloom on the kitchen counter.

  Then I pad across to the door panel and tap the voice button. “Hello?”

  There’s a beep and a flash as the panel lights up to show me who’s standing outside. My eyebrows shoot up in recognition.

  “Yeah, hi, is Marco around?” asks Margot.

  “He had to run into the office for a bit,” I reply. “Do you want to come up?”

  There’s a pause. I can see the hesitation on her face over the camera. I wonder if she remembers she’s on video right now. Then she smiles and replies, “Sure.”

  I buzz her in and wait for the doorman to show her up. A few minutes and the whir of the elevator later, she’s stepping into the foyer.

  I greet her with a hug and usher her toward the kitchen. “I was just about to put coffee on if you want some?”

  “That’d be great, thanks.” She deposits a shopping bag on one chair and slumps into another, running her hand through her hair until it all sticks on end. “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been online lately…”

  “I saw the video some girl named Lily posted, if that’s what you’re talking about?” I grimace, pouring us each a cup of the fancy free trade kind Ankor likes.

  Margot groans. “I was hoping to warn you away from it.”

  “Stalker ex?” I guess.

  “Something like that.” Margot twirls a piece of hair around one finger as she sips her coffee. “Lily and Marco dated for a while. Then she started doing things…” Margot grimaces. “It was subtle at first. She’d charge stuff to his cards, then pretend like she thought she told him about it. By the end she had this whole song and dance about how she’d be out on the streets unless he helped her financially…” She shook her head. “Classic Marco. He paid off all her debt, in full, and then changed all his cards and told her it was over. Of course, the minute he walked out, she changed her tune. ‘I love you, I miss you,’ all the usual bullshit.”

  “Trying to lure him back in so she could reestablish control,” I reply, nodding.

  Margot’s gaze darts to mine, sharpening. “Got some experience in that area or something?”

  “Enough.” I scowl, and she seems to take the hint.

  “Anyway, don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to guilt him into either giving her more money or paying her to shut up, one or the other.”

  “I know,” I say.

  Margot blinks at me, as if that’s surprising. “You didn’t wonder if maybe…”

  “Not for a second.” I roll my eyes. “I know An—Marco. He’d never lie to me about something like that.”

  To judge by the little smile at curls around his sister’s lip, I’ve impressed her. She leans back in her chair, relaxing slightly, and takes another long sip of her coffee. “So, Sinclair. You never told me about your past.”

  “Not much to tell.” I shrug. “I had, shall we say, a comparable-to-Lily ex, ran away to the island life, and met your brother. I honestly…” I laugh a little.

  She leans forward. “What? Tell me.”

  “I honestly believed the whole pool boy act,” I say. By now, Ankor has told his family what he spent the few months in Maui doing. None of them believed it until I backed him up. And mentioned that there were about half a dozen old women at the resort still who’d vouch for him.

  Margot laughs. “Was he that good an actor?”

  “He was that good a teacher.” My face flushes. “Without him, I never would have been able to conquer my fears, at least when it comes to the water. But with him there helping me… suddenly the deep end didn’t seem as scary anymore.” I glance around his apartment now. “I feel kind of similarly now,” I admit. “All this…” I gesture vaguely at the splendor. “I’m not used to this kind of life. It feels like the deep end. But being with Marco helps. Around him, I feel like I can be myself. No matter how underdressed I look.”

  Margot laughs. Her gaze drifts over my clothes, lingering for a bit. “Well, one of these things we can fix, at least.”

  “One of what things?” I blurt, but she’s already setting her coffee cup aside, and reaching out to grab mine.

  “Come on,” she says. “If you’re going to stay in Marco’s world—and I hope you will, because honestly, you seem good for him—then you’re going to need the uniform to match.”

  “But—” I start, until Margot presses a finger to my lips.

  “No buts. My treat. We’re going shopping.”

  And because she’s grinning at me with so much enthusiasm—and because it’s the first time I’ve ever really hung out with Marco’s sister one-on-one, and I want her to like me, I agree.

  12

  Ankor

  Being away from Sinclair is torture. What makes it even worse is having about fifteen people text me links to my ex-girlfriend’s psychotic YouTube video. But Lily’s always been transparent like that. It’s clear what she hopes will happen. That Sinclair will freak out and break up with me, and I’ll pay Lily to tell Sinclair the truth.

  It might have worked on a lesser woman. Or some of my own other exes, truth be told. But not on Sinclair.

  Margot texted me to warn me that Sinclair had seen the video, but also to mention she didn’t buy it. I wasn’t surprised. I never thought she would. She’s too smart for that.

  Still, between spending a full day of work away from her for the first time in weeks, and having this blow up in my face, it’s been a long day. The whole way back home, my mind is lost in thoughts of all the things I plan to do to Sinclair tonight, and of how fucking sexy she’ll look spread-eagled across our bed, naked and begging for me. I get hard just picturing those plump, perfect lips of hers wrapped around my cock, with her kneeling in front of me.

  With thoughts like those on my mind, I’m already rock hard by the time the elevator reaches the penthouse. I step off it and call her name.

  No Sinclair. But I do hear the sound of the water running in our bathroom. I follow it to the bedroom, where the door is cracked just a little. Through it, I can see steam rising from the shower. I also spot a few shopping bags, from what I recognize as Margot’s favorite store nearby. I have a feeling my sister took Sinclair out for a little retail therapy, after the whole video blow-up.

  “Sinclair?” I call softly as I step into the bedroom.

  “In here,” she calls from the bath. “You can come in.”

  I don’t need a second invitation. I enter the tile bathroom and through the steam, I catch a glimpse of her just shutting off the shower and reaching for her towel.

  I catch her wrist before she picks it up, and with a grin, pull her to me.

  “I’ll get you all wet,” she protests, even as she presses her soaking wet, naked body against mine.

  “I don’t care,” I murmur, leaning down at the same time that I tilt her chin up toward me. I catch her in a slow, searing kiss, parting her lips with my tongue, taking my time to taste her, savor her.

  When we break apart, she’s breathless, her face redder than it was when she first finished her hot shower. My grin widens.

  But something in her expression makes me hesitate. “Are you all right?” I murmur softly. “Margot told me you saw the video.”

  “I stumbled across it when I was using your laptop.” She winces.

  “Sinclair, I am so sorry—”

  “For what?” she interrupts, surprising me. “You didn’t post that video. Or
make your ex claim all kinds of weird things about you.”

  “Still. You shouldn’t be put into this situation.”

  “Neither should you.” She plants her hands on her hips. It’s impressive how, even naked, she can still look commanding. It’s also more than a little sexy.

  “I’m glad it didn’t bother you. I was worried.” I reach out to trail a hand up her arm.

  She shivers, and her anger melts into something softer, sweeter. Into the Sinclair she only lets me see. The sensitive one I love best. She meets my gaze a little slower, this time. “I mean… I was a little bit jealous.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Of what?”

  “Come on, Lily is gorgeous. Not to mention internet famous or whatever. How can I compare? I’m just some regular girl.”

  “Sinclair.” My voice goes low and dark and serious. “You do not believe that.”

  “She is beautiful,” she replies.

  “Maybe. But you?” I catch hold of her waist and, before she can react, swing her up into my arms. Sinclair squeals, and wraps her arms around my neck. I don’t give her time to adjust—I toss her right onto the bed, and lie across her, her soaking wet body pressed against the mattress as I slide down her, until I’m kneeling beside the bed at her feet. I catch one ankle and lean in. “You are perfect,” I tell her, my eyes locked on hers.

  She’s holding her breath. But when I suck one of her toes into my mouth, she lets it out in a faint sigh.

  “All the way from your toes,” I whisper, my breath hot against her skin. “To your perfect feet.” I lick my way along the arch of her foot. She stifles a giggle. I’m sure it tickles. But I just keep going. “And your perfect ankles.” I trail my tongue along the smooth, soft expanse of her skin, switching over to her other leg halfway along. “Up your perfect calves.”