Not Husband Material: Billionaire's Contract Series

by Violet Paige

  I was already impressed.

  But I needed to keep my wits about me and not rush to such a quick positive judgment. In the past, I had occasionally come across ships that looked amazing. Fantastic. Miracles of modern engineering, marvels of high-class luxury. But when I would step inside and start really, truly sizing them up, I would usually find flaws. Just tiny details that could have been done differently or better, the kinds of interior design choices or structural integrity issues that would dock thousands, even millions off the price point. When you were dealing in such a lucrative—or potentially financially devastating—market, those little things that might seem unimportant to the average layperson really did add up fast. And today, it was my job to stay critical and objective. I couldn’t let myself be swayed by the jaw-dropping first impression Mirabella gave me. I was here to criticize her, pick her apart, determine whether or not she was truly a good fit for my brother, who was arguably the most important person in my life.

  Sometimes, it almost kind of felt like I was walking into an interview room to appraise some beautiful stranger’s audition. Only instead of a young, idealistic actress, it was a boat. A really big, really expensive boat.

  I walked up the gangway plank, careful not to get the stiletto heels caught in the gaps between the wood boards. As I reached the top, a young man in an immaculate white uniform rushed over to offer me his hand and a brilliant smile. I could tell he was a little nervous, but I wanted to put him at ease. I wasn’t here to judge him, by any means, but I figured he probably worried that with the sale of the yacht, he might either be out of a job or forced to relocate. I knew how scary it was, not knowing where your vocation was going to take you. And this guy was young, probably hardly older than nineteen. I gave him a big smile.

  “Thank you,” I said graciously as he helped me onto the main deck.

  “Of course, ma’am.” He bowed slightly.

  Everything was spotlessly clean and meticulously decorated, from the brand-new wood flooring of the deck to the elegantly-designed deck chairs congregated around an industrial-metal table. Very chic. There was a pool, of course, with enticing turquoise waters and a jacuzzi bubbling.

  I walked along the length of the pool, looking for architectural mistakes. A wobbly line or bulge in the poured concrete somewhere. But there was nothing troublesome to note. Everything looked perfect. Almost obnoxiously so. I had a hawk’s eye for detail, and it sometimes worried me at first when I couldn’t spot a problem. It didn’t make any sense to think that way; of course it was preferable for me to not find something wrong. But it was just the way my personality worked. In high school and college, I often took work as an editor, proofreading other students’ papers and even finding my way into the offices of lawyers, doctors, accountants, and businessmen to edit their copy and make sure it all sounded smooth. It was almost like a puzzle for me, trying to spot the issue, whether it was a missing comma or water damage to a stateroom on a yacht. It all went back to the same drive to fix things, to sniff out the bad and turn it into good.

  By now, the young man in uniform had hurried back to my side and was anxiously trying to figure out how to address me. “M-ma’am?” he stammered, his tanned face blushing. “I could take you on a tour of the staterooms, if you’d like?”

  I nodded. “Oh, that would be very helpful, thank you. I would appreciate that. And you can call me Ms. Hargrove. What’s your name?”

  He looked relieved. “I’m Miguel Castaneda. Nice to meet you. Uh, Ms. Hargrove, would you like to follow me to the upper decks first?”

  “Sure. That would be fine.”

  He led me up the steps to the next deck, taking me through the hallway and showing me room by room. There was a grand recreational room with two billiards tables, a darts board, several vintage arcade games, and no less than three massive flat-screen televisions mounted on the walls, complete with attached, surprisingly elegant video gaming systems. The style of the design was sleek, almost minimalistic in its clean lines and sharp furnishings. The fixtures were all either silver or chrome, lending a sort of futuristic tone to the room.

  Next up was a private movie theater room with fifteen ritzy leather seats and a wide, impressive screen. The theater was decorated with vintage movie posters of a shocking variety. Film noir, slasher films, action movies, and even some more obscure arthouse film posters flanked the walls. The ambiance of the room was cozy and cavernous, exactly the way one would hope a home theater to feel. It was the kind of place I would have loved to snuggle into with a bucket of buttered popcorn and watch a movie with some friends.

  Next was a room that made my heart go all a-flutter. It was a private library, the walls lined with lovely built-in shelving, slam-packed with books. I was not supposed to be judging the content of the library, only the style, but I couldn’t help but notice that there were all kinds of antique books, old classics rubbing elbows with newer books. There was a huge, glossy window at the front of the room that overlooked the decks and the blue waters beyond. Two elaborately carved and upholstered armchairs sat by the window with a modern, sleek floor lamp between them. I was just itching to curl up in one of those chairs with a romance novel.

  That was one of my biggest secrets, a guilty pleasure only my best friend knew about. And even she teased me for it on occasion. I loved romance books. The steamier, the cheesier, the better. I just wanted to read one of my favorites in peace, closed up in this beautiful library.

  But then, it was time to move on to the next—the lower deck.

  Miguel led me back down and into another grand hallway. We passed through a marvelous dining room adjoining the huge, perfectly-outfitted chef’s kitchen. There was a chandelier of crystal and a huge blue and silver rug that had to cost more than my entire apartment in Atlanta, and that was saying something. My apartment was not cheap.

  “Could I see one of the bedrooms, please?” I asked Miguel.

  He winced, which gave me pause. What could possibly be wrong with a bedroom? That was easily the most important room onboard. It was where the client, in this case Jeff, would be spending a lot of time.

  “Uh, yes. Of course,” Miguel said quickly. “There’s a smaller bedroom just to the left—”

  “Actually,” I interrupted with a smile, “I was hoping to see the master suite.”

  Miguel’s face went a little ashen, but he couldn’t tell me no. Ah, so this was where the problem was. Surely there was some terrible design flaw, some mismatched carpeting or godawful wallpaper to contend with. Why else would he be so concerned?

  He led me to the master suite. We stopped outside. “Go ahead inside, Ms. Hargrove. I-I think I might be needed on deck.”

  “Oh,” I said, frowning as I put my hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll come back in a bit,” he added quickly, and nearly darted away down the hall. I turned back to the door, confused, and pushed it open.

  At first, I was even more confused. The room was not a disaster. In fact, it was beautifully designed and well-maintained. The furnishings were lovely. The bed was—

  Not made.

  The sheets were piled and spilling off the bed as though it had just been slept in. That was odd. But I figured maybe they hadn’t gotten around to fully tidying up in here. No big deal. But then I saw a trail of clothing on the floor leading from the bed to the adjoining en suite bathroom.

  That was also odd.

  Then the bathroom door opened.

  And out walked a naked man. I let out a shriek and jumped backward, dropping all my papers and my phone. I clapped a hand over my mouth and stared at the man. He was not even remotely embarrassed about my walking in on him. He was tall, at least a good head taller than me, and muscular. In fact, he was downright ripped. He gave me a smile, and not even a sheepish one. Steam rolled out of the bathroom behind him. His skin was glowing and dewy. He’d clearly just stepped out of the shower.

  “Oh my God,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t r
ealize—”

  “No worries,” he said, not even hiding his crotch from my view. I tried my best not to glance down but, oh God. I did. I glanced down.

  And holy shit, this guy was hung as hell.

  In fact, I was so distracted by his massive cock that it took me a full minute to register how familiar his face was. He recognized me at exactly the same time I recognized him, the smile fading quickly from his face.

  “Jillian?” he asked, frowning.

  I swallowed hard. “Bruin?”

  I was standing in front of my older brother’s best friend from college. And he was naked.

  5

  Bruin

  Watching Jillian’s face go as red as an apple was almost as good as seeing her again. It had been a surprise, to say the least. I hadn’t exactly been planning to walk out of the shower on the yacht broker, no matter what my plans were. But here we were, and it was still my ship, so I figured I’d walk around however I damn well pleased.

  I never expected to see Jillian, however.

  My eyes roamed up and down her body. I didn’t make any effort to hide it any more than I did to hide my own bare skin. I noticed she wasn’t moving, either.

  “Damn, Jillian,” I said with a smile. “It’s been a while. Too long, apparently.”

  “Uh…” she stammered, her eyes still wide in disbelief. “Y-yeah?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her shock, and I raised an eyebrow as I looked down at myself. “Waiting on something?”

  Finally, she seemed to snap out of it and shake her head quickly, averting her eyes as she stooped down to start picking up the pile of papers and a few electronics she dropped. “No, no, I just… I wasn’t expecting…” While she gestured at me without turning her head up, I took the time to get a better look at her.

  “Six years,” I finally mused out loud, putting a hand on my hip and tilting my head at her.

  She had grown her dark hair out, and it looked good on her. Beautiful. I watched her brush it out of the way and saw its glossy shine in the dull light of the room. My eyes trailed to her hips and saw how she’d filled out, and I felt a twitch in my cock as it grew a little fuller.

  This wasn’t the shape I remembered Jillian Hargrove having. The Jillian I remembered was an awkward teenager who was growing into an only slightly less awkward and much more high-strung young adult with big plans for the future. We had been worlds apart, but I still remembered the braces I saw her in the first time we half-met.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, finally glancing up, only to look back down. “And would you please put a towel on? Or clothes? Clothes would work.”

  I ignored her questions as I took a step to the right, moving around the bed toward the closet, but I took my time. “Six years since I last saw you. You must have been what, nineteen?”

  “Oh,” she replied, “I...I suppose that’s right.”

  I grinned, crossing my arms. “You were just Jeff’s little sister back then. Little Jilly,” I added, my eyes lighting up as I remembered her old nickname, and at that, she looked up at me with a shadow of a scowl before scooping up the rest of her papers. “Aw, you remember the nickname he had for you.”

  “That was a long time ago, Bruin,” she said, and I was delighted to see that even though Jeff’s little sister was all grown up, the attitude she carried around on her shoulder was still there, strong as ever. I wondered if she was as tightly wound now as she had been back then. “I’m surprised you even recognize me, honestly.”

  I was as surprised as she was. This wasn’t Jillian, this was a complete knockout. And I could tell from the look on her face and the way she carried herself she had no idea.

  “You’ve changed a lot since college,” I understated with a grin, holding myself back from commenting on the fact that she now had a pair of legs I’d kill to have wrapped around my face. “But how could I forget my best friend’s little sister?”

  “I—” she started, but the surprise on her face was still wearing off, and it took her a few moments to find her words again. I gave her time. I was a lot to take in on short notice. “Well, you haven’t changed much, yourself.”

  “I have in a few ways,” I said offhandedly, turning my hips and looking down at my body on display as if it were a statue. “I’ve had more time to work on my quads, and I hit thirty with the same abs I had when I was in my twenties, which I think isn’t too shabby.”

  I gave her a cocky smile as I strode toward her, and she pulled her papers closer to her as she took a step back, but I turned my back to her once I was closer. I flexed my arms and glanced over my shoulders. “And you can see a little more definition in my lats and biceps, thanks to a few personal trainers worth their weight in gold. Go ahead, give them a feel, if you want,” I offered, looking over my shoulder at her rosy cheeks.

  “I’ll pass,” she said tersely.

  “Let’s see, what else is new?” I wondered out loud, glancing around the room. “Oh, and I own this yacht. Not for much longer, I guess, but I’ve got my mind on a better one.”

  “Wait,” Jillian said, looking more shocked than ever. “The owner of the yacht is... is you?”

  I raised my eyebrows, glancing around the place. “Do you see anyone else walking around the master suite like he owns the place?”

  As if on cue, the bathroom door opened, and the Greek chick stepped out, a towel already wrapped around her body, and her curly hair dripping wet behind her. She glanced between me and Jillian, then glared daggers at me.

  “Well, besides her,” I said to Jillian with a grin.

  “Who is this?” the girl asked, looking Jillian up and down before turning her razor-sharp gaze on me.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but Jillian beat me to it.

  “I’m the yacht broker handling the sale of this ship,” she said, and her voice had a crisp, professional tone to it that I wasn’t used to hearing in her voice. She’d always been a tightly-wound ball of awkward anxiety when I knew her. This kind of professional confidence I could sense in her was refreshing, to put it politely.

  To put it impolitely, it was keeping my naked cock at half-mast, and I’d all but forgotten the fact that I was supposed to be getting a towel.

  “You’re the broker?” I said, taken by the same surprise that had taken Jillian a moment ago. I gave my head a shake, then ran my hand through my hair as if making myself look a little neater. With the same kind of professional posture and tone as if I weren’t completely naked, I thrust my hand out to Jillian with a charming smile.

  “Bruin Kinkaid, pleasure to meet you. Welcome aboard the Mirabella. I’m sure you’ll find everything up to and beyond your expectations,” said in the same tone of voice I used with the businesspeople I dealt with on a daily basis.

  Jillian was dumbstruck, and she stared at my naked form for a moment before the other girl interrupted by clearing her throat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, giving my head a shake and gesturing to the girl, “Jillian, this is…” I paused, realizing I never got her name. “Shit,” I muttered.

  “Maria,” the girl finished for me, this time with a bitter look in my direction, stomping over to the foot of the bed to pick up her clothes and trudge back into the bathroom, muttering something under her breath before slamming the door behind her.

  Jillian gave me a look of total disbelief, and I rolled my eyes with a chuckle as I finally went to the closet to get a spare towel. I used it on my hair for a bit, giving her another good look at my body stretched tall.

  “So, yacht broker, huh?” I said once I’d finally finished toweling my hair, and I ran my hand through it before wrapping the towel around my waist at last. “I’m impressed, Little Jilly.”

  “Only my brother calls me that,” she said wearily, but I noticed the flick of her gaze to the edge of my towel, where my abs descended into an enticing V.

  “Good point,” I said, glancing at her professional attire and the confidence in her posture. “Out on your own, executing mul
ti-million-dollar sales on yachts, socializing with handsome billionaires.” Watching her face shift into different shades of blush was truly entertaining. “You’re right, Little Jilly’s a little juvenile for you now. You’re all grown up. How about Jill?”

  “I go by Jillian,” she said flatly. If I was being honest, I only called her Jill because I remembered Jeff telling me she’d been teased with the Jack and Jill rhyme in elementary school, and the grudge against the name just stuck.

  “And a little professionalism you didn’t have when you were younger,” I commented, putting my hand to my chin. “If you’re trying to get my attention, Jill, you’re doing a decent job. I have to say, I’m not surprised very often.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, her eyes wide.

  “As a peer, of course,” I clarified, a grin on my face. “It’s part of my job to spot potential, Jill, and I can clearly see that potential is something you’ve got in spades,” I noted, but my eyes were drinking in her body. I thought she could tell, but I didn’t care.

  She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, but finally, she took a breath and said, “I’m here to tour the ship, Bruin.” She narrowed her eyes and added, “Or maybe Mister Kincaid would be more appropriate, since we’re being professional?”

  “I do like the way Mister Kincaid sounds, coming from you,” I said, striding over to my dresser and taking out a bottle of designer men’s cologne and giving myself a quick spray under my jaw. “But you can call me whatever you want, Jill. Maria in there calls me sir,” I added with a flash of a smile to Jillian, whose jaw was in a perpetual clench.

  “Whatever the case may be,” she said with impeccable professional grace, “I have a tour to finish. If I’m a little taken off-guard, it’s because I wasn’t expecting anyone to be on board.”