The Billionaire's Secret: Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance (Big Bad Billionaires Book 2)

by L. Steele

  "So were The Stones, and they had a fuck-ton more attitude."

  She raises her shoulders, "Too rebellious."

  "Too conformist." I lower my chin. "Goody-goody on the outside and bitchy, on the inside."

  "Over the top, bad boys, too much sex, too much fast living, too much everything."

  "Exactly what you secretly covet."

  She scoffs.

  "Admit it. What you need to loosen up, is a whole lotta fucking." I raise an eyebrow.

  "Speak for yourself." She gathers her hair to one side. Her tits jiggle again, and my dick instantly perks up. Shit, is there a direct connection between her sensual actions and a particular part of my anatomy?

  I adjust her position so she’s straddling me. "Tell me what you feel for me," I say, "and if I’m satisfied, I might let on what I think about that old-fashioned, overrated, ridiculous boy band."

  "Boy band?" She splutters. "You called them a boy band?"

  "I changed my mind." I stab my tongue in my cheek, "They were a bunch of dicks who hated each other…"

  Her shoulders stiffen.

  "Oh, and Lennon was especially a douche-dick."

  She clutches her fingers at her sides as twin spots of color appear on her cheeks.

  Hell, this is more fun than sitting in a business meeting negotiating the crap out of my opposing party.

  "And The Beatles copied The Stones."

  "The Beatles copied them? The Beatles?" She sputters, "Your timelines are all warped."

  I lean in close enough for our breaths to mingle, "Are you aware that you get this cute little line between your eyebrows when you go all maniac?"

  "I’m not bloody Flashdance," she huffs.

  I laugh.

  "Nice one, Rhodes."

  "That’s not my surname." She slaps a palm over her mouth.

  I frown, 'What’s that supposed to mean?"

  "N…nothing." She tries to scramble off my lap, and I grab her shoulders to hold her in place.

  "Explain."

  "There’s nothing to explain."

  "Yes, there is, what you said—"

  "Was a slip of the tongue." She tips up her chin.

  "You’re a bad liar."

  "Not lying."

  "You’ve been heaping on the bullshit from the moment we met."

  "What?" She frowns, "What do you mean?"

  "You went out of your way to catch my attention, you led me on, capitalized on the chemistry between us. You made me an offer you knew would pique my interest."

  "Not my fault you found me a challenge," she huffs.

  "You’re more than that for me."

  She freezes.

  Shit, shit, shit, hadn’t meant to say that. Talk about a slip of the tongue, huh?

  She swallows, lowers her head, "You’re not making sense."

  "It’s simple. You wanted to become my submissive, but I’ve changed my mind."

  She pales… "B…but we had an arrangement."

  "Consider that void."

  "You can’t."

  "I can."

  “So what…does that mean?” She glances around her, "All this, bringing me on a shopping trip and stuff… Wh…why did you do it?"

  "Felt like the thing."

  "You wanted to catch me off balance?"

  I peruse her features. She’s quick, all right. Not that I had expected anything less… Not after the way she’d maneuvered herself under my skin in such a short period of time.

  She wriggles around on my lap. My cock jerks in my pants.

  Her breath catches. Her pupils dilate.

  I smirk. "No denying that our bodies communicate with each other on a completely different level."

  "That’s the cause of all this…this mess." She holds herself rigid, not moving an inch. Her shoulders knot; her eyebrows twist together. "I think it’s time to put an end to this…stupid arrangement. Don’t you think?"

  "I agree."

  She opens and shuts her mouth. "You…you do?"

  I nod, "I have a completely different arrangement in mind."

  I peel back my lips.

  She pales. Her throat moves as she swallows.

  "What?" Her voice quakes… "What is it?"

  "Marry me."

  16

  What did the female giraffe ask the handsome male giraffe?

  Answer: Wanna neck with me?

  * * *

  Victoria

  * * *

  After that pronouncement he’d shoved me off his lap… Literally. I’d fallen on my arse again. It was getting to be a habit around him, that. When he wasn’t spanking me, I seemed to be constantly swept off of my feet—pun intended. I can’t remember the last time I’d gotten this physical so many times in a day and I’m not talking about down and dirty sex… Not that I’d had any of that either.

  He’d brought me to the edge again, so close, so near to exploding all over that wicked tongue of his, and then he’d pulled back. He'd denied me the orgasm. He’d left me angry, frustrated, horny as hell… and I’d lost it. I’d wanted him like a bitch in heat… An addict who craved one last teeny tiny hit… He’d known exactly how to throw me off kilter. I’d lost my equilibrium. I had stumbled and made a mistake and he had pounced.

  Marriage?

  I’d assumed he’d meant a fake marriage…but he’d clarified it would be real, all right. I’d be tied to him, unable to escape him. Bound to him. I couldn’t divorce him…not for a year. And during that time…he’d train me as his sub. At his convenience. "Of course," I snort. Everything is about him. About what he wants. How he decided to change the tone of our relationship with a flick of those thick, elegant fingers. I huff. Straighten my shirtdress down my hips.

  It’s crumpled, but hell, not like there is anyone in this entire godforsaken building to notice.

  I could refuse him, of course. I haven’t accepted his proposal yet. I could turn him down. You won’t. You can’t.

  This entire arrangement suits my needs even more. It is a bondage from hell. I squeeze my fingers at my sides. Don’t have a choice, but to go through with it. Besides… I want it. I want to be a real wife. I want to belong to someone, to have someone to call mine… Soon…very soon, I’ll have the real thing. Until then… If I have to make do with Saint… Face it, it isn’t a hardship, the things he does to me. The response he elicits from every pore of my traitorous body…is everything. It is what I have always hoped to have one day… If I can get even a small portion of this crazy, weird chemistry that traps us and turns everything about us to ashes? So be it. I will burn.

  But I’ll ensure he shatters too.

  I may be going down, but I’ll be taking Saint with me.

  He changed the rules completely, but if he thinks I am going to back off now? He has another think coming.

  He doesn’t know me.

  I swipe the hair back from my face, survey my flushed features. Hell, I don’t know myself anymore.

  I am losing perspective. Everything I had fought for, what I had thought I’d held dear to me, all of it gone… Thanks to one overbearing, over-the-top, Beatles-hating, complete wanker of an alpha male. My insides clench and sweat beads my forehead. What am I going to do? What can I do? My heart begins to race. I need to get out of here and into the open air. I march to the door, out into the corridor. My footsteps echo. I glance around at the brightly lit aisles, the racks of clothes, the displays. All bloody creepy, without the sales people.

  The asshole didn’t even wait for me. He’d merely told me to take my time to adjust my appearance and he’d left. That’s it… No word, no explanation about when we’ll meet next. Nothing.

  I walk up the corridor toward the escalators. The hair on my forearms rises. I am alone, aren’t I?

  I glance around. Nothing…except the bright lights, the rows upon rows of designer wear. I hurry my pace. Footsteps sound nearby. What the—? I break into a run, reach the escalator, race down it. My heart begins to thud. Adrenaline laces my blood. Who could it be? I
have time to deliver on my part of the deal. I am doing everything I can about it. I reach the second floor, the first. By the time I reach the ground floor, sweat beads my forehead. I clutch my bag close, reach for my phone and pull it out… Who should I call? Amelie? Summer…? Saint... No…not him. He’d simply gloat about how helpless I am. I am just scaring myself; it happens. Especially after everything I’ve been through over the last few weeks.

  I reach the exit doors, push them and burst onto the sidewalk. A man passing by eyes me curiously. I glance away, stagger toward the bench on the sidewalk. I need to catch my breath, consider my options. I sink down onto the platform, hunch my shoulders. Think, think. I can deliver my end of the bargain. By marrying Saint, I’ll be even closer to my target. All I have to do is go through it, pretend… No… No pretense here. I feel something for him… I have from the moment I’d first seen him. Something primal, something that makes me feel alive. And I want more of it. I want to luxuriate in it. I wanted to rip out my soul, fill myself with him… Use him for my own selfish needs, before the inevitable happens, and I have to walk away from him. I sigh. I have no choice in that… I simply have to make the most of the cards I’ve been dealt.

  I straighten my shoulders. Pluck my compact out of my purse, snap it open. That’s it, Victoria... Calm, composed. A survivor. You can do this. You can. I pull out a tube of my favorite lipstick, twist, and raise it to my lips.

  A hand touches my shoulder. I jerk and the lipstick smears. I glance to the side, “Wha—?”

  "Victoria?" The elderly woman smiles at me. Her greying hair is pulled back in a sleek chignon; creases fan out from the sides of her eyes. "Are you okay, my dear?"

  "What? Yes." I frown, "Do I know you?"

  "I’m Meredith, I’m…"

  "Assistant to the Seven?"

  Her features light up. "Indeed. We met when you came to the 7A offices?"

  "Of course. I remember you now." I glance past her at the pedestrians. Pinpricks of awareness dot my neck. "What are you doing here?"

  "I was passing by and saw you."

  "Right." I glance back at my reflection in the compact mirror, then scrounge around in my bag.

  "Here." She offers me a tissue.

  "Thanks." I use it to fix my face, then snap the compact shut.

  "So, you happened to be here the same time as me?"

  "Coincidences." She raises her shoulder. “People think London is a big city, but really, it’s a village."

  "Hmm." I slip my compact into my bag. "I’m afraid I need to be somewhere else."

  "I’m afraid I can’t let you leave yet, Victoria." She smiles, her eyes twinkling up at me.

  I frown. "Why is it that all of you seem to speak in such riddles?"

  "Us?"

  "Saint, and everyone connected with him."

  "Perhaps you’re finding hidden meanings because you’re playing in them yourself?"

  I pale and the world tilts around me.

  "Victoria, what’s wrong?"

  Her voice seems to come from far away. There’s a roaring in my ears. My vision tunnels. Games. Playing. Hidden meanings. Not what it seems.

  "Victoria?" A hand grips my fingers. "My dear, you’re freezing."

  My teeth chatter. "It’s just… The weather… It’s gone cold suddenly."

  "That's London for you, my dear. Still, I like it best when it's raining." She rubs my freezing hand between her warmer ones. Her flesh is smooth, unmarked. No calluses. Such well-preserved skin. Wonder what hand cream she uses. A chuckle rolls up my throat. Am I getting hysterical? I bite the inside of my cheek, swallow down the bile that laces my tongue.

  "Better?" She peers into my face.

  "Y…yes." I meet her gaze. "Thank you."

  "Come on, let’s get some food into you. Have you had lunch?"

  "N…no."

  "There’s a lovely spot around the corner, that serves the best afternoon tea.

  "But."

  "No buts. Saint would never forgive me, if I left you here, on your own."

  I twist my lips. "Oh, I don’t think Saint would care either way."

  "I think you’d be surprised, my dear." Her eyes gleam.

  I frown, "What are you not telling me?"

  She laughs. "I’m not hiding anything from you, I promise."

  Where have I heard that before?

  "You’re right to be this cautious, but I am not the enemy. In fact," she rises to her feet, "I am on your side."

  "You are?’

  She holds out her hand, I take it and she pulls me up. "Most definitely." She begins to walk. I keep pace.

  "Anyone who’ll bring Saint to heel gets my vote… And when it happens to be the right kind of woman who can stand up to him, then trust me, I’ll do anything in my power to ensure that the two of you are happy."

  I stumble over a crack in the pavement.

  She grabs my arm, "You all right?"

  "Of course." I glance up at her, "But you have the wrong idea here."

  "Do I?"

  I nod, "Most definitely."

  We take the zebra crossing across Oxford Street, then turn right.

  "It’s not like that between me and Saint."

  "Then how is it?"

  I peer sideways at her. Is she making fun of me? Maybe having a laugh at my expense. She meets my gaze, her own clear. Her features are composed into an expression which seems to portray… Curiosity…? A slight concern, perhaps. Can I trust her? I raise my shoulders. Does it matter? I have nothing to lose… I have come this far… I only have to see things through, and if she can help me, well, then why not?

  "He asked me to marry him."

  Her gaze doesn’t falter. No surprise on her face.

  "You knew?"

  She turns her head, navigates us around a couple loaded with shopping bags. "I had hoped, though I have to admit, I hadn’t thought Saint would have the balls to pop the question."

  I choke.

  She chuckles. "I’m a plain talking kind of gal."

  "I can see that."

  "Get it from my mama. She raised eight of us, and she suffered no fools."

  "Right."

  "Comes in handy when you have to herd the Seven and their friends along in the right direction. Know what I mean?"

  I snort, "I am getting an idea who actually wears the pants in 7A."

  She leans in close, "Let’s keep that to ourselves, huh? Our secret."

  A warmth spreads in my chest. "You bet."

  "So, back to you and Saint," she pauses, then turns right and away from the bustling High Street. "You were saying?"

  I wasn’t…but fine…if she wants to know what my answer was. "I haven’t said yes…yet."

  "Are you going to?"

  "Should I?"

  "Are you asking my opinion?"

  I turn to her, "I am."

  "I think you should take your time about it."

  I jerk my head toward her, "You mean…?"

  She nods, "He needs you more than you realize.”

  "He doesn’t depend on anyone." I bite the inside of my cheek.

  "He wants you in his life."

  "His asking me to marry him…? It’s a trap," I insist.

  She pauses, turns to me, "Is he trapping you or himself?"

  "I don’t know."

  "Saint doesn’t do anything unless he’s completely sure of it."

  "He’s doing this to get revenge."

  "For what?"

  "For…" Should I tell her? Should I? "For crawling under his skin, for distracting him… I don’t know." I rake my fingers through my hair. "He wants to punish me."

  "And would that be so bad?"

  I blink. "Are you implying what I think you are?"

  "Don’t let my age and gray hair distract you."

  My mouth opens and closes… "You mean…you are…into the same lifestyle as the Seven?"

  "I’ve known them since they were boys. They’ve been through a lot, each of them… They’ve each found their wa
ys to cope. And while I don’t necessarily condone it… I realize it’s one way of coming to terms, to find balance in their lives."

  "That doesn’t answer my question."

  "Which was?"

  "Uh… Are you into the S&M stuff as well?"

  "Maybe I am…" She raises her shoulder. "Maybe I am not. What difference does it make? After all, it’s not me who has a marriage proposal from someone who means more to me than I am letting on."

  She strolls forward.

  I turn, follow in her wake. Jeez… What the hell was that all about? What does she even mean? Is she that privy to the private lives of the Seven…and their friends? Does she know their associates? Business partners…? Their enemies? I swallow and my heart begins to race. Was I wrong to confide her? Maybe Saint didn’t want me to tell anyone about his proposal. But then, he hadn’t mentioned otherwise. Why would he even want to marry me? What does he get out of it? A willing slave…yes…but there are so many other women out there who would be more than happy to oblige. Why me?

  She comes to a stop in front of a beautiful heritage building. I glance up to find the elegant lettering that states, Claridge's.

  She walks up it, "You coming?"

  "This is what you meant by an elegant little spot?" I blink. It's only one of the most iconic hotels in the world.

  "Oh, they have the best tea and sandwiches, and after the morning you’ve had, it’s only fair I treat you, right?"

  I follow her up and into the plush reception area. The liveried man by the door does a double take. "Meredith!"

  "Dorian, how are you?"

  Dorian walks forward, takes Meredith’s hand and kisses her knuckles.

  "Fit as a fiddle, my dear. And who is this charming young woman?" the built-like-a-tank man asks. Doorman, my foot. Clearly, he's there to take care of any trouble that erupts. Is there going to be trouble? My heart begins to race.

  "This is Victoria."

  Dorian tilts his head. "Ah! Good to meet you." He shakes my hand, with a half bow, then I am treated to the hand-kissing as well. He steps back, beckons us to proceed. "Your guests are waiting, Meredith. Best seat in the house for you ladies."

  I trail after Meredith, "Guests? Did he say guests?"

  She waves a hand in the air, "It was time to call in the reinforcements. Such devious planning to take on one of the Seven needs strong English Breakfast Tea, girlfriends, and of course, cake. Lots of cake."