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

by L. Steele

  I halt so quickly that my heels dig into the plush carpet below.

  Marriage.

  Bride.

  This isn’t real. It’s a quick ceremony to seal the deal. Like it’s something I do every day—not. Treat it like a painful meeting, one in which you're surrounded by opponents looking to tear you down. I rub the back of my neck; right now, I'd take that over this mock wedding.

  She turns to glance at me.

  "Go on, open the door," I growl.

  She frowns. "This really is unnecessary. You know that, right?"

  "Is it now?" I draw up next to her. "I think it’s the one thing that will bind you to me, prevent you from running away and spilling everything you’ve seen and heard to your handler."

  She flinches. "It…it isn’t like that."

  "Oh?" I scrutinize her features. "Enlighten me, then."

  She wrings her fingers together, "I... I can't tell you."

  "Why not?"

  She wraps her arms around her waist, glances away.

  Anger shoots through my veins. Damn her, what is she hiding from me? Why did it have to be her to entrance me so? If only I could erase thoughts of her from my mind and return to my life as it had been. I wrap my fingers around her throat.

  Her gaze widens. Her pupils dilate. I scan her flushed features, the way she’s arched into my hold on the balls of her feet, handbag dangling at her shoulder, yet every part of her ready, in sync with my needs, her face upturned, her breathing ragged.

  "Shit, you like it when I’m rough, don’t you?"

  She swallows.

  "Is breath play your thing, Gigi? Does it get you off?"

  She nods.

  "Who else has touched you like this?"

  "Nobody else," she whispers.

  Could that be true?

  "Am I your first dominant? Were you telling the truth when you said your arse is untouched? Tell me Gigi, tell me."

  She opens her mouth. "Yes," she chokes out, "it’s true."

  "What is?"

  "All of it. You're my first... Dom." She hiccups, "And no-one else has taken me there."

  "Your arse belongs to me, Gigi."

  She stares.

  I tighten my grip. Color blooms on her skin and she rubs her thighs together, her gaze fixed on my face as she stalks my features, trying to read my intentions, what my next move is going to be. I pull her close enough that her breasts almost touch my chest. Almost. "Say it," I growl.

  "Yours," she whispers.

  "What is?"

  "My arse is yours."

  "And your pussy?" I bring down my other hand to cup the warmth between her legs, knowing she’ll be wet. "Fuck, I can feel the stickiness of your cum through your clothes, you know that?"

  She gulps; her chest rises and falls.

  "Answer me, Gigi. Who does your cunt belong to?"

  "You, Sir."

  "And your breasts?" I release her core to pinch her nipple through her dress.

  She moans.

  "Tell me, Gigi."

  "You, they belong to you."

  "And your hungry gaze, with which you watch me as I come, who does that belong to?"

  "You."

  "Your hair, your skin, the nails on your toes, the eyelashes that frame those gorgeous eyes… Whose are they?"

  "Yours."

  "And you. Who do you belong to, Gigi?"

  "You, Sir. I belong to you."

  "Damn fucking right." My cock hardens impossibly and my balls tighten. The doors open. I yank her close, press my lips to hers. "Don’t fucking let me down now," I whisper against her mouth. "You feel me, Gigi?"

  She nods.

  "Saint… Victoria, why is it that you two can’t keep your hands off each other for the few minutes that’s needed from you to seal this holy union?"

  Victoria tries to pull away. I release her neck, only to wind my arm around her waist and pull her close. She resists, but I tug with enough force that she falls into me. I keep her there, pressed from thigh to hip, tuck her under my arm. Good. I have her where I can finally keep an eye—and other parts of my body—tuned into her.

  I glance at Edward, "Perhaps because there isn’t an unholier couple in history who’ve attempted to make a go at this bloody ceremony?"

  "Saint," Edward admonishes me, "language."

  "Fuck, Father. Seriously?"

  Edward frowns, then steps back. We walk through, and come to a halt. I glance around the assembled faces.

  "The fuck?" I glower. "What’s this, a circus?"

  "You’re getting married, ol' chap, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to invite our friends to witness your downfall," Weston ambles forward.

  Amelie breaks away from his side and darts forward.

  She embraces Victoria, "Oh my God!" she whisper-screams, "You’re doing this? You’re actually gonna go through with this, V?"

  Victoria pats the woman on her shoulder as her eyes meet mine.

  I glare at her. She swallows, something in her gaze pleading with me, beseeching me... For what? Reassurance? Asking me to tell her that it will all be okay? Perhaps a promise that all the bad stuff will go away and we’ll live happily ever after? Not. She’s not getting anything of the sort from me.

  I turn away, crack my neck. "The fuck is it so hot in here?"

  Weston blinks. He peers into my face, then chuckles. "You nervous, man?"

  "Of course, not," I frown.

  "You should be." He grins, "Not every day that one of the most confirmed bachelors in town decides to walk down the aisle."

  "It’s a fake wedding, dickwad," I growl.

  He laughs, "You sure about that?"

  "Of course, I am… I mean, it’s real to begin, but I plan to walk away from her when—" I twist my lips.

  "When?"

  "When all of this is over, of course," I wave a hand in the air.

  "What is over?" He folds his arms over his chest, "Explain it to me, Sherlock."

  "When we’ve tracked down the members of the Mafia who did this to us, make sure they are locked away, or better still, six feet under. And when she is safe, when—" my voice tapers off. Shit, do I mean that? No. I don’t mean that. Did I propose a marriage to tie her to me? Of course, I did, but only so I can keep my property safe. Because she is the key to unlocking the door, to leading us to those who turned our lives upside down.

  "You gonna complete your sentence anytime soon?" Weston smirks.

  "No," I growl, then drag my fingers through my hair. "You don’t have to seem so pleased with yourself. You wait until it’s your time."

  "My time?" He cups his chin, "I’m not the one who proposed a wedding to get close to an asset."

  "She’s more than that," I frown.

  "Of course, she is…to you." He slaps my shoulder. "It’s what landed you in this mess."

  "Fuck." My heart begins to race. Sweat beads my palms. "You’re talking as if my life is over…"

  "In a way, it is... Beginning of a journey, and all that bullshit..."

  "Don’t you have a procedure to attend to? You’re supposed to be a hot-shot doctor—"

  "Who wouldn’t pass up the chance to be there for one of his closest friends."

  "Ha," I snort. "What a crock of bull-fucking-shit. You’re here to ensure I am tied up so you can capitalize on the assets of 7A Investments and FOK media."

  "Now would I do that?" He raises his hands. "After all, everything is spelled out in black and white. No way, can I go against the split of profits."

  "There are other ways to go behind our backs and take what’s not due to you."

  "Especially when it’s money that should have come to you." He nods, "Now, I am not saying it hadn’t crossed my mind." He grins. "Not my fault if I pull it off either, given you and Sinner—" he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, "are occupied with matters of the heart, and all that."

  "This isn’t a matter of the heart," I growl.

  "You’re right, again." He slaps my shoulder. "It’s your dick that’s lea
ding you on, man. You should’ve fucked her and gotten it out of your system—"

  I redden.

  "What?" He opens and closes his mouth, "No."

  "Shut up," I mutter.

  He takes me by my shoulders. "Look into my eyes, my child. Tell me it’s not what I suspect it is."

  "Back the fuck off, wanker."

  He searches my features, "It is, isn’t it?"

  "What is?" a familiar voice sounds behind him.

  I groan, "No, no, no. Enough of this asinine chitchat."

  Arpad saunters up, "The man doth protest too much."

  "Why the fuck aren’t you on your watch already?"

  "Because," he opens his arm wide, "I had to see you safely married first."

  I glare at him, "You seem in a rare, fine mood, ass wipe."

  "Temper, ol' chap. Gotta watch that old ticker, now that you’re getting into a different phase of your life. You’re going to have your hands full, as it is, dealing with the wife… The kids."

  "What?" I gape. "No kids," I cut the air with my hand, "no way."

  "No patter of little feet in your living room then?" Damian prowls over, his golden locks glinting in the light from the chandelier above. "You mean, you don’t want the little devils waking you up early in the mornings?"

  "Nope."

  "But…but, you’ll have so much fun teaching them to play Cricket. Oh, wait, the potty training comes before that. That could be fun; you’d be a natural at it."

  I stare at him in growing horror," Jesus, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I will never have kids as long as I live, okay?" Why is my voice rising, making it sound like I’m panicking?.

  Victoria glances across the room at me. I meet her gaze, my features rigid. Did she hear what I said? Well, best that she knows. Not that it matters. I don’t intend to get into any situation where that is a likely problem between us.

  "What do you have against children?" Weston frowns.

  "Nothing, so long as they aren’t mine."

  How can I explain that I don’t want my DNA to be propagated? Not after I’d realized exactly how out of control I could get. Not after the time I’d almost killed the man who’d tortured me, who’d hurt me like no one else ever had. The only way to forget those images was to lock them away deep inside, along with my ability to feel. If I can’t feel, I won’t feel that burning anguish that came from my body physically breaking down—when my mind couldn’t steer my responses, when I had lost all ability to be in command. I’ll never lose control again. Never.

  I widen my stance. "I won’t hear another word on this topic from any of you." I survey their faces. "Ever again."

  "These guys getting to you, huh?" Sinclair ambles over. He seems rested, his suit impeccable, as always. Fucker looks about ready to walk the ramp, while I?

  I raise my arm and sniff myself. "Shit! I think I forgot to shower after the gym."

  "No time for that now," he grins.

  "We can push this back by an hour…" I shuffle my feet, "Maybe two?"

  "Now come on, you got us all here. Hell, I had to put off taking Summer Christmas shopping, so we could attend your nuptials. The least you could do is give me the satisfaction of going through with it."

  "Because, of course, that’s a good enough reason to get married, huh?" I glower.

  "As good a reason as any, considering you aren’t acknowledging the real reasons why you’re doing it," Sinclair snorts.

  "And you know that, how?"

  "Because I was in your place."

  "Don’t listen to Sterling," Weston leans forward on the balls of his feet. "He’s not in any position to give you advice, considering he’s got the old ball and chain firmly attached to his ankle."

  Sinclair bares his teeth, "Watch what you say, Kincaid."

  "Not saying anything wrong."

  "Maybe not, but it’s not as bad as it’s cut out to be either.’

  "Isn’t it?" Weston drums his fingers on his chest, "That’s what the pussy-whipped ones always say."

  "I’m not—"

  "Sin, darling."

  Sinclair whips his head around.

  Summer waves at him from the corner, where she’s huddled with her friends. "Come over, babe. You gotta hear this."

  Sinclair’s face lights up. He pivots, moves toward them.

  "Pussy-whipped." Weston shakes his head, "The man who couldn’t stand to be among people, now willingly allows himself to be drawn into the midst of a crowd." He makes a gagging sound.

  "I heard you," Sinclair glowers at him over his shoulder. "I’ll get back at you for this, tosser."

  "Too fucking late," Weston mutters. "He’s sinking, man, and he isn’t even aware of it.’

  I watch as Sinclair stalks over to Summer. He wraps his arm around the tiny woman, draws her into his side. She literally melts into him and he nuzzles her hair.

  A waitress materializes next to Damian. "God help us. I need a drink." He takes the glass of champagne, glances at the hem of her skirt, which barely reaches mid-thigh.

  "When do you get off?"

  She bats her eyelids, "Anytime you want."

  He downs his drink in one shot. Then hands the empty glass to me.

  "The fuck?" I frown, "What are you up to?"

  He takes the tray with the remaining drink glasses from her, and thrusts it at Weston, who grunts, "Don’t make too much noise, will ya?"

  Damian smirks at the girl, "You heard that. I am going to make you scream like you never have before."

  Her chest heaves. "I can’t wait," she breathes.

  He jerks his chin, then stalks to the exit.

  "The fuck is he going?"

  "I think he’s cutting his losses." Weston reaches for a flute.

  I take it from him, replacing it with Damian's empty one. "Thanks." I toss it back. The champagne goes down smoothly. "I’ll be billing you guys for the expenses of this rush job, of course.”

  "You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?" Weston drawls. "The least you could do is pay for your own wedding."

  "Wasn’t my idea to have it here in this hotel, losing business for the time we have to shut it down for the ceremony."

  His jaw drops. "You serious?"

  "Of course." I grab another flute of Champagne from a passing waitress.

  “There wasn’t anything else scheduled for this room a couple of hours ago, you cheap (insert insult of your choice). Were you expecting a last-minute booking?”

  I shrug, “Maybe.”

  He hands the half-filled tray over to the woman, then grabs two glasses for himself.

  The waitress hesitates, then glances at me, "Congratulations, Sir."

  "Fuck off," I growl.

  She pales, then scurries off.

  "Take it easy, man," Weston cautions.

  "What-fucking-ever." I glance around the room, filled with the Seven who are in town…and Summer and her girlfriends.

  * * *

  Victoria glances up at me, her face pale. Her gaze flicks to the door, then she looks away. Fuck. I can see the hollows under her cheekbones. Has she eaten anything at all?

  "Perhaps it’s time to get this shit-show on the road, huh?"

  "We’re waiting for Jace and Sienna," Weston takes a sip of the champagne. "You stock good stuff, at least. I’ll give you that."

  "Enjoy it, asshole. You’re paying for it, after all."

  Weston makes a tsk’ing sound, "Someone’s nervous."

  "Bitch!" I grumble, "I can’t wait for it to be your turn. I’ll fucking gloat."

  "Sure. Considering I am not about to fall into the trap anytime soon."

  A laugh peels out. He glowers across the room. I follow the direction of his gaze to where Amelie is talking with the other women. Amelie gesticulates excitedly, then props a hand on her hip. She tosses her hair, thrusts out a hand, in what I assume is a punchline in her joke. Summer and Isla laugh.

  "That woman, she's bloody annoying."

  "Who?" I ask, taking in Vic
toria's erect figure as she stands silent, her lips curved in the makings of a smile.

  "Amelie," he snorts, "she talks too much, laughs too much, and have you noticed what she's wearing?"

  "Huh?" I glance at her dress, "What's wrong with it?"

  "Too much skin." He looks her up and down, "Her legs are too long for her dress. And her hair... Why is she wearing it up? And those fuck me heels? Seriously, you'd think she was trying to attract every male in the vicinity."

  "You're attracted to her?"

  He laughs, "Not bloody likely." He continues to watch her. "She's not my type."

  Amelie turns her head, catches his eye. She draws herself up to her full height and flips him the bird, then turns her back on him.

  "What the fuck—?" he sputters.

  I laugh, "Yep, she's definitely not your type."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She has too much spirit for you."

  "Hmm." He strokes his chin. "Maybe, maybe not."

  Amelie whispers in Victoria's ear and Victoria's smile broadens. Her features light up. My breath catches. She's beautiful, the woman I'm about to marry.

  I roll my shoulders.

  Married? I am fucking getting married. Had it been a moment of insanity when I’d told her to get hitched to me? Or… I can’t stop my gaze from wandering over her curves. At least, she’s not wearing black. Red. That’s her color. Her dress is conservatively cut, but it clings to her body, highlighting those high perky breasts, the swell of her hips, those long, long legs that I want wrapped around my waist...my head—No, not yet. First, I am going to bend her over and take her from behind as I’ve promised myself. Sheath myself in her virgin hole… Fuck. My dick lengthens. I’ve never cared before about being any woman’s first in any way…but with Gigi… Something about her makes me want to claim every new experience of hers. She is mine to own. To break. To possess. To use in getting to my final goal.

  I pull out my phone, cue it up, then hand it over to Weston.

  "What’s that?"

  “Ask the staff to cue it up over the speakers in the room, will you?"

  "Now?"

  "Right away."

  He snatches up the phone and walks off.

  My heart begins to race. Sweat beads my temples. I curl my hands at my sides, then glance over again.

  Victoria tips up her head. Our gazes clash—green, emerald seas, stormy with a hint of wariness, fortified with that strength I am coming to associate with her.