The Billionaire's Affair: Billionaire Brothers (Tycoon Billionaires Book 2)

by Farrell, Julie

  “I’ve said it before, sweetheart, you’re a genius. And a hot, beautiful one at that.”

  She chuckled. “Thank you.”

  Dylan held up the blueprint. “Come on, let’s destroy this. Then I’ll go find Mikhail first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “How shall we destroy it?” Joseph asked, leaning forward.

  Dylan stood up, still holding the piece of plastic that was worth much more than its weight in gold. “Last time we just threw everything in a wastepaper bin and set it alight.” He disappeared into the kitchen, so Sarah and Joseph sat and waited patiently for him to come back. Sarah really had no idea how this was all going to end. But it was more exciting than being at work this evening… She glanced up as Dylan strolled back into the living room, clutching a metal bucket that his housekeeper probably used for mopping the floors. He was also holding a box of matches.

  He placed the container on top of the coffee table, dropped in the blueprint, then struck a match and dropped that in, too. Sarah stood and peered into the bucket. The flimsy plastic contents were already warping – alight with blue and orange flames. Black smoke that smelled of burning rubber wafted up in thick spirals. Dylan put his arm around Sarah, and they all watched, hypnotised – checking that the nefarious object was definitely gone. And then, when it was just a pile of cinders, Dylan grabbed his phone.

  “Hey, Ivan,” he said in a reverential voice. “Mission accomplished… Yeah, all gone, I promise. Okay. Goodnight.” Dylan hung up and stared at the phone.

  “Was he okay?” Joseph asked.

  “He sounded relieved,” Dylan said. “I guess he knows the sooner all this is over, the sooner he can go find Samira. She sure is in for a surprise…” He rubbed his eyes and smiled at Sarah. “Wanna take a bath, sweetheart? I could do with forgetting all this for a while.”

  “Yeah, come on. Let’s go to bed.”

  “Joseph, you’re staying here tonight, okay. Sleep with your phone next to your pillow. You call me if you hear anything strange outside. Or inside. Alright?”

  Joseph shrugged. “I’ll be okay. I can’t stay with you all the time. I’ve got band practise all day tomorrow – it’s our gig the night after.”

  “Well, you’ll need to be careful. Make sure you stay in contact with me at all times.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sarah said. “If it’s your gig the night after tomorrow… that means it’s your birthday in two days!”

  He threw her a grin. “Thanks for remembering, Sarah. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay out of Orlov’s way long enough to make it to my twentieth!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Feeling like a spy behind his shades, Dylan held the door open for Sarah to walk into the little café – then he squeezed in behind her. A wave of chatter hit them. The tight space, dusty windows, and mismatched wooden furniture made this place feel even more chaotic than it was. It was packed with shoppers and tourists, and the heat struck Dylan like a volcano. Why the hell didn’t they have air-conditioning in the UK? It was oppressively humid today, and damp, too. The drizzle had set in for the afternoon and a thunderstorm was needed to shift the sticky atmosphere that was rumbling tightly in London’s foundations.

  Dylan scanned his gaze through the crowd of seated chattering people, searching frantically for Mikhail. Ah, there he was – sitting at the back in the shadows, engrossed in an old laptop. Dylan was struck again by how young Mikhail was. He wore his wiry body and stern expression like old bark around a fresh sapling. Whatever Mikhail was searching for by getting involved in all this craziness, Dylan hoped he’d soon find it and begin a new life.

  Dylan removed his sunglasses and led Sarah over to Mikhail’s table, where they halted. Dylan cleared his throat.

  Mikhail glanced up. “Oh, you. I wondered whether you would come. Have you been followed?”

  Dylan raised his voice against the chatter. “Probably. We’ve been making a few enemies since I last saw you.”

  “You want to sit?”

  “Thanks.”

  Dylan pulled out a chair for Sarah to sit, then he sat next to her and held her hand.

  Mikhail glanced from Sarah to Dylan, then back. “So you want something? You got the blueprint?”

  “We destroyed it last night,” Sarah said. “Set it alight.”

  “Good work.” He gazed at Dylan. “And your dead brother believes this is the very last part?”

  Dylan leaned his elbows on the table. “Yeah. No more surprises. At least I hope not.”

  “Good. So what can I do?”

  “Firstly, you’ve gotta assure me no one will know about Ivan’s… resurrection.”

  Mikhail waved his hand dismissively. “I know nothing of this.”

  “Good, thank you. Okay, I’ve got an angry Russian on my back and his lawyer is pressing me to sign a deal with him, but I’m stalling.”

  Mikhail looked baffled. “A deal?”

  “Yeah. Me and Orlov are – were – going to do business together. My company was going to sponsor his soccer club.”

  “Yes I know – this is what me and Natalia wanted to prevent from happening.” Mikhail scowled. “Surely you don’t plan to still go through with this sponsorship – not after everything that has happened? Natalia gave up her life, Mr Quinlan. If you think you can –”

  “Cool it, Mikhail – the deal’s off. But I can’t tell Orlov that – I need something over him, right? So he doesn’t decide to shoot me down in cold blood.”

  Mikhail’s face remained passive. “If he planned to do that you‘d be dead already – as soon as he’d checked in his safe.”

  Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but a chirpy waitress came over, so Sarah ordered a cup of tea, trying to act casual. Dylan was proud of how well she was coping with all this. She looked tired, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that Dylan had never seen before – not even back in college. It was almost as if she was enjoying this little adventure – it’d pulled her out of the mundanity of her life and given her some excitement. But there was something appealing about mundanity at the moment. Hopefully this crazy situation would soon be over and they could concentrate on getting to know each other again, without needing to worry about trying to stay alive.

  The waitress bounded away with promises of tea and cake. The three huddled closer around the table.

  “So,” Dylan said. “Me and Orlov are holding a press conference tomorrow afternoon. It’s been arranged a while, and I’ve had confirmation from his PA that he’s still keen to go ahead. It should be interesting. So long as he doesn’t try to stab me behind the podium – at least I’ll know where he is.”

  “And he will also know where you are.”

  “I know – but he won’t be able to kill me before I get there, right? Look, Mikhail, my reason for coming here… I need you to find me some evidence that Natalia was on your side. Can you do that?”

  He stared pensively at his laptop for a moment. “Yes. I think I can get some documents. Some ID, yes? To prove she was a fully paid-up member – this sort of thing?”

  “Anything. I just need to make sure Orlov’s friends know exactly who he was married to.”

  “Good idea. You will expose him?”

  “That’s my plan. If I can get close enough to those other inner-circle guys.”

  Mikhail snorted with satisfaction. “The others, when they find out Orlov was married to a spy… they will tear him in pieces.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  Sarah leaned forward. “Mikhail, do you think Orlov killed Natalia?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he did pay someone to do it. I hope you can do justice for her.”

  “You two were close?” Sarah asked.

  Mikhail’s eyes welled with tears. “Yes, very close. We were hoping to marry, but we gave it up for the cause – in order so she could marry Orlov. Losing her has been…” He shook his head. “But our little problems amount to nothing when placed in the context of our dear Russia’s future. We all must make sacr
ifices. Sometimes for love; sometimes with our lives.”

  Sarah squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry for your pain, Mikhail. I also lost the love of my life once. I know how you feel.”

  Mikhail smiled sadly. “But I see you got him back again. This will not happen for me.”

  Dylan opened his mouth to say that he’d once believed Ivan was dead – so nothing was ever certain. But he closed it again. Natalia had died in his arms in Leicester Square and there would be no resurrection for her.

  Mikhail pulled himself together. “Right. I will get you those papers of Natalia’s. Meet me here the morning after tomorrow and I will have what you need. You should watch your backs. Regardless of his plans for your press conference tomorrow, he will want you dead now that you have taken the blueprint. Both of you.”

  Dylan stood up and placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Just let him fucking try.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sarah felt vulnerable and exposed as Dylan drove them through the wide London boulevard in the sports car he’d borrowed from Adam. He’d decided to drive this car in the hope that it would throw off anyone who might be tracking them, but Sarah felt conspicuous in it – it was a red flashy attention-seeker. She knew Dylan had meant it when he said he’d never let anything happen to her, but knowing she was on a Russian hit-list was making her jittery. If a lone gunman decided to take a shot at them, Dylan wouldn’t be able to stop a speeding bullet. He was a super man; but not Superman. They’d refrained from rolling down the convertible roof for obvious reasons…

  London flowed by outside the car window. People of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds were busily absorbed in their lives – swarming over the sidewalks, in and out the grocery stores, and down the subways. They were all occupied with their own little dramas, just as Sarah was. She wondered whether any of them were feeling the lightness of love today, as she was. She hoped so – she wished everyone could feel this gorgeous contentment all the time. She imagined everyone would instinctively be kinder to each other if their hearts were full of love. Or – she wondered – were any of those busy people out there on the run from the Russian mafia? Unlikely. But it was guaranteed they’d have some sort of problems of their own. Everyone did. She noticed a sprawling oak tree in the middle of a sidewalk, whose roots were forcing their way up through the concrete. It was taking its time to perform this reclamation of nature. But Sarah could see it was determined…

  She pulled her thoughts back to the car and glanced over at Dylan as he manoeuvred his way through the lanes of traffic, resting her gaze on his lean powerful fingers.

  He caught her staring. “I can’t wait to run my hands all over your sweet body, Sarah. I’m tempted to pull over so I can fuck you right here and now.”

  She laughed, feeling her muscles relax slightly. “A massage would definitely be welcome from your strong hands right now.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Dylan slowed down at the stop lights and they exchanged a smutty glance, which gently morphed into something more loving; more stable. Sarah grinned as her body was drenched with loving happiness. In some ways, this was quite exciting – sitting in a sports car with the man of her dreams, cruising through London, on the run.

  He reached over and squeezed her thigh. “You got any plans today? Other than staying out of the firing line of the Russian government?”

  “Hmm… Let me just check my diary.” Sarah flicked through some make-believe pages. “Nope, I think I’m free to let you fuck me all afternoon.”

  The lights changed and Dylan put his foot on the gas, making it rev wildly. Sarah laughed. He definitely seemed to be lightening up, which was so good to see. Especially considering the circumstances they’d found themselves in.

  Dylan steered the car into a narrower road towards his place. The rectangular four-storey Georgian buildings and the one-way traffic down here made the street feel cramped. The sidewalk was narrow on both sides – as if it had been built as an afterthought. Sarah glanced up and realised there were plenty of looming buildings for a sniper to sit and wait… She shoved these thoughts away. Get a grip!

  Dylan rubbed her knee, ever cool and collected. “I can’t wait to get you stripped and ready for me.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to say something dirty in reply, but she was suddenly jolted forward in her seat as a car behind crashed into them. Her body tensed with panic – was this the Russians trying to run them off the road?

  “Oh that’s just fucking great,” Dylan said, opening the door to climb out.

  She grabbed his shirt. “Wait, what if it’s a trap?”

  Dylan glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Sweetheart, the guy who hit us looks like a soccer hooligan. He’s driving a Ford Escort. I hardly think he’s working for the Russian mafia.”

  She let go. “Okay, but be careful.”

  He caressed her cheek. “Stay here. I’ll get his details and we’ll go hideout somewhere safe, okay. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  He leaned over and kissed her hard, then climbed out. Sarah watched as he strolled over to the other side of the road to speak to the guy who’d hit them. He was already taking photos with his phone, and Dylan was right – he did look like a typical soccer fan – he had a shaved head and a grubby white T-shirt, and his belly bulged over his jeans from too many beers and post-pub kebabs.

  Sarah wound down the window and watched as the two men sized each other up. She felt self-conscious sitting here as the traffic tried to squeeze its way around the two collided vehicles. But she was reluctant to get out, just in case. Anyway, the police would probably appear from nowhere in a minute...

  “Where did you get your bloody driving licence?” the soccer fan growled, ready to fight. “A bloody cereal packet?”

  “What the hell’s your problem?” Dylan asked, stepping forward and invading the guy’s space. “You weren’t concentrating!”

  “Yes I was, wanker. I’ve met arrogant bastards like you before, thinking you can drive your fancy sports cars like a lunatic the middle of London. You should all lose your driving licences – have them taken away from you!”

  “Listen, asshole, you’re gonna lose your fucking teeth in a minute if you don’t give me your details. We’re obstructing the traffic!”

  The man restrained himself from attacking Dylan. “You threatening me, mate?”

  Sarah knew Dylan wouldn’t back down. She sighed. There was no way she could just sit here and watch two grown men descend into violence over their stupid cars. No longer caring about the threat of the Russians, she climbed out and strode over to join them across the street.

  “Guys, come on. Let’s stay calm and deal with this like adults.”

  The soccer fan glared at Sarah. “Well, if your husband knew how to drive properly, we wouldn’t be in this bloody mess, would we?”

  Dylan leaned forward. “Me drive properly? You know you were in the wrong!”

  Sarah held his hand. “Dylan, come on, let’s just take his vehicle registration and let the insurance companies deal with it.”

  Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but the other guy hadn’t finished. “You Americans, you’re all the same, coming over here and thinking you know best. But we do actually drive on the left here. Just because you’ve got a flashy sports car, it doesn’t mean –”

  The guy’s rant was suddenly cut short as something caught his attention over Sarah’s shoulder. From the look on his face, it was a terrible sight. She braced herself. It was going to a hitman, wasn’t it? Her body filled with dread and she scrunched up her eyes. But then she realised she could smell burning. She wheeled round and watched in terror as orange flames whooshed like a geyser from of the hood of Dylan’s car. Panic twisted in her stomach. Time slowed down to a slur as Dylan grabbed her arm, pulling her away and shielding her with his body. But she couldn’t drag her gaze away from the blinding flames and the swarming smoke that was already melting the metal and cracking the windshield.

  “Someon
e’s trying to kill us,” she whispered.

  “Get inside, sweetheart,” Dylan instructed. “And call the fire department.”

  Sarah grabbed her phone from her purse as Dylan let go of her and ran into the street shouting to the other pedestrians to get inside, then he waved at the approaching traffic, telling them to reverse and block off the road. The thick black smoke was billowing in huge spirals now, infiltrating Sarah’s lungs like glass shards and making her cough. The bright orange flames crackled out-of-control as they ripped the car to pieces. Sarah’s eyes wept furiously in the blinding heat, and she realised with horror that the whole thing was a ticking time-bomb – an explosion was imminent. She willed herself to seek safety, but her feet were glued to the sidewalk with fear. She spoke frantically into her phone with the emergency services despatcher, begging them to hurry, then Dylan ran over and pulled her into a little café, as the car – no longer able to stand the pressure – exploded, raining down shattered glass and metal shards all over the now-empty street.

  From the safety of the café, they watched as if they were in a cinema, viewing a big screen ahead of them. Detached. Sarah sank the soles of her shoes into the wooden floor of the café, trying to ground her spinning mind. Dylan pulled her into his arms, and she worked on calming her frantic breathing and thrashing heart, relaxing into his comforting embrace.

  “I could’ve been in that car,” Sarah said, unable to pull her eyes away from the still-burning wreckage.

  “We both could,” Dylan said.

  Sarah realised that the man who’d crashed into the back of Dylan was now standing at their side, also captivated by the shattered debris and blinding flames. Without loosening his arms on Sarah, Dylan turned his head and spoke calmly to the man. “Thank you. Thank you for making us get out the car. You just saved our lives by being an asshole.”

  The guy stared at Dylan in angry shock. Then he burst into laughter. “Shit, I guess I did. Thank god for your bad driving, eh, mate?”