Curvy Delights: Billionaire Romance BBW Boxset

by Tara Brent

  “Well isn’t that something,” yawned Bethany. Her father and brothers were obsessed with cars, and as such, she was automatically turned off whenever somebody started to yammer on about them. Minus—ah never mind! She thought, annoyed. “Well, here I am,” she said. “Bye! Maybe see you at kickboxing.”

  “Sure thing,” he said in a flirty voice, as he leaned in for a kiss.

  Bethany caught it with her fingertips. “Whooooaa-whoa-ho-ho-ho, Mister,” she said. “Yeah, that’s definitely not a thing.”

  “What? Oh come on why are you being such a killjoy! I thought this was a sure thing!”

  “Whaaaaat gave you that impression?” demanded Bethany. “Whatever. I don’t care. Good night.”

  She opened her door, but Richard slammed it shut. Okay, minus triple-infinity, she thought, getting angry.

  “Who do you think you are?” snapped Richard.

  “Sorry, I’m confused, did you read my mind? Because I was about to ask you the same question!” she clapped back.

  Richard grabbed her arm. “Hey, I bought you dinner, showed you a good time, most girls like you would be falling at their knees for a guy like me!” he said through gritted teeth.

  “All evidence to the contrary,” came a voice from Colleen’s lawn. “It’s amusing to see peasants reveal their true colors,” said the man, emerging from the shadows. He wore a black pima cotton t-shirt, black Amiri jeans, a black Phillip Plein leather jacket, custom black sneakers, and coral-pink sunglasses that rested on top of his head. A black ring on his finger glinted in the moonlight.

  To merely call him handsome was to call Mt. Everest “tall” or the surface of the sun “warm.” He was exquisitely beautiful in every way. Bethany felt herself flush despite the adrenaline running through her body. His eyes met hers and she shivered; I think I’m pregnant.

  Richard stared at the man, befuddled. During that moment he was distracted, Bethany took action. She jabbed him in the throat with her fingertips, causing him to gag. Then she grabbed his shoulders in order to knee him twice, once between the legs and once in the gut. She grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, causing him to yell, and she punched him twice, once in the liver and once in the kidney. She then forcefully kicked him away from her. He stumbled into the dirt. “And before you think of doing anything else,” she said, as he furiously fumbled to his feet, “keep in mind that you got physical first, not to mention that you’re about seven inches taller than I am, plus you’re on my property, and we have an especially handsome witness just a few meters away, so howzabout you cut your losses and go home, yeah? And if you’re still blue down south, you can take care of that on your own. But don’t forget,” she added in a sing-song voice, her mouth curving into a nasty grin, “masturbation’s a sin!”

  Scowling, Richard marched to his car. “Crazy bitch,” he muttered, slamming his car door shut.

  “Byyyyeee!” said Bethany, waving sweetly. “Tip better next time.”

  The man in black applauded slowly. “Now that was a terrific show,” he said, positively delighted.

  Bethany looked the man up and down. She had sold him short.

  “Oh, glad somebody enjoyed this evening,” she replied snarkily. She made her way over to him. “I’m Bethany Ballard. Guessing you’re Colleen’s kid brother? She told me you’d pop by now and again.”

  “Tristan Blackwood, at your service,” he said, shaking her hand. “And I suppose that my sweet, sensitive, and supportive sister didn’t hesitate to sing my praises?”

  “Hardly,” laughed Bethany.

  “Ah, so she warned you to stay away from me at all costs. Same old tale, time and time again,” he said.

  “Spot on.”

  “Oh well,” he laughed. “So after that display I’m not foolhardy enough to ask if I could come in, but would you care to join me next door? Colleen is... some version of awake. Can I offer you a hot cider, perhaps?”

  “Eh, I’m pretty tired, and there are some weird guidelines about how I’m not supposed to have hot beverages, buuuut why not?” she said, trying to hide the fact that her mouth was watering just looking at him.

  He grinned and led the way, and Bethany eagerly followed.

  “May I take your coat?” offered Tristan.

  “Sure,” said Bethany, and then whispering to herself, “so long as you take my virginity too.”

  “Sorry? Didn’t catch that,” said Tristan.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Bethany. “Just thinking aloud.”

  “Might I ask what your plan was if I hadn’t distracted that poor excuse for a human?” asked Tristan.

  “Basically the same thing. Maybe a few more knees to his you-know-what.”

  “Lovely. Orson, are you nearby? Would you mind fetching us a pair of hot ciders?”

  Orson made his presence known and gave a slight bow. “Of course, Tristan,” he said, making his way to the kitchen.

  “Not gonna lie, I’m seriously not accustomed to this whole butler thing,” said Bethany.

  “Nor am I accustomed to hanging up my own coat, let alone somebody else’s,” said Tristan. “But as it seemed you already had to deal with one pompous moron this evening, I thought it best to act the gentleman, if just for the evening.”

  “Bet that’s how you get all the ladies,” she teased.

  “No. No, they just throw themselves at me, and I react accordingly if I am so inclined.”

  “Wow, such a romantic.”

  Tristan shrugged. “None so far have been interesting enough to stimulate me for long enough.”

  “Stimulate you?”

  “Mentally and emotionally, I mean,” he clarified, a twinkle in his eye. “Ah, thank you Orson,” he said, as Orson had returned with two steaming mugs of hot cider. Tristan and Bethany took the mugs. “To better dates going forward,” he said, raising the mug.

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Bethany, clinking glasses and sipping without breaking eye contact. “And speaking of future dates...” she began, only to be interrupted by the sound of breaking glass.

  “Orthon!” slurred Colleen, a smashed martini glass on the floor next to her. “I think I need another drink.”

  “I agree,” said Tristan. “Just not one with alcohol. Orson, a glass of water and a mug of hot cider for my sister? Wait, put them in plastic cups. Don’t want anything else to break.”

  “Orson if you bring me two non-alcoholic drinks then so hear me I will make you shave every hair of your and Fernando’s bodies,” she said icily, flopping down on the couch.

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “Fine, mulled wine and a water.” Orson nodded then left. “You’re a disaster-person, Colleen,” he said.

  “More like—hiccup—you’re a disaster person,” she retorted confidently.

  “So, yeah, hi, maybe I’m biased what with the whole LDS thing, but should she be having any more alcohol at this point?” whispered Bethany.

  Tristan grimaced. “Orson and I have it worked out. He has a secret stash of non-alcoholic cabernet sauvignon. Once mixed with the cider and spices especially when she’s this far gone, she’ll never know the difference.”

  “Stop conspiring,” Colleen whined. “And stay away from each other.” She curled up on the couch. “Tristan you’re going to ruin her like you ruin everything else you touch.”

  “Colleen Colleen Colleen, it’s hard to take your condemnations seriously when you’re drooling on an expensive couch that I bought you.” He turned to Bethany. She’ll be fine here, Orson knows how to take care of her.”

  “You’re not worried?” asked Bethany as they made their way into the next room. “I mean, ever since I met her she’s had a drink in at least one of her hands, but I’ve never seen her blitzed like this.”

  “I bring it out in her,” said Tristan, the annoyance in his voice betraying his calm veneer. “For reasons I never understood I’ve always made her uncomfortable. Of course, I have plenty of theories, but none of them quite suffice. Perhaps it’s the culmination of
many of these issues. I can’t honestly say. But as I hate being stumped, I simply pretend the problem does not exist, so I can choose to see my problem-solving skills as flawless and avoid having to face the reality of our conflict.”

  “That seems like a healthy approach to life,” said Bethany sarcastically.

  “See? Now you’re thinking like a Blackwood,” he teased. “So: what do you know about me?”

  “Not a whole lot,” admitted Bethany. “The truth is, I actually have heard of you, just not from Colleen. But you’re not so much a magazine cover celebrity as one of those ‘really rich behind the scenes’ type of celebrities. Like the only reason I’d recognize Mark Zuckerberg in person would be because of his SNL appearances, and I doubt I’d be able to pick Jeff Bezos out of a crowd. You’re somewhere in that category, I guess.”

  “Bezos is a peasant and Zuckerberg a mongrel,” dismissed Tristan.

  “Isn’t Bezos the richest man in the world? Not much of a peasant then is he?”

  “He’s a peasant because I declare him one,” said Tristan, waving his hand. “There’s more to life than money, even if, truth be told, I may or may not have a higher net worth than he does, even if I may or may not hide it better through means that may or may not be entirely legal.”

  “Oh goody,” said Bethany.

  “So quick to judge?”

  “Yeah. I’m kind of in a judgy mood after what went down earlier,” she said. “Plus, you’re downright gorgeous, so I’m working extra hard to make sure that you’re as delicious on the inside as you are on the outside.”

  “Bold are we?”

  “Just being honest,” she said. “But to answer your earlier question, Colleen never actually specified your name. She just said ‘my brother’ so it never occurred to me that it was you. I mean, you don’t exactly look alike.”

  “That has always been a point of confusion,” said Tristan. “Our coloring is entirely different. Before her hair went silver, Colleen was a light-skinned redhead, as were our parents, whereas I’m as dark as they come while still checking off ‘caucasian’ on my forms. But if you look closely enough, you can see that some of my facial structure matches that of my sister.”

  Bethany eyed him carefully, much to Tristan's delight. "Oh yeah," she said. "The nose is the same, along with the shape of your brow and your other angular features. I can see it. Yeah, you're like if Colleen was fifteen years younger, took testosterone pills for the better part of her life, and got a paint job."

  Tristan laughed. “Sounds about right. Where my dark features come from has puzzled me for sure but sometimes genetics plays a trick on us so I don’t worry about it so much. By the way, before my lovely sister interrupted us, you were mentioning something along the lines of ‘speaking of futures dates’...”

  “Hmm? Oh! Yes. So first things first: what’s the most elaborate date you’ve ever taken a girl on?”

  “That’s easy. One insisted we go to space.”

  Bethany’s mouth fell open. “You what now?”

  “Yes. She had wanted to be an astronaut as a child but, let’s face it, few are viable candidates for such a career path. But as I had recently purchased a space tourism company, much to NASA’s chagrin, I was able to make it happen. Of course, she whined incessantly about the training, so by the time we actually took the trip, we were all but through. She did not appreciate it when I laughed at her vomit floating around in zero gravity, and we were both single by the time we returned to Earth.”

  “Okay, wow,” said Bethany. “So, we’re not gonna top that then.”

  Tristan folded his arms. “Oh? You assume that we are going to go on a date?”

  “I may be inexperienced but I know what hunger in a man’s eyes looks like?”

  “What about hunger in the eyes of the divine?” asked Tristan.

  “You’re cute and funny so I’ll let the arrogance slide. For now. But yes, we will be going out.”

  “So we are to disobey my sister then?”

  “She’s a great friend but certainly not the boss of me and I can’t imagine you ever listen to her anyway, so yes.”

  “Sounds fun. Okay. The sky is the limit, my dear. How are you with the cold? I can take you to Antarctica in my private jet. Or perhaps you would like me to arrange a Led Zeppelin reunion concert of sorts? Robert told me he was sick of singing ‘Stairway,’ but if I promised them all a fat paycheck in addition to a few million dollars to their favorite charities, I’m sure I could make it happen.”

  “Hold your horses bigshot,” said Bethany. “You’re not going to impress me by throwing money around. Unless it’s for tipping, but we’ll worry about that later.”

  “Fair enough. Then what will impress you?” he asked.

  Bethany thought a moment, and then a lightbulb went off. Smiling mischievously, she said, “Do you have your wallet on you?”

  “One of them, sure,” he said, pulling it out to hand to her.

  “Let’s see here,” she murmured, going through it. “Okay seriously how do you only have hundred dollar bills in—AHA! Got it.” She pulled out a one-dollar bill. “Tristan Blackwood. Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to bring me on a date that will demonstrate the beauty of your soul. Only if your inner beauty exceeds your outer beauty will you be allowed a second date, and keep in mind, you are all kinds of sexy, so you have an uphill battle ahead of you. Your budget,” she said, opening his hand and slipping the dollar bill into his palm, “is limited to what I have just put in your hand. With each subsequent date, should you make it to the next round, will double.”

  “So I won’t be able to break three digits until our seventh date then?”

  “I’m too tired for the math, but sure, that’s the idea.”

  “Oh Bethany,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You and I are going to get along very, very well.”

  “Oh how I hope so,” she said. “Anyway, I’m going to head home.” She finished her cider. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep well.”

  “Good night, Bethany,” he said, smiling as well.

  As she left him behind, tingling with excitement. She found Colleen snoring on the couch, so she tucked her in. “You’re going to be very cross with me very soon,” she whispered, “but it’s not my fault that your gorgeous, billionaire brother is into me, so really, it’s your parents’ fault for having good genes.”

  Colleen murmured something garbled that came out as “Mer-sern-nert-mer-berder” and began to snore. Bethany chuckled to herself and brought her mug to the kitchen, leaving it in the sink.

  “Good night, Orson,” she said.

  “Good night, ma’am,” said Orson.

  And so she left.

  Chapter 6: Devil

  Bethany received a text from Tristan early the next morning: “Dress in clothes you don’t mind getting dirty and wear shoes you’re comfortable walking in. Whenever you’re ready, knock on Colleen’s door. I’ll be ready to go.” Bethany smiled. She got herself cleaned up, and paused to think of what outfit she wanted to wear. She ended up wearing her rock-climbing pants as they could pass as decent-looking khakis from a distance while being very flexible and easy to move around in. Add to that a plaid shirt over a white tank top, a baseball cap with her ponytail coming out the back, and an especially comfortable pair of timberlands, and she felt ready to go.

  She went next door and knocked. Orson opened the door for her. “Miss Ballard, a pleasure.”

  “Charmed as always, Orson,” she said. “So is Tristan ready yet?”

  “Oh god I thought that was a nightmare,” came a voice from the other room.

  Bethany grinned apologetically at Orson and stepped inside and made her way to the dining room. All the lights were off and Colleen was wearing sunglasses. Before her was half a grapefruit, whole wheat toast with scrambled eggs, avocado and bacon, some almonds, a large glass of lemon water, a vile looking cocktail, a Nutribullit green drink, a container of ibuprofen, a mimosa, some greek yogurt with berries, black
coffee, and a shot of some brown liquor accompanied by a second shot glass with some sort of pale, greenish liquid.

  “So... rough morning?” asked Bethany.

  “Don’t,” said Colleen.

  “What even is that?” she asked, gesturing to the yucky cocktail.

  “A prairie oyster,” muttered Colleen.

  “A whatsit?”

  “Raw egg, Worcestershire sauce, tomato juice, vinegar, hot sauce, black pepper,” she answered, disgusted.

  “And that helps with a hangover?”

  “Supposedly all of these things do and I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

  “Isn’t that whiskey in the shot glass?”

  “Yes, Jameson. Not wasting the good stuff on this. But some say that the best cure for a hangover is more alcohol.”

  “Explains the mimosa I guess. And the other shot?”

  “Pickle juice. Vinegar might help.”

  “So, walk me through this madness.”

  “No talk. Just watch.” With that, Colleen drained the prairie oyster in a single gulp. Gagging and shuddering, she drained the Jameson, followed by the pickle juice. Then, she pulled one of the lemons out of her water to suck on, took a quick sip of her mimosa, and had a big spoonful of the greek yogurt and berries.

  “That was impressive,” said Bethany.

  “We’ll see what good it does,” muttered Colleen. “Sit! Join me. Now that I’m past the vile phase I can enjoy my breakfast. Orson, fix our guest some eggs. How do you like them, dear?”

  “Whatever’s easiest, Orson, thank you,” said Bethany. “So where is Tristan.”

  “Oh damn it all Bethany,” sighed Colleen. “I give you one, one! piece of advice, and the moment he shows up, he sweeps you off his feet.”

  “Oh don’t worry, I’m gonna make him work for it. Wouldn’t mind having him as my first,” she admitted.

  Colleen peered over her glasses. “So you’ve never...”

  “Nah,” said Bethany, blushing slightly.

  “Aren’t you twenty-five?”

  “Hey! Shush. Don’t judge me. I’m a Mormon from Utah. I spent most of my life thinking I’d save it until marriage.”