The wrong billionaire, p.1
The Wrong Billionaire, page 1
The Wrong Billionaire
Dani Collins
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
June, Niagara-on-the-Lake, present day...
IT WAS SUPPOSED to be the happiest day of her life, but Eden Bellamy wasn’t happy.
She should be. Her groom was a reliable, steady man, exactly like her father. Their marriage would save her father’s company. She’d been stressing over how she would do that since Oscar Bellamy’s death a year ago. She ought to be thrilled to her pedicured toes that she was finally resolving things.
She pretended she was happy. She plastered a smile on her face as her mother dabbed the corners of her eyes and wished Eden’s father was here.
“Me, too, Mama. Go take your seat.” I want this over with.
Her mother hurried away. Eden’s heart seemed to follow, stretching out after her the way a child’s might when their mother left them at preschool for the first time. Wait. Don’t leave me. Save me.
The wedding planner secured the microphone to the sweetheart neckline of her gown and tried to lower Eden’s veil. She stopped her.
“I need to see the stairs.”
Nerves already had her so unsteady, she feared she would tumble down them. Micah wouldn’t let that happen, of course.
Her half brother was standing in as father of the bride. He wore his habitual stoic expression as he stood at the open doors to the terrace watching Quinn, Eden’s maid of honor, coax the bridal party into their positions. She urged the flower girl to take the hand of Eden’s adolescent cousin as they moved to the top of the stairs for the procession down to the lawn.
“Ready?” The wedding planner finished fussing.
“Is it working?” Eden asked, into the microphone, and heard her own voice come through the speakers outside.
With a pleased smile, the planner melted away. Seconds later, the music paused. The murmuring of the crowd went silent.
Eden’s stomach curdled. A dire sense that she was making a colossal mistake condensed around her like a noxious fugue.
He doesn’t want you, she silently screamed at herself, exactly as she had while lying awake last night. As she had every night, in fact, for months. For years.
She tried to recount all the reasons why marrying Hunter Waverly made sense, but her thoughts insistently drifted to that other man, the one who barely acknowledged she existed. The one standing beside Hunter right now.
How could seeing him be the only thing about this day that she looked forward to? She would stand near Remy Sylvain while she spoke her vows to another man and he wouldn’t care.
Micah held out a crooked arm.
Tears pressed behind her eyes as she came forward to tuck her hand inside his elbow.
Outside, the lyrical notes of the harp invited her to step over the threshold into her new life. Her heart began to pound so forcefully, the microphone might have picked it up. There was a rushing sound in her ears. Her feet tried to glue themselves to the floor.
I can’t do this, she thought with abject panic.
“You!” a man’s angry voice shouted down below.
It was followed by a plaintive tone from a woman. “Daddy, no! Please!”
“What the hell?” Micah muttered. He strode to the edge of the terrace.
Eden followed and peered down at the hundreds of assembled guests, all facing the pergola where Hunter was standing with his groomsmen and the wedding officiant.
A gray-haired man in rumpled clothes shook his finger at Hunter while his daughter, presumably, tugged his arm, begging him to leave. She held a baby, one new enough that she was protecting its neck as she cuddled it against her shoulder. The senior shook her off and continued berating Hunter.
“Dad!” the woman cried. “He didn’t know, okay? I never told him!”
After a stunned pause and a charged exchange between father and daughter, Hunter’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“Is it true?”
Eden’s brain finally caught up and crashed into what was happening. That old man was claiming the woman’s baby was Hunter’s! Her knees nearly gave out.
Hunter tore off his microphone and handed it to an usher.
That’s when she realized Remy was looking up at her.
He was wearing the same morning suit as the rest of the groom’s party, but he wore it so much better. His white shirt and burgundy vest with swirls of gold were positively regal on his muscled torso.
If a man was capable of being elegant and beautiful while maintaining every shred of masculinity, that’s what Remy managed to do. Always. His hair had been freshly cut into a midfade, his strong jaw shaved clean. His tall, muscled frame was powerful and unmoving, while his demeanor was more remote and contained than ever.
He wasn’t shocked by what was going on, though. That’s what struck her like a slap. He was watching to see how she reacted.
Had he arranged this? Had Micah been right? Was Remy willing to ruin her wedding? Her life?
Beside her, Micah muttered a string of curses. “I’ll kill him. This time, I really will.”
Down in the pergola, Remy nudged Hunter. Hunter moved his gaze up to her. So did the woman. Hunter’s grim expression hardened with culpability.
The farcical energy crackled for two or three seconds longer, long enough for Eden’s heart to twist and wrench inside her chest. Humiliation crept like poison from the pit of her stomach to ache in her cheeks.
The woman with the baby looked equally mortified. Her expression crumpled and she hurried away.
Eden’s numb fingers released her bouquet. It fell off the ledge of the terrace. She dragged her gaze from Remy’s unreadable expression and swept herself back into the honeymoon suite of the vineyard’s guesthouse.
CHAPTER ONE
Paris, five years ago...
EDEN ALMOST LET Quinn go to the Louvre alone. She had been to the museum before and it was always a crush of people, especially around the most famous painting in the world.
Culture wasn’t her priority when she came to Europe. She wanted to visit her brother and enjoy vacation pursuits, like sailing, shopping, swimming and snowboarding.
Quinn liked those things, too, but she hadn’t grown up with money. She was building her future on an education obtained through scholarship and maximized every chance to learn.
Eden respected that. In some ways, she envied Quinn her limitless choices. Eden’s life path was set in stone. She would finish her business degree, inherit Bellamy Home and Garden and keep it flourishing. She was happy to do so, but she needed a break from the pressure sometimes.
She and Quinn were best friends because they were willing to go along with what the other one wanted to do, though. Whether it was homework, browsing boutiques, or craning to catch a glimpse of a painting through a sea of patrons’ phone screens, they wanted to hang together and crack dumb jokes for the other’s amusement.
“I thought it would be bigger,” Quinn said, swaying on her tiptoes.
“Haven’t you heard? Size doesn’t matter.”
It was a lame phrase they threw at each other more often than twelve-year-old boys declared, “That’s what she said.”
A snort of amusement behind her prompted Eden to glance back.
The breath was stolen clean out of her lungs by a man in distressed denim jeans, suede ankle boots and a mushroom-gray linen jacket over a green shirt with sunflowers on it. His collar was open, revealing a modest gold pendant nestled against the hollow of his brown throat. A protective saint, perhaps.
Confidence radiated off his tall frame. His wide shoulders spoke of physical power. He wore his jacket with the sleeves pushed back, exposing the Montblanc on his wrist. Above his high fade, his black curls were natural and short. His goatee framed his full-lipped mouth. The heavy-lidded gaze that lingered on her sent a gorgeous slithery sensation from her abdomen into places inside her that had never felt alive.
Her cheeks warmed and her breath shortened as she held his rye-whiskey gaze.
“Age matters, though,” Quinn mused in her ear.
Eden sent Quinn a side-eye of “shut up” and returned his smile. She was nineteen, definitely old enough to flirt with someone in his midtwenties. This was Paris. It was kind of required by law.
“You speak English?” she asked, which wasn’t exactly high-level flirting, but dozens of languages were competing in the din around them. It was a logical opener.
“I do. I’m Canadian. Like you.”
“How do you know we’re Canadian?” Eden cocked her head with curiosity.
“Halifax is hitting her r’s harder than a pirate.” He nodded at Quinn. “And you said ‘sorry’ to the guy who crammed his elbow in your ear.”
“Prince Edward Island, thank you,” Quinn said, correcting him with mock indignance. “I’m going to try to get closer.” Quinn inserted her shoulder into the crowd.
Eden held out her ha
“Remy. Montreal.” He gave it the Quebecois pronunciation.
They held hands and gazes until Eden was nudged from behind. She took a step into Remy to catch her balance. Her hand pressed one of those sunflowers to his very firm, warm chest. He steadied her with a grip of her elbow.
“Sorry?” she said wryly, trying to cover up how her knees softened at being so close to him. The flutters in her midsection had become waves of heat that pulsed upward into her breasts and throat. Her cheeks were likely turning pink because she was tingling all over with acute warmth.
“No problem.” The indent at the corner of his mouth was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, but his indulgent gaze was a teensy bit rueful. She heard the reserve in his voice as he released her. “Are you au pairs? Or is this a graduation trip? You don’t strike me as backpackers.”
He thought she was fresh out of high school? “I come every year to see my brother.” She was going for sophistication, but probably came off as boastful. “He keeps an apartment here.”
It was more of a penthouse and one of several mansions, villas and top-floor suites that he owned. And, yes, Micah was currently living there. He had arranged their flight and a stupidly generous budget, encouraging her to bring Quinn. Micah was sweet as caramel beneath his titanium crust, but he didn’t want to stand around in boutiques debating chartreuse over pistachio-green. “Take both and decide later” had been his impatient contribution to their one and only shopping trip together.
“We’re heading back to McGill University in September,” Eden clarified.
Remy nodded, his restless gaze scanning her face with a hint of conflict.
Eden could tell he was trying to decide if she was too young for him. She was inexperienced in some ways, but sophisticated in others. She dated regularly, but men her age seemed like juvenile nitwits when compared to her brother, who set a high bar of dynamic intelligence and shouldered far-reaching responsibilities he had inherited too early from his father.
At home, her own father was a big fish in a small pond, but people still acted weird when they found out who he was—sometimes intimidated, other times opportunistic. She sidestepped revealing her male relatives until she got to know strangers better.
“You?” she asked. “Are you on vacation with your wife or...?”
His mouth twitched and his gaze delved more deeply into hers from beneath eyelids that grew heavy with interest.
“I’m single,” he assured her. “Here on business, but I have family—” He winced and glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting my cousin, actually. Now I’m late. Are you in Paris long? My friend owns a nightclub. I promised to drop by on Friday. Shall I ask him to put you on the list?” He took out his phone.
“That sounds fun. Eden and Quinn.” She didn’t give him her last name, not wanting him to look her up. She didn’t ask him to include Micah, either. Her brother was already behaving like a Victorian guardian.
“I’ll arrive around eleven. Don’t let me down. I want to see you again.”
His point and wink gave her a sensual kick inside that kept her buzzing for days as she dragged Quinn along the Champs-Élysées in search of the perfect dress. She settled on a silver metal-chain dress with a snug halter top and a fringe below the short skirt. Her shoes were four-inch, sequined sandals with straps that spiraled halfway up to her knees.
Quinn picked a strapless green minidress that she chose because it had pockets—big surprise from practical Quinn—but it suited her figure.
When Friday arrived, for once, Quinn wore her gorgeous red hair down, but she was radiating tension on their way to the club.
“Is something wrong?” Eden was so excited she could hardly sit still.
“I’m not sure. I—” She hesitated. Conflict and a desire to evade glinted in her eyes.
Eden prickled with apprehension, but she was distracted by the sign that flashed “Until Dawn” in French.
“That’s it. Jusqu’à l’Aube,” Eden said to Micah’s chauffeur and pointed ahead.
“Long line to get in,” Quinn noted.
“That means it’s popular.” Eden had been a tiny bit worried it would be sketchy, but it was in a lively, upscale arrondissement.
The parade of laughing twentysomethings were dressed in chic miniskirts and shiny suits. They sent a mixture of curious and hostile glances when the car stopped at the end of the covered walkway into the nightclub and Eden and Quinn emerged.
“They hate us. Why didn’t we get let off at the end?” Quinn asked under her breath.
“We’re on The List.” At least, they had better be. Eden did not want to believe she had fallen for a scam to boost numbers at a club. Remy’s interest in her had felt as immediate and strong as hers had been in him. If he wasn’t here, well, she would be more devastated than she was prepared to admit.
She nervously gave their names to the greeter and they were escorted into the club. Inside, the crowd bounced to the DJ’s pulsing music beneath flashing colored lights. Their hostess showed them to the VIP section, where Remy was holding court on a U-shaped sofa.
He truly was the most gorgeous man. He rose and flashed a smile, kissing each of her cheeks as if he was genuinely glad to see her. As if they were longtime friends. Or something more. He wore black trousers over neon pink sneakers and a black T-shirt beneath a blue silk blazer embossed with a pink paisley pattern.
He tried to introduce her and Quinn to his friends, but all Eden heard was that one was his cousin from the museum. The woman wearing long braids and glowing white nail polish smiled and waved. A couple rose and motioned that they were headed to the dance floor. Two men joined them, making room on the sofa for Eden and Quinn to settle beside Remy.
“Champagne?” Remy reached for one of the open bottles. “Or rum? Something else?”
They chose champagne and he poured. Eden leaned toward Quinn as she accepted hers. “This must be what it feels like to be rich and famous.”
“You are rich and famous,” Quinn teased.
“Not like this.” This was Micah rich.
Quinn smiled her thanks as she took the glass Remy offered. She waited until Remy had topped up his own and clinked, then sipped.
Eden could hardly keep her glass steady. Her senses were on overload as the crush on the sofa had her pressed tightly against Remy, feeling his every shift and move. As he settled back and set his arm on the back of the sofa, his weight tilted her into him. He smelled as good as he looked, like summer and spice and maybe lust, but that might be her.
Their gazes tangled. She wanted to hear everything he might have to say, but she also wanted to stay exactly like this, simmering in sexual excitement. It was far more intoxicating than any bubbly.
His lips grazed her ear as he dipped his head and asked, “Do you want to dance?”
She nodded and glanced at Quinn. She waved at them to go without her, her mouth pursed in rueful acknowledgment that she was in the way. One of Remy’s companions glanced hopefully toward her, but Quinn was already frowning at her phone.
Something was bothering her, but Eden’s hand was in Remy’s and she was too eager to dance. She would question her later.
Remy was so sexy! Being well-dressed, confident and wealthy wasn’t enough for him. He danced well, too, sinking into the groove while his hands shaped the air around her. He rolled his body and kept his gaze fixed on her, making her feel like the most desirable woman alive.
She loved dancing. Nothing made her feel more beautiful than becoming one with the music—except possibly brushing up against Remy’s chest and thigh, feeling his hand graze her arm and lower back and hip. He brought her hand up over her head and twirled her, then she backed into him, thrilling when he slid his hands down her sides.
This wasn’t dancing. It was foreplay. She had kissed and messed around a little, but always in an experimental way, never feeling this level of potent attraction. Her desire to be closer and touch more of him, to press herself into him, was such a force, she thought she would burst from it.
When someone stumbled into her, the spell was nearly broken. Remy quickly drew her off the dance floor into a shadowed corner at the end of the bar, brow furrowed in concern. His touch skimmed down her arm as he leaned close.
