Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (11 page)

“Would you like a glass of champagne?”

Her first thought was to say no. Drinking on an empty stomach had never turned out well in the past. But a sip or two wouldn’t hurt, and it might help her lighten up. She wanted to enjoy the evening, not worry about what she was doing right or wrong.

But what could she do that would chase Julian away?

He wasn’t going to up and leave her. Not yet anyway. For the next six months she could count on Julian more than she’d ever been able to count on anybody else—except maybe Granny Mae.

“Maybe a touch,” she said of the champagne.

Julian grabbed a bottle, popped the top and poured the overflowing spirits into two glasses. He handed one to her and kept the other for himself.

She sipped the liquor, bubbles tickling her nose. She didn’t care much for the tart taste, but she supposed people put up with it for the buzz. Still, there had to be a better way. At least a better tasting way. Maybe a Pina Colada, a Daiquiri, or something made with melon liqueur. Yeah, that sounded good.

She might get one of those during dinner, but for now she’d go with what was on hand.

Julian downed his drink, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Camille. He turned to her, draping his arm along the back of the seat behind her. “If Papa or Madeleine get to be too much, just tell them to talk to me.”

He was beating around the bush about something, what she wasn’t sure. “Are you expecting them to get out of hand?” Her fingers stiffened around her glass.

“No, I don’t think so. But Papa has invited Madeleine to stay through the wedding.”

Camille shrugged to hide her confusion. “She must be a glutton for punishment.”

“I wondered about that myself.”

“Why would she want to attend a wedding in which she aspired to be the bride?”

“Papa is probably to blame.” Julian refilled his glass. “I think he’s probably put it in her head that she can somehow thwart the wedding.” He glanced at Camille with the champagne bottle in the air, as if waiting for her to request or decline more.

She did neither. “So, I should keep a sharp eye out?” Camille fidgeted, not liking the idea that Madeleine could smash her dreams beyond repair.

“Couldn’t hurt.” His fingertips caressed her hair back from her face. His touch was suddenly almost unbearable in its tenderness.

She drew her head back, facets of desire shuddering through her.

“Will I be catching the two of you in bed?” She laughed, mostly because she’d come to believe that Papa and Madeleine would be the main topic of all their conversations. It reiterated the fact that Julian de Laurent would never be interested in
her
. She was just a means to an end. A way out of real matrimony.

“If Madeleine has her way…I wouldn’t doubt it.” Julian’s laughter wrapped its cold tips around her heart.

But why wouldn’t Julian sleep with Madeleine. He’d already said he didn’t have anything against her. Just like most men, Julian probably wouldn’t mind sleeping with a girl he wasn’t interested in marrying.

And Julian and Camille? They were merely in a business arrangement. He had no real alignment to her, and thinking otherwise was crazy.

Prepare yourself, chickie
. She heard her warning loud and clear. Julian had all but told Camille she’d be finding him in bed with his mistress.

But no matter. Camille was prepared to play the dutiful wife to the hilt. The payoff was worth it. And in the meantime, she was going to enjoy being the wife of one of the richest men in the world—for as long as it lasted.

“Have you decided where we’ll be eating?” she asked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Since you expressed an interest in the local cuisine, I thought we’d dine at L’Epuisette.”

I say eat; he says dine
. The subtle differences in their vocabulary wrapped her in a straitjacket of unworthiness. Suddenly she felt unintelligent, uneducated, and undeserving, even though she’d graduated from Stanford University with honors.

“It sounds lovely.” Her words drifted off into a hushed whisper.

“You’ll enjoy it. I promise.” That chocolaty tone of Julian’s voice returned, sounding more enticing than ever. She was caught up in his enthusiasm.

“It has to be awesome,” she said with conviction. “You’ve never let me down yet.”

He studied her, like he was amazed—or maybe it was amused. “You keep that up and Papa will fall in love with you.” His statement, bold and brassy, skittered her pulse.

She felt her face burn, and she hoped the dim, almost nonexistent light hid her weakness.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a wood-planked building on the edge of the sea. The doorman stepped forward and opened the car door.

The warm night air breezed past and caressed her bare arms as Julian nudged her from the limousine. Tantalizing thoughts invaded her head. Julian grabbed her hand and she prayed he didn’t notice her shivering reaction.

“Are you cold?” he asked, draping his arm around her shoulders as they strolled toward the restaurant’s entrance.

“No.” She smiled, hoping to convey that she didn’t mind his touch. “Everything’s perfect.”

Julian rested his hand on the small of her back as they entered the restaurant’s lobby.

“Mr. de Laurent.” They were greeted with smiles and hellos and handshakes. “Your table is ready.”

They followed the maître’d through the restaurant. Tasteful wall hangings and pleated drapes divided the dining area into intimate sectors and the privacy they afforded more than made up for the establishment’s overcrowded popularity.

The dimly lit ambiance mesmerized Camille as they followed the maître’d up a short flight of stairs and out onto a private balcony, amply shrouded in shrubbery and foliage. They were led to a secluded table against a tall banister overlooking the sea. She guessed this was Julian’s
regular
table.

Camille sighed, happily relieved over the privacy. Pretending to be in love was going to take some adjusting. Easy for an actress, but not Camille.

Julian remained standing while the waiter seated her. Nobody had ever done that for Camille. With just two chairs at the small table, he sat with his back to the railing and reached across the table for her hand.

She succumbed, but reminded herself this was Julian’s staple for wooing the ladies. He probably brought all his conquests here to fill their tummies and get them in the mood so he could win their favors. And he’d brought her here just to keep up the charade. But she wasn’t one of his conquests. She was his business partner.

“Would you care to see a wine list?” the waiter asked.

Julian rattled off something in French, and Camille didn’t doubt they’d soon be drinking the finest champagne France had to offer.

But damn. She’d just as soon sip on a cocktail. Something sweet, exotic, and intoxicating.

The waiter walked away and Julian fiddled with his jacket and tie and beamed at her with an overdone smile. “What’s your pleasure? Chicken, seafood or steak?”

“I have to choose one?”

Julian howled. But it was a good kind of laughter. An enjoyable one. “Chéri, you can have everything on the menu, if that’s your desire.”

Her desire was a Pina Colada. And why couldn’t she ask for one? Why was she trying to appear so agreeable? She didn’t need to impress Julian. She just needed to stay put and not leave.

She leaned toward him. “Julian,” she whispered, “do they serve cocktails here? I’d so love something fruity and sweet.”

He looked crushed. “I’m sorry, Chéri.”

The waiter appeared, ready to take their order.

Julian focused on Camille. “What would you like to drink? Margarita? Pina Colada?”

“A Pina Colada would be awesome.”

Julian turned to the waiter and rattled off some directions in French. She thought she caught a few of the words, French terms for chicken, beef, and some kind of fish, crustacean maybe. Was he ordering a little bit of everything, just to please her? She could see why Madeleine wasn’t willing to let Julian go so easily.

Madeleine was the least of her worries, so long as the girl didn’t expose Camille and Julian’s scheme. Camille tossed the potential threat aside and contemplated the dessert menu.

One waiter left and another appeared with her drink, topped off with fresh strawberries, pineapple and maraschino cherries. She went for the fruit, devouring the strawberry and savoring every morsel.

Camille glanced at Julian. He was ranging his glance up and down, gauging her with a seductive gleam. She’d swear he had x-ray eyes. Desire danced with her heart. She wavered and looked away, grabbing her Pina Colada.

“Is this your first time in Europe, Chéri?” Julian looked as surprised by his question as she felt.

“Yes.” Overwrought with feelings of inadequacy, she siphoned her drink up the straw.

“Is there anywhere special that you’d like to see while you’re here?” he asked. “We have ample time. Would you like to tour?”

Camille wasn’t comfortable saying,
yes, I’d like to tour Europe
. It reeked of
taking advantage
. But they would be going on a honeymoon, wouldn’t they? She drained more of the Pina Colada and a relaxing sensation warmed her. “You know,” she said, half encouraged by the liquor’s temporary confidence. “I’ve always wanted to see the Greek Isles.”

“By ship?”

“A cruise?” She absent-mindedly chewed on her straw.

“How about a yacht?”

A yacht? That sounded wonderful. “If you’re trying to win points, de Laurent, you’re well on your way.” She smiled, laced her fingers around the shapely cocktail glass and slurped the bottom of the empty frozen treat.

The waiter brought them an appetizer plate of pan-fried prawns and cannelloni. He glanced at Julian, who motioned to Camille’s glass and then nodded him away post-haste.

“How many points do I need to get something good?” Julian asked Camille, and then drained his champagne glass.

“Just two more.” She giggled. The liquor kept her from blushing. “So pay attention.”

She laughed and reached for a prawn. Not only did it taste divine, but she needed to put something on her stomach since she wasn’t a big drinker.

“Speaking of debts.” He let the words linger on his tongue.

Camille got the feeling this wasn’t going to be good. Was he going to claim his prize for their bet over Pacifique de Lumière?

“Okay. Okay.” She laughed it off. “I was suitably impressed. You win.” She forced her gaze up to meet his. “So, what’s your reward?”

“Nothing more than the pleasure of your company, Chéri,” he said with a smile that could melt Antarctica.

Damn. This guy was good. If he made a pass, Camille doubted she’d be able to resist.

A smorgasbord of food arrived just in time to keep her from throwing herself at him, and filled all the vacant space on the table.

Julian was invitingly attentive, filling her plate with samples from all the dishes, a variety of lobster, escargot, lamb, duck and filet mignon.

She nibbled on lobster dipped in butter, savoring the sweet, creamy flavors. “So, when exactly are we getting married here?”

“I think the sooner the better,” he said between bites of lamb and steak. “I’d like to send my brother for your friend in a day or two, and then we can have the ceremony at the end of the week.” His sea-green eyes studied her face. “How does that sound?”

She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Excuses danced across her mind, none of them viable enough to stick. “Sounds fine.” Not interested in finding a reason to say ‘no’, she turned her focus to the delectable fares. “What’s this?” she asked, pointing to a bowl of small shells in butter sauce. She had ideas about the dish’s identity but refrained from passing judgment.

“Escargot,” he said as if it was no big deal, but there wasn’t any on his plate.

She swallowed hard and tried to push the confirmation out of her head. “I’m not really in to snails.” She took quick short breaths, nausea setting in. “In fact, they’re kind of gross.”

Julian laughed. “My sentiments exactly, Chéri. You’re probably the first person I’ve met who doesn’t enjoy the delicacy.”

Camille giggled. “Care to make a wager on how many people eat these things and actually like them?” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I know a lot of people who wouldn’t touch that stuff with a ten foot pole.” She scooped the shell up between two fingers and inspected it.
Ugh
! Distaste rattled her shoulders.

Julian laughed again, picked up the plate of Escargot and passed it to the attendant waiting near the door. “Please, take this to the kitchen,” he said, with an impersonal nod.

It bothered Camille, the way he talked to the restaurant’s staff. How long before he’d start talking to her that way? She too, after all, was hired help.

C
amille had grown quiet all of a sudden. It bothered Julian when she did that. He didn’t like wondering if he’d done or said something wrong. Her disappointed looks showered him with feelings of inadequacy.

Even so, her hearty appetite was refreshing. Dining with a girl who wasn’t afraid to eat was pleasing. Julian was going to enjoy the next six months.

An attendant cleared away the last of their nearly empty plates.

Julian wondered what else he could do to charm Camille. Of course, she had asked to go for a walk along the beach, but what else would make the occasion special?

The waiter approached the table. “Would the lady care for some dessert?”

Excellent idea. Julian gave Camille a ‘would you?’ look.

“Oh, man.” A smile touched her lips and her features softened. “Would I.”

She perused the menu, and as Julian anticipated, she couldn’t decide on just one, so they ordered an English Trifle and a Chocolate Crème Brulée to go. Julian envisioned a midnight picnic on the beach, complete with sweets and champagne.

He discreetly took care of the bill and they headed outside with their desserts. Camille’s laughter filled the air as they scooted into the limo. He flipped a small refrigerator compartment open and popped the containers inside.

“You still up for that walk on the beach?” he asked, leaning back against the seat.