Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (15 page)

C
amille didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, did nothing but hold onto the magnificent man in her arms. She didn’t want to acknowledge the magnetism building between them, but she had no choice. It was there dominating her mind, body and soul.

Julian pulled away and her heart reacted like it’d been electrocuted. She swallowed hard, trying to devour the lump lingering in her throat.

“How was your shopping trip?” he said smoothly, stoic faced.

The memory of her conversation with Madeleine shuddered through Camille. “Hm…your Madeleine is something else.”

“My Madeleine? She’s not my Madeleine.”

“She thinks she is.” Jealousy snuck up against Camille and she tried to divert the unwanted sensation.

“Is that so?” He smiled, like he saw right through her.

“She told me that I may be marrying you, but she’s going to be sleeping with you on the side.”

“She said those exact words?”

Camille couldn’t tell if he was astonished or pleased to know he’d have a warm body waiting any time he wanted.

“Precisely,” she said.

“Huh. Wow.” He tempered his shock with amusement. “Papa’s really pulling out all the stops to run you off.”

“Then I guess the joke’s on them.” A sensation of tired sadness passed over Camille. “Considering our arrangement…it’s really none of my business who you sleep with.”

A hint of regret clouded his eyes for just a second, and then it was gone. “But that’s our secret,” he said, and winked.

“Yes, it is.” She forced herself to look at Julian. “I’ll be discreet if you are.” She bargained in a teasing manner, the only way she knew to hide the reality of her discomfort.

“Really?” he said, half intrigued, half put-out. “And just who is on our radar?”

She stood and sashayed toward the shrubbery maze. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She giggled and ran inside.

Julian followed her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, as if he’d been snubbed. “There’s someone you want to sleep with?” He stopped her and backed her against the wall of shrubs.

They stood inches apart. Julian staring at Camille, her gaze glued to his. Their breaths increasing, mixing, intermingling. He looked her over seductively.

It left a tingling in the pit of her stomach that riveted out to her fingertips and toes, allowing her to break the visual connection. “I should go inside.” She slipped to the side and put some space between them. “It’s getting chilly out here.” Stepping away, she let her fears quicken her steps toward the hidden passage in the hedge.

Camille’s heartbeat amplified and coursed desire through her like an awakened river. Her head screamed
no
. Falling for Julian wasn’t smart. Her new husband intended to remain the bachelor about town and no marriage would alter that—least of all theirs.

But her heart had already said
yes
.

CHAPTER TEN

BY THE TIME ANDRE RETURNED WITH TASHA, preparations for the wedding were well underway. The flowers had arrived. The rented chairs, tables and tents had been delivered and now a crew of hired workers were setting the scene for the reception behind the rose garden. Claudette and Camille had agreed it was the perfect place with a spacious area amid the roses for a makeshift dance floor. Of course, it was also the location of Claudette and Maurice’s wedding reception twenty years ago.

When the car arrived, bringing Andre and Tasha from the airport, Camille had been gazing out the west dining room’s wall of windows. She raced through the hall and down the stairs, stopping halfway when her best friend entered the house and paused just inside the entryway.

Thank god
. Camille no longer felt alone.

“Tasha.” Camille trotted down the stairs and embraced Tasha as she reached the bottom step.

“Here she is,” Andre said with a grand gesture. “Safe and sound.”

“Yes, your new brother-in-law took a personal interest in my well-being.” She smiled at Andre and winked. The gushing was almost sickening.

Julian barged in from an opposite hallway. “Where have you been?” he asked Andre in particular, offering no smiles. No welcome home. No ‘thanks for the favor’.

“Tasha and I stopped over in London.” Andre’s flat tone offered no indication that an explanation was forthcoming.

Camille supposed it was his way of standing up to big brother.

Julian was silent for a moment. His frustration worked his bottom jaw and after a bit he made a conscious effort to stop. “Did you stop in Paris?” He remained focused on Andre.

“Yes, big brother, we did.” Andre winked at Tasha. “Marie promised the dresses will all be delivered this afternoon. A full two hours before the ceremony.”

“Two hours. Aren’t we pushing it a little?” Tasha asked, in a comical tone.

Boy, I’ll say
. If this wedding was real, Camille would be nearing the breaking point.

“Well, we had to move up the wedding day.” Julian smirked. “We think Camille is pregnant,” Julian added, his tone drenched in sarcasm.

Camille smacked him.

He rolled his eyes and let them settle on Camille, his expression softening. “Why don’t you get your friend settled in and then you can show her around. There’s nothing much for you to do at this stage.”

“You want me to show her around?” Camille said in a casual, jesting way. “Who’s going to come find us when I get lost?”

Andre raised his hand. “I can do that.”

Tasha looked at him like he was a white knight. “Everybody loves a hero.”

Julian huffed and took a couple of steps away before turning back to Camille. “Chéri, I’ve got some things to attend to, but I’ll be back in plenty of time before the ceremony.”

Camille considered just what business he could have, but decided not to ask. Maybe he was going to pay Madeleine a visit, as most bridegrooms expected certain things to happen on their wedding day. Maybe Julian was arranging his wedding night bliss. It just wouldn’t be with the bride.

There was a little something unsettling about that notion, even though Camille knew precisely where she stood with Julian. She didn’t need to be reminded that they were in a business arrangement. Assuming it could turn into anything more wasn’t smart, and she’d just be setting herself up for heartbreak.

“Come on,” Camille grabbed Tasha’s hand. “Come with me. There’s an empty bedroom right beside mine.”

“Like you’re going to be in there.” Tasha laughed as Camille pulled her up the stairs. “Thanks for the ride, Andre,” she said, without looking over her shoulder.

“My pleasure, Chéri.” He called out. “Remember, if you need anything. Anything at all. I’m your man.”

Camille stopped Tasha at the top of the landing. “Look—” She pointed an accusatory finger at Tasha. “—Andre is not your play-toy, okay.” It was no question.

“How about my boy toy?” She snickered. “Can he be my boy toy?”

“Tasha.” Camille issued her best warning tone in hopes of stifling Tasha’s amusement. “This is not funny.”

“Lighten up.” She eyed Camille with one suspiciously perched eyebrow. “God, you’re so uptight. Geez, isn’t that scrumptious man of yours taking care of you?” She breathed in a shallow, quick gasp. “Don’t tell me this family is that old fashioned.” She sighed, disappointed. Clearly, she’d set her sights on bagging Andre while she was here and she thought family principles might spoil her chances.

Maybe it was best to let her think that. Then maybe she’d leave Andre alone. “You can’t argue with tradition.”

Monique’s silent footsteps went unheard until she was standing at Camille’s side. She paused silently until she wasn’t acknowledged.

“Miss Camille, you’re needed in the downstairs library,” she said softly. “Mrs. de Laurent needs your approval on some last minute arrangements.”

Camille sighed and bit her tongue, the urge to swear growing. “All right,” she said to the maid and turned to Tasha. “Just go ahead and get settled in. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Well don’t leave me stranded here too long,” Tasha’s words chased her down the hallway. “I’ll never find my way out of this place.”

Leave it to Tasha to infuse a little humor into this zany situation. Camille snickered and hurried down the stairs. Knowing Claudette, her dilemma was probably nothing more than where to place the orchids in relation to the roses. Not that Claudette was superficial. She and Camille just lived in very different worlds.

S
ometime later, when Camille had finally garnered a spare moment away from the hustle and bustle of planning an impromptu wedding, she headed for Tasha’s room only to find it empty.

Where was that girl? Hopefully, she hadn’t found Andre’s room.

Camille glanced up and down the hallway. Searching for Tasha meant she’d run the risk of running into Maurice, or worse yet, Madeleine. The last thing she needed right now was hearing Madeleine bragging about satisfying Julian on his wedding day to Camille.

She opted for her room across the hall instead, with thoughts on taking a nice, hot shower.

The shower was refreshing, but Camille was still left with a sense of unease. After the terrycloth robe had drained the excess moisture from her body, she slipped out of it and into the silk robe Julian had given her. She liked the feel of the smooth fabric against her bare skin.

She was getting married this evening, but she couldn’t help feeling something was going to go wrong.

T
he owner of the finest salon in Paris had been flown in to doll up the wedding party. Jean-Jean was attractive and hip and definitely not gay. He’d flirted relentlessly with Tasha the whole time he worked on her hair. He’d agreed to style Claudette, Lecie, Tasha and Camille’s hair, saving the bride for last. He’d brought along an assistant to tend to everyone else.

Camille wanted to ignore the dark clouds rolling across the sky, but Jean-Jean had turned her toward the window to keep her from watching him in the mirror as he styled her hair.

She was faced with letting that nagging feeling that her wedding—as fake as it was—was going to get rained out consume her.

“Are you sure?” she asked Jean-Jean of his suggestion, more like insistence that he style her hair up off her shoulders.

“Leave it to me,” he said. “I am the beauty expert.”

Yeah, well, that’s debatable
. But that was just her own insecurities talking. Actually, Jean-Jean was the epitome of style. His high-end designer jeans and tee-shirt underneath a leather vest, off-set by those snakeskin boots, was the embodiment of cool. But still, a look Camille would never shoot for. She was much too conservative. Or as Tasha would say—drab.

Tasha meant well. There was no maliciousness in her at all. Not where Camille was concerned. Tasha had often tried to ‘color’ Camille up, but she just wasn’t interested.

“If I don’t like it,” Camille told Jean-Jean of her hair, “I’m going to take it down.”

“Oh, no.” He paused, perched a hand on his hip. “You must not deface a creation by Jean-Jean.” He used his comb as a pointer, admonishing Camille.

She didn’t take her overbearing hairdresser seriously. He was overshadowed by the clouds outside as they thickened and darkened.

The door opened. No knock. No request to enter. From a diffused reflection in the window, Camille saw Tasha stormed in, wearing a mid-thigh length robe.

“What is up with that Madeleine chick?” She dropped onto the bed, and eyed the red silk robe Camille was wearing.

Jean-Jean snorted, but continued to work on Camille’s hair.

Camille groaned, wanting to look at her hair but Jean-Jean refused.

“What’s her deal?” Tasha said again. “She’s awfully pissed about something.” She toed out of her slippers and lay down on her side, propping her bare feet on the bed.

“She’s not the bride.” A smart-alecky tone escaped Camille.

Jean-Jean laughed.

“Seriously?” Tasha sat up and dangled her feet off the side of the bed. “She’s Julian’s ex?”

“Well, according to her, she’s not an ex.”

“In her dreams,” Jean-Jean said. “She’s never been anything more than a booty call.”

“According to her and Maurice,” Camille said, “she’s just what Julian needs.”

“Yeah, maybe if he’s hard up.” Jean-Jean snickered.

All three laughed.

“Man, I need to steer clear of her.” Tasha stated.

“Well, good luck with that one,” Jean-Jean said. “She’s finagled her way into indefinite guest status here.”

“Boy, I tell you…” Tasha shook her head. “I just don’t understand French customs.”

“Oh, honey, it’s not a French thing,” he said, waving his comb in the air. “It’s a bitch thing.”

“That’s true.” Camille agreed, recalling their lunch date. “She leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to tact.”

“So, how many of Julian’s ex-girlfriends are coming to the wedding?” Tasha’s dramatic flair centered in her contemptuous laughter.

Only Camille. This could only happen to her. Who else would end up in a beautiful chateau in France, about to marry a billionaire—one that wasn’t too hard on the eyes—but only as a business arrangement, and with his concubine staying in the same house with them. Any minute now, she’d awaken.

Jean-Jean giggled. “I like you,” he said to Tasha. “You can stay.”

“Cool.” She turned to him. “So where do you hide all the hot French guys?”

“Oh, we keep them in during the day.” His friendly bantering came across in a relaxed manner.

“Ooh, they come out at night?” Tasha pressed her fingertips to her lips.

Whatever. So long as Tasha left Andre alone, that’s all Camille cared about. She didn’t want to spend the next six months listening to Julian bitching about how Tasha broke Andre’s heart.

C
amille stared out the window at the unfolding scene on the lawn. The guests were starting to arrive. And she still didn’t have a dress. It should’ve been
delivered an hour ago. She glanced at the sky, thick and heavy with some of the blackest clouds she’d ever seen. Great. If she was the suspicious kind, and she was getting married for real, she’d say the day’s uneasy events were starting to look like a sign.

She went to Julian’s door and knocked.