Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (18 page)

Julian rested his hand on the small of her back. “Our stateroom is this way.”

Stateroom. As in single, just one. Camille’s body vibrated with new life.

Consumed with rivaling sensations of anticipation and alarm, she was easily led toward an inside corridor. At the end of the hall, Julian opened the door to the ship’s master suite. The room’s size equaled that of Camille’s L.A. apartment, but that was the only thing the two spaces had in common. The maple paneling was trimmed in beech and walnut veneers, and soft lighting gave the room a warm and pleasant atmosphere.

“You’ll find clothes in the dressing room attached to the bath.” Julian gestured toward a door on the other side of the room.

The sand-colored marble bathroom bathed her in warmth and tranquility. Mesmerized by the room’s sleek sheen, Camille shut the door between herself and Julian.

“Chéri…” his voice mingled with a soft tap at the door. “I’m going back out into the main lounge. Please join me when you’re ready.”

“All right,” she said, loud enough for her voice to filter through the walls. She hesitated and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was beyond help, having been drenched twice today. Her makeup had gone blotchy, some aspects withstanding the rain’s wrath better than others.

All her toiletries had been laid out on the counter and placed in the drawers for her convenience. Everything had been pre-arranged, down to the last detail. She’d bet her clothes had already been unpacked and put away in the huge walk-in closet. What she hadn’t expected to find was comfy sweats and oversized t-shirts. A smile spread from her heart to her face, Julian had remembered her chosen attire for relaxation.

Were Julian and his staff going to cater to her every need and desire for the next six months?

This was the life. But a life that she couldn’t let herself get used to because it wasn’t hers. She was not a permanent fixture in this lap of luxury. Still, there was no rule that said she couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted. And that’s exactly what Camille planned on doing.

She scrubbed the half-worn makeup off her face and applied a light layer of loose powder to get rid of the shine. Instead of going for lipstick she opted for a splash of flavored lip balm, more for its moisture content than anything else. She hated dry, chapped lips.

The damp dress’s spaghetti straps slipped easily off her shoulders and she wiggled out of the gown and let it fall to the floor. She scooped it up and hung it on an empty hook next to a pair of plush bathrobes and a couple that looked like they were made of silk.

There was a small bottle of perfume on the counter and intrigue pushed her to examine it. The name was in French and she had trouble reading it, but she thought it had something to do with flowers
or maybe the sun. She couldn’t tell. She pressed the gold-tipped sprayer into the air and sniffed. The scent reminded her of orange blossoms.

Camille shrugged and sprayed it over her naked body. She thought about dressing in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt but grabbed the robe instead.

It is silk
, she thought, wrapping herself in the soft luxury, enjoying the feel against her bare skin.

She went back to the bedroom and paused a moment. Did the robe make her look promiscuous? Who cares? She pushed the uneasiness aside and opened the door. Julian was her husband and they needed to at least look like they were intimate, especially to the staff—whom she had no doubt were reporting back to Maurice.

The red silk clung to her skin as she strolled through the hallway and out into the ship’s main lounge.

A taupe couch hugged the far wall and rounded both corners, covering half the room’s parameter. Dozens of pillows, the colors of creamy butter, crimson, and a pale green had been placed on the couch to provide guests with added comfort. Artwork hung on the walls above the couch, and artifacts, probably priceless ones, were displayed strategically around the room. Everything had a feminine touch to it. Claudette was better than most interior decorators.

Julian was sitting on a stool at the bar nestled in the corner, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats. The black fleece hugged his waist, the color didn’t distract from the chiseled muscles rippling underneath his bronzed skin. His ebony curls, still damp from the rain, glistened against the soft lights illuminating the wet bar.

Camille surveyed the room one more time. The couch’s center had a direct line to his stool and seemed like the best vantage point. She dropped to the sofa and covered a large portion with her long legs, crossing one over the other.

Glancing up, she saw Julian staring at her. Anxiety pounded her heart against her chest. Nobody had ever looked at her like that.

Thunder roared and vibrated through the boat and shook Camille’s composure. She jumped up and charged toward the window, analyzing the rough seas. Hopefully, they weren’t going to set sail in this mess.

She sucked in a deep breath and turned to Julian, pointing out the window. “We aren’t going out in this weather, are we?”

“No.” He shook his head. “We’ll wait until the storm clears. Probably tomorrow.” He drained his glass and poured another. “Can I get you a drink? Dinner is about half an hour away.”

“Sure.” She folded her arms in front of her and turned back to the window, mesmerized by the storm’s ferocity.

Camille had a feeling she was going to need a drink. Lots of them. Between the boat thing—she’d never learned to swim—and a creeping desire for Julian—her husband in name only—she was going to need all the help she could collect.

J
ulian rose and strolled behind the bar. He’d anticipated her need for a drink and put some champagne on ice as soon as he’d changed out of his wet clothing. His competitive nature enjoyed it when his hunches proved right.

Camille clutched her hands behind her back, fidgeting. Julian suspected the missing dress was to blame. It wouldn’t surprise him. He couldn’t censure her for thinking twice after what happened with her wedding gown and then the weather. She’d graciously and valiantly gone through with the ceremony, wet hair and all, in one of the outfits he’d bought her earlier in the week.

Julian still believed Madeleine had something to do with the missing garment.

It made Madeleine look like a fool, and a hopeless one at that. Imagine thinking a missing dress would stop the wedding. Thankfully, it was just a business arrangement and while Camille had expressed disappointment over not getting the chance to wear the dress, she had gladly and graciously agreed that any outfit would suffice.

He grabbed a couple of glasses from the rack, sat them on the counter and reached for the bottle of chilled champagne.

As soon as he figured out what Madeleine had done with the dress, he was going to retrieve it and give it to Camille as a gift so she could wear it when she was ready for a bonafide marriage.

And Andre thought Julian was selfish.
Shows how much he knows
.

Lightning flashed, casting a brief but welcomed glimpse of her beauty. Curves outlined her shapely figure beneath her silk robe as she approached the bar and hopped onto a stool. Loose tendrils of still damp blonde hair softened and framed her flawlessly stunning face.

Julian poured champagne and handed her a glass. “You were a great sport today, wearing a replacement gown at the ceremony.”

She wrapped her fingers around the flute’s stem. “Well, it’s not like it was that important.” She sipped the champagne. “Omens don’t count for arranged marriages.” She smiled girlishly, and the sight of it swept through Julian leaving him wanting to kiss her.

“Omens?” He moved around the bar and sat on the stool beside her.

“Well, if we were getting married for real…I would’ve called it a sign.”

“Maybe it’s still a sign.”

“Nah, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Then how does it work?”

“It’s only a bad sign if we were actually in love.”

“Who says signs have to be bad?”

“A missing dress is bad.” She slipped off the bar stool and moved to her original position on the couch.

“I can see why you’d think that.” He followed her, draining his glass.

His empty champagne flute
clinked
as it made contact with the marble-top coffee table. Julian sat, leaving little space between himself and Camille, leaned back and looked at her. It’s a shame a woman such as her—with all her beauty, wit and charm—couldn’t have a real wedding night to go with the very legal ceremony.

“What do you think happened to the dress?” Camille’s soft, sweet voice invaded his happy thoughts.

He’d give her three guesses and the first two didn’t count. In a word—Madeleine. But without proof, Julian wasn’t comfortable making accusations. “I could only guess, Chéri.”

“Yeah, and your first two don’t count.”

What the hell
? A manic, crazed feeling slammed Julian’s heart to the floor. He swallowed the panic and lugged his heart up into his chest. “When we return to Marseilles,” he said, commanding himself to relax, “I will find out what happened to your dress.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter.” She shrugged, disappointed. “It’s not like there was really anything to spoil by stealing it.”

Her words left no guessing on the matter. She suspected, just as Julian did, that someone, probably Madeleine, had stolen the dress.

“But the dress is yours, Chéri,” he said, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa. “No matter the circumstances. The dress was made for you. It belongs to you.”

She smiled and seemed to soften, melting into a display of agreeability. “You’re an awfully nice guy, Julian.” A tremor touched her lips. “No wonder Madeleine’s blowing a gasket.”

Julian laughed. Partly because the last thing he ever wanted to be thought of was
a nice guy
, but mostly because he found her American point of view hilarious.
Blowing a gasket
. How amusing.

An attendant appeared in the doorway next to the wet bar. He waited until Julian acknowledged him with a slight nod.

“Good evening, sir,” he said. “Will you and Mrs. de Laurent be dining in here, or do you prefer one of the dining areas?”

Julian looked at Camille. She shrugged, a clueless look shaping on her face. He thought about a romantic candlelit dinner up on deck overlooking the sea, but it was still raining. Eating in here in the lounge was out of the question. He didn’t have many memories of his mother, but one of the few he had was about this place. She’d never allowed food in this room, beyond hors d’oeuvres.

“The dining room,” he said.

A
n hour later, Julian and Camille were finishing dessert dishes of chocolate mousse and fresh strawberries.

He reached for his glass of wine, needing to sate the fires ignited while he’d gazed upon Camille in the candlelight. Her crystal eyes sparkled in the flame’s glow. Her mouth was inviting and begged to be kissed—long, slow, and hard.

Moaning desire charged up Julian’s throat. He disguised it by clearing it out in a regimented cough.

Camille looked agitated. How was he going to get her to relax? What had her so wound up? Surely the dress wasn’t an issue still. Granted, he saw how the whole missing dress episode could be unsettling, but he and Camille weren’t actually committed to one another. It wasn’t like it was a real omen. She’d pointed that out. Maybe it was all for show. A real bride would be devastated. And Camille was, after all, an actress.

But he couldn’t help thinking there was something more to her anxiety. She’d been fiddling with her silverware. Cutting, poking and stirring the food on her plate all through dinner and dessert. Finally, she laid the fork down, the prongs resting on the edge of the dish, and raised her gaze to meet his.

“We need to talk.” She rested her wrists against the edge of the table and rubbed her thumb against her forefinger.

Ah, perhaps I’m about to find out what’s gotten her so upset
. Julian sighed. If he knew what was bothering her, he could fix it. There was always a way to fix a woman’s disappointment. You just had to know how to go about it, and Julian was an expert in that department.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, opening the door to any possibility.

“Look, I know where you and I stand on our marriage,” she said provisionally. “But you yourself have said, more than once, that you want it to appear real.”

That notion aroused old anxieties. “To everyone, including my family, our marriage must appear authentic.” Obviously, she was worried about that and he needed to know why. “You think someone may not believe our authenticity?”

“Well…” She hesitated and shifted uneasily. “Some may doubt our sincerity, especially with your
booty call
hanging around.”

“Booty call?”

She raked her fingers nervously through her hair. “I mean, I know it’s none of my business and all, but, it’s kind of hard to expect people to believe our marriage is real if there are noticeable indicators suggesting otherwise.”

Somewhere in her rambling, she had a point. Madeleine was the whole reason for this ersatz marriage. That amplified Camille’s point. But Julian had already realized that—which is why he’d taken steps at the reception to neutralize the awkward and problematic concerns.

To Julian’s surprise, Camille was also coming across as a bit jealous of Madeleine, and he knew there was nothing quite so tempting as a man who was wanted by another woman. Especially when there was no love lost between the women. He was pretty sure Camille didn’t think much of Madeleine.

“I can see your point.” He leaned back in his chair and fed her his practiced, captivating grin. The one that charmed the ladies out of their good graces. “It’s probably not a good idea to let a seemingly harmless idiosyncrasy poke holes in our otherwise perfect plan.”

“Then you really need to get Madeleine in check.”

Smart girl. She was getting rid of the thorn in her side and doing it diplomatically. Who could argue with the case she’d made?

“I’ve already taken care of that.” It was best to let her know she’d triumphed over Madeleine. He was counting on it winning him points. “Either she’s gone by the time you and I return, or we will be moving into town.”