Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (20 page)

Breathlessly, she locked her arms around his neck and pressed her naked breasts against his chest. Her nipples brushed firmly against his own bare skin. Urgent desire swept through him, catching him off guard.

He drew a deep breath, the sweet scent of her perfume—the Dior he’d bought her—invaded his senses. Julian grazed his fingertips over her stomach and down between her legs.

Camille let out a delightful gasp and a slight moan escaped her lips as his fingers touched her. She arched her hips, encouraging him to explore further. He danced playfully and she moved quickly trying to match his pace.

Encouraged by her, Julian’s own desire throbbed inside his briefs, desperate to be let loose. As if instantly aware of the bulge pulsating against her thigh, she reached out and touched him, running her hand along the outside of his boxers.

She quickened her pace under his touch. She was too close to the edge. He stopped abruptly, pulling away.

He stood and removed his briefs. Her eyes sprang open and her surprise got tangled in her throat, escaping in a gritty groan.

Julian climbed back on top of her and paused, gazing down upon her angelic face. She flushed crimson. Their eyes locked and their breathing merged in unison.

“Do you want me to go on?” He gave her one last opportunity to back out, to be sure this was what she really wanted.

She smiled, pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare leave me hanging now,” she whispered, opening her legs.

Clearly an open invitation, Julian ripped the bikini bottoms away from her body and pushed his way inside her. She wrapped her legs around him, and he began gliding in and out, slowly at first, until his desires took over and he pumped faster.

Wave after wave of her delight burst rhythmically around him. “
Chéri
…” Julian muttered the endearment as he filled her instantly with his own satisfaction.

Feeling as though she’d claimed every ounce of energy that he had to give, he relaxed lifelessly on top of Camille.

“Wow…” she said softly, breathlessly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He genuinely hoped he hadn’t.

“No.” She giggled slightly. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“That’s good,” he said with a bit of aloofness. He knew he should get up, but she felt so good. So right.

His manhood pulsed and slipped out of her as if it knew retreating was the best course of action. She moaned, as if disappointed.

“I’m sorry,
Chéri
.” He paused for a moment, drinking in the striking afterglow shining on her face. “I shouldn’t have let it go that far.” He pushed himself off the couch, torn between culpability and contentment. “You’ve been more than vocal that this wasn’t to be part of the bargain.” He scooped his shorts off the floor and slid into them, positioning them comfortably around his waist. “Just say the word and it won’t happen again.”

“Look, I know this is not real. It’s a business deal.” She acknowledged. “But there’s no reason why it can’t be a business deal with benefits.”

That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, and once he realized it, he found it disturbing.

Not to worry, though. In six months, he would have had his fill of her and be happy to see her go.

J
ulian had breakfast brought into their stateroom the following morning. He’d anticipated, and was pretty sure Camille was in complete agreement, that they’d spend much of this day in bed. Not having to venture far for food was advantageous.

She been eyeing the plain black box, larger than the average jewelry case, with its gold ribbon tied around it in a neat little bow. It’d come in with the breakfast cart.

“Come here.” He scooted his chair back and motioned her over with a lazy wave.

She sauntered around the small table and straddled his lap, awakening his loins.

He slid the box toward them and presented it to Camille. “This is for you.”

She took it, giving him a narrowed glance and eased it opened. Finding a wallet-sized leather-bound checkbook and a credit card, both stamped with the name
Camille de Laurent
, she shot him a twisted smile. She opened it and fanned the checks before stopping to look at the check register.

Camille’s mouth dropped open and she stared wordlessly. He’d guess she’d seen the amount on the liberal credit line.

She looked at him, her face etched with shock and surprise. “What is this?”

“You’re going to need some cash at your disposal.”

“A credit card isn’t cash.”

“It’s pretty close.”

“Why do I need this much cash available to me?” She paused, her look of surprise giving way to suspicion. “This has nothing to do with last night, does it?”

“No.” He adjusted her in his lap, running his hands beneath her satin robe. She was naked underneath it. He enjoyed the feel of nothing but his silk boxers between them. “It has nothing to do with last night, this morning, or tomorrow.”

“Good.” She panted, her chest heaving. “Because I don’t want to start feeling like a kept woman.”

“Kept women aren’t, by definition, wives,” he said, exploring further beneath the soft, silky robe.

“What am I supposed to do with the checkbook and credit card?” Her arms enfolded him.

“Whatever you want. It’s your money to spend.” He pressed her against him. “I’m sure Claudette and Lecie will insist that you accompany them on regular shopping sprees. Buy whatever you want.”

It’s what was expected of his wife. And above all else, Julian couldn’t forget the marriage needed to look authentic.

That’s all it was. It just needed to
look
that way. And the sex? Well, like she’d said—it was a business transaction with benefits.

Yes. That’s all it was.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CAMILLE WAS SADDENED WHEN THEIR honeymoon cruise ended. She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t real, even if they had spent the last ten days having some incredible sex.

And, returning to Pacifique de Lumière under the cover of night felt like they were sneaking back in. But she refused to buy into those insecurities and fears. Instead, she let her mind wander to a place filled with possibilities as she followed Julian upstairs to their new suite, just a few doors down from Tasha’s room.

Next morning, she realized she’d taken too much for granted when Soren gave her the news.

Camille charged into Tasha’s room. Raw nerves bore down heavy in her gut at the sight of her only friend packing.

“You’re leaving?” Camille’s voice cracked. “Why are you leaving so soon? Did somebody do or say something to upset you?” Her fear of being abandoned gave way to suspicion. She wouldn’t be surprised to find that Maurice or Madeleine, or both, were responsible for Tasha’s decision to leave.

“When have you ever known me to shy away from a challenge?” Tasha said, as if that notion was the most ridiculous thing in the world. “It’s just time for me to go home.”

Camille didn’t say anything, lost in a moment of deep pessimism. Somewhere deep in her psyche she wondered if she could
will
Tasha into staying.

“This is your world now, but it’s not mine.” Her words cut through Camille like a sharp dagger.

Guess not.

“Mine’s in L.A. Where I need to find work soon, or I’m screwed.” She laughed as if it wasn’t that big a deal, but Camille saw the worry in her vivid green eyes.

Julian had given her a “spending account” with a generous endowment. If she was going to use it, why not splurge on something worthwhile. She grabbed Tasha’s hand and pulled her out the hallway and into her suite of rooms.

Tasha waited in the doorway, as if entering would have some ill-effected consequences. Camille grabbed her leather-bound checkbook from a desk drawer and used a nearby table to issue her first check. It ripped from the book with relative ease, and she waved it in the air at her friend.

“What’s this?” Tasha’s eyes danced anxiously.

“Just in case L.A.’s on a mean streak when you get back.”

Tasha slipped the check between her fingers and glanced at it, her eyes widening. “Wow. Ten grand.” She struggled with the silence for a moment and finally said, “I can’t take this.”

“Sure you can.”

“I doubt I’d ever be able to pay it back.” She shook her head. “I can’t take it.”

“It’s not a loan. It’s a gift. From one friend to another.”

Tasha shook her head again, her mouth tightening. She closed her eyes. “No. I don’t want to get you into trouble with Julian.” She paused, and slowly raised her gaze to meet Camille’s. “What’ll he say when he finds out you’re giving away money?”

“Julian gave me the money to do with as I please.” Camille shrugged. “I choose to give it to you.”

Tasha moaned and tapped her foot. “You let me know if he makes a fuss and I’ll send it right back,” she said, with a bit of reluctance. “Whatever I’ve spent, I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Camille said, taking her arm and leading her to the door. “He said I could spend it any way I wanted.”

“I’m so afraid I’m never going to see you again.” Tasha’s words were drenched in angst.

“Oh, you’ll see me again,” Camille blurted out without thinking. “I’ll make sure of it,” she added, trying to cover her blunder with a well-meant declaration.

“Well, I guess so,” she said, almost bitterly, following Camille into the hallway. “Your husband does have a fleet of private jets and he can take you anywhere you want to go.” Immediately, regret cast a shadow over Tasha’s face.

But Camille knew Tasha was feeling abandoned. She was losing her best friend to a husband half a world away. And Camille knew a thing or two about abandonment. There was no way to spin it to make the one left behind feel better.

“You know,” Camille said as they descended the stairs, “You can always ‘act’ in France.” She put it out there to see if Tasha would bite.

She didn’t. “Are you kidding?” she shrieked. “Like they want to see some American on their TV screen.”

“Jerry Lewis.”

“Huh?”

“Jerry Lewis,” Camille repeated. “He’s an American. And the French love him.”

“Everybody loves Jerry Lewis.” Tasha snorted and then her face sobered. “I’m no Jerry Lewis.”

She had a point.

They stopped at the entryway, and Julian came in through a door on the far side. His first move was to kiss Camille’s cheek. “Good morning, darling.”

“Ooh, darling…” Tasha’s voice bordered on dreamy. “The honeymoon must’ve gone really well.”

Camille smacked her.

Andre entered from a different doorway. Looking at Tasha with suitcases by her side, his smile faded. “Chéri…are you going somewhere?”

She sighed and got this poignant look on her face. “Andre, you have been a dear, really. But it’s time for me to go home.”

“Chéri,” Andre slammed his hand against his chest. “You break my heart.”

Julian took one look at Andre and another at Tasha. When his attention landed back on Andre, Julian’s face turned into a scowl. “Soren!” Julian bellowed his valet’s name.

Soren appeared from out of nowhere. “Yes, sir.”

“You will accompany Miss Gordon back to Los Angeles.”

“Me, sir?” Soren failed to hide the shock.

“I’ll accompany her,” Andre said.

“No.” Julian stared at his brother. “You have other business that needs your attention.” If looks could kill, Julian’s came with a loaded nine millimeter.

Andre paused, slipped Tasha’s hand in his and brushed his lips against it. “Chéri, I await your next visit.” He bowed. “Do not make me wait long.”

He gave her one of those looks that moved even Camille. It reminded her of Julian. Two heartthrobs in one family. The girls in France weren’t safe. Neither was Camille. Tasha was the fortunate one; she was leaving.

J
ulian leaned in and kissed Tasha’s cheek, then moved immediately back to Camille’s side. “Tasha, your visit was a pleasure.” He smiled and rested his hand on the small of Camille’s back. “I do hope you’ll come back soon. Anytime you’d like to get away, just let Camille know and we’ll send a plane for you directly.”

He turned to Camille, wanting very much to run back upstairs with her. But Papa had said it was important. And it probably was, according to Papa. He could wait. At least a couple of minutes.

Julian grabbed Andre by the arm and dragged him into the west hallway. He closed the door and leaned against it, arm outstretched. “Are you insane?”

Andre remained silent. He slipped his hands inside his trousers pockets and waited.

Julian hated it when he did that. But it wouldn’t stop him from admonishing his little brother. “Didn’t I tell you specifically, do not sleep with Camille’s friend?”

“In all fairness…I did not
sleep
with her.” Andre defended his case.

“I’m in no mood for your play on words.” Julian paused, drawing his hands into fists at his sides. “If you leave that girl brokenhearted, then my wife will become upset. If she’s upset—”

Andre laughed. “I know, you don’t…” Andre’s words trailed off, as if recalling the last time he’d said something rude and risqué about Camille.

“Check yourself, baby brother,” Julian warned.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Andre said, almost sulking.

“How’s that?”

“I asked her not to leave.”

“What?” Rippling waves of shock slapped at Julian.

He didn’t know which was worse. Andre being a cad. Or Andre falling for Tasha. That’s the worst thing that could happen. How could Julian walk away guilt-free at the end of six months if Camille’s friend became his sister-in-law?

“I want you to stay away from that girl.” Julian’s finger popped up in Andre’s face, accompanying his order. “Do you understand?”

Andre walked to the door and paused, looking over his shoulder. “Why do you get to have all the fun?”

“Apparently, I’m not the only one.” Julian’s thoughts lingered on Andre until he disappeared around a corner.

There was no putting it off any longer. Papa was waiting. Julian headed in the direction of his father’s study. He whistled a jovial tune as he trekked through the halls and stopped at Papa’s door. Summoning his courage, he knocked.