Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (10 page)

J
ulian slipped quietly through the chateau’s hidden passageways. He knew all the routes and intersections well, as he’d played in them as a child. The tunnels hadn’t changed. They were still dark, damp and daunting.

He slipped into the east salon. It was empty. Thank god. Julian poured Scotch into a chilled glass and strolled to the window overlooking the east pool and rose gardens.

Camille had caught him off guard when she said something about him having children. That’d never crossed his mind, much less the notion to settle down with just one woman. Least of all Madeleine.

What was wrong with Madeleine? She was pretty enough. She’d been conditioned for the part since childhood. She was educated, polished, and personable. But Julian felt nothing when he looked at her. No spark.

That’s why his decision to formulate this orchestrated marriage was the right thing to do. It’d save Madeleine some grief, his sanity, and a ton of money in the long run.

Julian drained his glass and moved back to the bar. He poured another drink as a passageway door opened. A different one than he’d used.

Andre. Julian found it ironic that his younger brother by three years had outgrown him by a couple of inches.

Approaching Julian, Andre laughed. “Well, big brother,” he said, reaching for a bottle of bourbon and a glass. “You do have the market cornered on the shock factor.”

“What do you mean by that?” Julian poured the drink into his mouth, savoring the whiskey’s cool bite.

“You and father have an argument. The worst I’ve seen yet.” Andre studied Julian and took another drink of his liquid courage. “He wants an heir. And since you’re the oldest, he expects you to give him one.”

“What’s your point?”

“So you do what you do best,” he said, his tone growing bitter, less tolerant. “You disappear. Then, mysteriously, you return a week later with an American fiancée.”

“Again. What’s your point, baby brother?”

“Are we really expected to believe this is real?”

“You think I’d marry someone if it wasn’t?” Julian asked.

“You? Sure.”

“If that were the case, it might as well be Madeleine.”

“Anything not to marry Madeleine.” Andre reflected with grim amusement. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Somewhere deep down inside, Julian hoped his brother understood.

“How well do you know this girl? How do you know she’s not—”

“I’ve known her since last year, Andre. And make no mistake—” Julian waved a finger in Andre’s face. “—be very careful what you say about my wife.”

“Your wife?” Andre gave him a sideways glance of utter disbelief.

“Yes.” Julian sat the glass down and slid his hands inside his pockets. “Between you and me, Camille and I are already married.”

“Married?”

“Married.”

Andre gave him a dismissive gesture. “You know Papa’s going to be furious. And he’s going to want a French wedding.”

“Well, he can be pushy.” Julian was casually amused. “He won’t believe it’s real unless he witnesses it for himself.” He laughed to hide his discomfort over Papa’s control.

Andre shook his head. “Man, I hope you don’t end up regretting this.”

“There are no regrets.”

“You just up and got married? I can hardly believe that.” Andre stroked his chin and studied Julian. “Pre-nup?”

“Yes. We have a pre-nup.” Sarcasm crept into Julian’s voice. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re mistaken.”

Andre couldn’t be more wrong. Julian knew exactly what he was getting with Camille and how much it was going to cost him. Five million dollars.

“For your sake, big brother, I hope you’re right.” Andre smirked and poured himself another drink. “I certainly don’t want her dipping into my children’s inheritances.”

“You don’t have any children.”

“Not yet. No.” Andre paused, sipping his bourbon. “But someday I think I might. And I don’t want your gold-digging wife stealing from them.”

Rage almost choked Julian. Curses fell from his mouth as he grabbed his brother’s lapels and slammed him against the wall. He didn’t care whether he hurt Andre or not. Nor would he tolerate trash talk about Camille. He’d take that from no one.

“Julian…!” Andre’s voice cracked.

“Be. Very. Careful.” Julian’s jaw clinched as he tried to contain his anger. The fury quaked through him, diminishing as it rippled out. He reached up and gave Andre a light slap on the cheek. “Watch what you say about my wife.”

Heated anger burned against Julian’s face. He was a fragile thread away from the breaking point, and by the looks of Andre—eyes widened with a mixture of fear and uncertainty—he saw it too. And when Julian snapped, nobody wanted to be in his path.

Andre raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your girl.” He tried to squirm out of Julian’s grasp. Julian let him. “It was rude and inconsiderate.”

Julian shifted his focus to his glass. He needed a refill. Why had he done that? He’d never raised a hand to his brother. “I’m sorry.” He overfilled his glass with more than the usual double shot. “I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, feeling like a heel. He’d always protected Andre, never threatened him. Julian drained his glass.

“I hope she cares about you, half as much as you care about her.” Andre cleared his throat around his fragile, shaking voice and perched his hands on his hips. “If she does, you two will be all right.”

Care about her? Disbelief and confusion muddled Julian’s brain. He didn’t
care
about her. What Julian cared about was his freedom.

“You might be interested in knowing that Papa’s not taking this lying down.” Andre’s confidence returned with an agreeable nod. He slid his hands inside his pockets and stepped toward Julian.

Andre’s words bothered Julian more than his closeness. He looked at his little brother. “What’s he doing?”

One could never feel too comfortable when Maurice de Laurent implemented one of his crazy, harebrained schemes. Julian was well aware of where he’d acquired that trait. His own scheme had Papa written all over it. And if not for the fact that the idea was born to dupe him, his father would probably be proud of the ingenuity.

Julian didn’t like the stark look on Andre’s face.

Not Madeleine. “No….” The word ground out like tires bouncing over ruts in a gravel road. “Please tell me he hasn’t invited Madeleine here as our guest?” Even though he doubted his chances, he still held a flicker of hope that he was wrong.

“That he has.” Andre’s reluctance was overshadowed by the message.

“Why would he do that?”

Was Papa really that sadistic? Sure, Julian didn’t want to marry Madeleine, but he didn’t have anything against her either. Not enough to induce him to force her to sit around and watch him marry another woman.

“I suspect he thinks he can thwart your efforts to marry your American…wife.” Andre snickered, as if finding perverse pleasure in Julian’s predicament. “But, before you start feeling too sorry for Madeleine, remember…she and Papa are cut from the same cloth.” His voice took on a warning tone. “She won’t accept your engagement lightly either.”

All the more reason to avoid this evening’s dinner party. Especially if Madeleine was going to be there, which she obviously was since she was in the house.

Julian was going to have to intensify his efforts to shelter Camille now that Papa and Madeleine were obviously up to no good.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JULIAN GAZED AT CAMILLE IN HER black dress with its crocheted look. It was sexy. An approving moan rumbled up his throat and he grabbed her hand, moving toward an inner wall inside the third floor salon. He glanced at her, winked and popped a wall panel open.

A soft gasp escaped her. “What the….”

“There are tunnels all over the estate.” He coaxed her inside. “We’ll make our escape through here.” It beat running into Papa, Claudette, or Madeleine in the hallways.

“Ooh, I feel like a spy.” She giggled as they enter the dimly lit tunnel.

Julian chuckled. “Yeah. A spy whose sanity depends on her escape.” He quickened his pace. He wasn’t the only one well-versed in these tunnel paths. The quicker they got outside and through the gardens, the better.

They hurried through corridors, descended steps cut into the ground and rounded corners, all in near-darkness. Camille tightened her grip on his hand.

“Don’t worry, Chéri. I know this place inside and out.”

“God, I hope so.” Her rich laughter wrapped him in amusement.

“We’re almost there,” he said in a low, husky voice.

After a few more feet and another curve to the left, Julian gave Camille a tug and pulled her closer before stopping to push his way through the outside exit.

The twilight of a setting sun filtered inside, casting a flattering glow over Camille. Her golden hair glistened like strands of lustrous glass, and he felt a ripple of excitement when her mouth curved into a tempting smile.

“What are the chances somebody’s going to be waiting for us out here?” she asked, and he got the feeling she was trying to be funny. And she would be, so long as she wasn’t right.

“I’ll let you know.” He checked the immediate area just outside the exit.

All clear. Good. Not that he was afraid to face them. But this was more fun. Sexy even. A faint light twinkling in her blue eyes told him she was just as excited.

Julian latched onto Camille’s hand. Joy bubbled over in her laughter as they raced along designated paths through the rose garden. Her happiness brought Julian a sense of satisfaction. It’d been a long time since he’d had this much fun.

Adrenaline sped through him, increasing ferociously when the tunneled gateway to the river came into view. Just as he’d arranged, a speedboat was waiting at water’s edge, ready to assist them in their escape.

Julian helped Camille before climbing aboard. The boat thundered to life and the engine’s vibrations roared through him, stimulating his adrenaline and his aspirations. He’d taken plenty of boat rides, and with a number of girls including Madeleine, but none had aroused him like this ride with Camille. Maybe it was just the thrill of the escape. Yes. That had to be the reason.

Camille sat on the seat next to him, perched in a model-like pose. Her legs, long and tanned, rose from red shoes and traveled seductively up until they disappeared underneath a black cocktail dress riding midway up her thighs. He liked the dress when they’d bought it in London, and he liked it now—especially now, as he envisioned slipping his hands beneath the fabric in an exploring fashion.

The boat charged down the winding river and a warm summer’s wind whipped Julian’s hair around wildly. Raking it back, he looked at Camille. Their gazes met, and a faint delicate flush glowed against her face.

“You okay?” He reached over, laying his hand at her knee.

“Yeah,” Her breathless declaration murmured out from behind a smile. “Where are we going?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“It’s your country. I’m leaving it up to you.”

Was she always this complying? Maybe he’d test that theory. “So, if I said, we’re going to see the symphony or an opera…you’d be up for that?”

“You didn’t say, ‘
what do you want to do
’.” She challenged him with her dauntless blue eyes. “You said, ‘
where would you like to go
’.”

“Okay.” Julian laughed. “What do you want to do?”

“Well…how about dinner and then maybe a walk on the beach or something?” An alluring smile implied she was inviting trouble.

Not that Julian wanted to tempt fate. He just wanted to explore what was underneath that little black dress. It couldn’t hurt. They
were
supposed to be in love.

“Good call. After all, we are thought to be lovers, are we not?” He reassured her with a soft caress over the bare portion of her thigh. But he didn’t push it. He didn’t invite himself to further exploration. Not yet.

“I’m just trying to cover all our bases,” she said, her voice strengthening as if she’d regained some of her confidence.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of food?

“How about something local?”

Good answer. Not too specific, but she narrowed it down just the same, and complimented his hometown by keeping it ‘local’. Very pleasing.

Maybe he’d take her to L’Epuisette. That way, he could sate her palate with the best food around and reduce her inhibitions with some good champagne. He cut the boat’s engine and coasted alongside the pier, landing near his driver waiting by the car.

Julian stood and helped Camille to her feet. He liked the way the boat ride had tousled her hair, leaving it all windblown and sexy-looking. Their exhilarating escape reddened her cheeks.

He handed her off to Sebastian, his driver, who helped her out of the boat. She climbed up onto the landing and Julian enjoyed the advantageous view for admiring her assets. Her legs, bare and gleaming, continued to arouse him. Her dress hugged her hips, teasing him. Her laughter filled him with not just joy, but hope. Hope that when this was all over, he’d surface as the victor.

Camille could’ve gone straight to the car, but she didn’t. Surprisingly, she stood on the edge of the dock, waiting for him to emerge from the boat. She was the first to do that. There had been plenty who’d traversed the river with him, but none had ever thought of him. Not once. Until Camille.

For someone who was in it for material gain, she was doing a hell of a job at making Julian feel like she was here for him.

C
amille waited for Julian on the landing. Mainly because she wasn’t about to get into the car without him. The suspicious sort, there weren’t many people she trusted. But she trusted Julian—sort of—yet there was no reason to offer blind faith to his employees.

Julian grinned at her and grabbed her hand. His manly grasp settled a warmth over Camille that she wasn’t used to. She followed him to the car and Sebastian opened the door. Julian laid his palm against the small of her back, guiding her inside.

He slid in beside her and loosened his tie. The citrus scent of his cologne intoxicated her. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, she smoothed her dress and rested her hands in her lap.