Curves for the Billionaire (5 page)

Forgotten?
  She was more likely to forget her name than the scorching kiss they’d shared on her 18
^th
birthday.  It hadn’t proven their compatibility, though.  In fact, she’d always thought it had proven the exact opposite!

***

“Happy birthday, Sam,” he’d kissed her cheek and handed her a slim rectangular box.

She’d opened it and gasped at the delicate necklace with a small multi-faceted, heart-shaped gemstone.

“Oh Zac, it’s so beautiful.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  He’d smiled as he lifted it carefully from its velvet nest.  “It’s orange topaz which is your November birthstone and signifies friendship.  Let me put it on you.”

She’d stood patiently as he’d fastened the simple clasp and then come around to admire the effect.  His eyes had lingered on the pendant nestled in her ample cleavage and when he’d raised his eyes to hers, she’d shivered in awareness at the look in them.

“Let’s go.”  His voice had been husky as he’d grasped her hand and led the way to his slightly-battered but reliable second-hand, black 1998 VW Golf GTI.

He had reverted to his usual teasing ‘older’ brother persona by the time they’d reached the Indian restaurant.

She’d enjoyed the meal and her first two legal glasses of wine—a little too much she’d thought later.

“Goodnight, Zachary.”  She’d smiled across at him in the darkened interior of the car after he’d parked in front of her father’s house and turned the engine off.  “Thanks again for my necklace.”

She’d leaned across to kiss his cheek at the same moment he’d leaned across to kiss hers.  Their lips had collided and she’d drawn back in embarrassment.

They had stared at each other wordlessly for what had felt at the time like eons, but must have been only seconds.  Then he’d leaned forward and covered her lips with his as he’d wrapped his arms around her.

When his lips had finally left hers to trail the column of her throat and then lower to the shadowed valley between her breasts, she’d weaved her fingers through his thick hair.  He’d rained soft kisses on the upper slopes of her breasts but seemed determined not to take things too far.

Her nipples had been stiff, aching for his touch.  Shrugging the strap of her dress off her shoulder, she’d exposed her right breast and guided his lips to the erect nipple.

“Sam…,” he’d groaned helplessly before cupping her breast and gently encircled the bud with his tongue.

She’d gasped as an arrow of sensation shot straight to her core at the first flick of his tongue, then moaned softly and pressed his mouth more firmly against her.  He’d drawn the hard peak into his mouth and suckled her.

Her hand left his hair and swept over the taut muscles of his chest, teasing the small hard points of his nipples through his shirt before moving downwards over his stomach.  His hand had tightened on her breast and his lips had tugged more urgently on her aroused nipple as she ran her hand over the unmistakable bulge of his erection.  Impatiently she’d reached for the buckle of his belt, wanting to free it…wanting to hold it in her hands.  Her fingers had slipped on the supple leather and flown upwards and hit the horn.  The sound had startled both of them and they’d sprung guiltily apart.

Zachary had lowered his head onto the steering wheel, his chest expanding and contracting as he took audible, ragged breaths to bring himself under control.

She’d hastily pulled the material back in place over her breast and wriggled the strap up over her shoulder.

They sat in the darkened car for several minutes before he finally raised his head and looked at her.

The regret in his eyes had almost stopped her heart.  “Sam, I have a girlfriend.  I shouldn’t have—”

“No harm done.  It was only a kiss!” she’d said breezily and rushed from the car without allowing him to accompany her to the door.

Three days later he’d brought his girlfriend Melanie to Samantha’s birthday party.  She had forced herself to smile and look happy that night and had thought she’d done a great job of convincing everyone, including herself, until she’d seen photographs taken that night.

Melanie had been the prototype of the slim, coolly blonde women he seemed to be attracted to.  The only comfort Samantha, with her fiery red hair and fuller figure, had drawn over the years was that unlike the women who came into and went from his life, she was a constant.

He was an international playboy who the tabloids predicted would never settle down.

He was about to prove them wrong—even if it was only for three years, or less if he proved to be every bit as virile as he looked.

***

Chapter Three

“Fiona, I need your help!” Samantha pleaded into the phone minutes after Zachary had offered her the unexpected solution to her problem.  “I’m getting married next week and I don’t know where to start!”

“Take a deep breath, girlfriend,” Fiona Fuller commanded.  “Now tell me how Daniel managed to finally wear you down.  Are you pregnant?”

“No!” Samantha denied.  If only she was!  “I’m marrying Zachary, not Daniel.”

Fiona’s response turned the air blue and Samantha’s ears scarlet.

“Fiona!  I won’t invite you to my wedding if you’re going to curse like a sailor and embarrass my guests!”

“You won’t dare!”  Fiona laughed.  “We need to discuss this over a bottle of wine, or several.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.  I’m staying the night.”

Fiona hung up without saying goodbye.  Samantha could imagine her best friend grabbing one of her flamboyant coats, jumping into her yellow Porsche and speeding over.

They’d met during their first year at university.  They had exchanged smiles across lecture halls in the first days, but hadn’t made an effort to introduce themselves to each other.  Then during a particularly sleep-inducing lecture Samantha had noticed Fiona busily sketching away on a blank page of her legal pad.  She’d gone over and found a drawing of the most exquisite evening dress.  Fiona had confessed she was studying medicine to please her parents who were both doctors, but her real passion was fashion design, especially lingerie.  Samantha was no expert but when she’d later seen Fiona’s portfolio, she’d recognized the woman’s creative genius.  She was unsurprised when Fiona had switched to Fashion Design after completing the first year of her medical degree.  Even though their careers had diverged, the friendship started that day had strengthened and grown.

The doorbell rang again as Samantha raced to answer it—Fiona would never win an award for patience.

“Get glasses!”  Fiona brandished a bottle of wine being kept chilled in a cooler bag.  “And tell Auntie Fiona everything, my dear!”

“There really isn’t much to tell—he asked me and I said yes,” Samantha replied, having dutifully fetched two wine glasses.

Zachary had insisted that the reason for their marriage be kept between them and although Fiona was quite trustworthy, Samantha felt the need to respect his wishes.

“Spoilsport!” Fiona complained, giving Samantha a fierce scowl as she opened the wine.  “Surely he kissed you?  Took you into his arms and looked deep into your eyes?”

“We kissed but there was none of that looking-deep-into-my-eyes business.”

“But why now?”

“He doesn’t want me to go back to Rwanda.”  That much was true.

“Hell, I would have married you myself if I’d known that was what it would take for you to stay in the UK!” Fiona finished pouring wine into the second glass and then placed her hands on her rounded hips, looking highly indignant that she’d only just been given this vital piece of information.

Samantha collapsed laughing onto an armchair.

Fiona smiled as she picked up the glasses, handed one to Samantha and offered a toast, “Here’s to the sexy billionaire and his voluptuous babe!” 

“He’s not a billionaire!” Samantha protested.  Forbes Magazine had hinted that Zachary was worth in excess of a billion dollars but he’d dismissed the article saying that some of their facts were inaccurate.  Samantha shied away from the knowledge that his net worth was far higher than she estimated—as a friend she worried having that kind of money would change him.  He’d made no mention of a pre-nuptial agreement, but she wouldn’t object to signing one if he asked.  He was doing her a huge favour, after all.

“Do billionaires make love themselves?” Fiona mused.  “Or do they have people to care of that for them too?”

“Fiona, which planet are you from?”  Samantha spluttered on a sip of wine.  “Multi-millionaire or billionaire, I think that’s one thing Zac will do himself!”

“But you can see that it would make sense, don’t you?” Fiona persisted.  “A man who’s busy jetting all over the world should see the value in having a stand-in when he wasn’t around.”

“Zachary would never share a woman.”  That much Samantha knew with certainty.

“No, he wouldn’t share you.  He loves you too much.”

“He loves me as a friend but he’s not
in
love with me,” Samantha corrected.

“You don’t see the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at Zoë the same way.”  It had been slightly deflating to realize that Zachary’s ‘special’ look was not reserved only for her—Samantha had seen a similar softening of his eyes when he joked around with his sister and played with her kids.  The previous Christmas she’d recorded a ten-minute video on her iPhone of Zachary rolling around his sister’s living room with his four- and three-year old nieces.  She had since watched it more times than she would admit to anyone even herself.

“Zoë’s his twin.  What’s his excuse for giving you those
hot
looks?”

“Maybe he thinks of me as a sister, too.”  Even as she said the words, Samantha knew that Zachary did no such thing.  His earlier kiss had been anything but brotherly!

“Kinky.”  Fiona wriggled her eyebrows up and down and gave her friend an arch look.

“Stop it!”  It was impossible not to have fun in Fiona’s company.

“Of course he doesn’t see you as a sister.”  Fiona sobered.  “The man can have pretty much any woman in the world and he’s chosen you.  I’d say he wants
you
.”

“He doesn’t
want
me.  He’s just being a good friend.”

“Good friend, my ass!  I’m going to create a trousseau of my sexiest lingerie for you.”  Fiona whipped her ever-handy tape measure out of her large handbag and commanded Samantha to rise with an elegant movement of her hand.  “When Zachary sees you in them, friendship will be the last thing on his mind.”

“Fiona, Zachary doesn’t need to see me in sexy lingerie!”

“Does the man need to breathe?”  Fiona ignored her friend’s protests and started measuring.  “You have such a fabulous body.  If I had your height and figure I would flaunt them in the sexiest clothes I could find.”

It was Samantha’s turn to arch her eyebrows at Fiona.  “If you wore anything sexier, you’d be arrested for indecent exposure!”

Fiona gave a throaty, infectious laugh in acknowledgement.  At 5’4” and close to one hundred and eighty pounds, Fiona was as confident of her body as any catwalk model.  She believed women should have curves, although she sometimes admitted ruefully that perhaps her body was just a
trifle
too well-rounded.  She didn’t own any black clothing.  Red was her new ‘black’, she always insisted.

“How’s Shannon these days?”  Samantha asked as Fiona put away her tape measure.

“She’ll no longer be modelling my designs now that she’s signed a recording contract.”