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The Billionaire’s Contract Bride
Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Mario

With love and gratitude for all your support Carol

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘THEY’RE never going to believe us.’ Taking Aiden’s hand, Tabitha stepped out of the car, her mouth literally dropping open as she watched the guests milling on the steps of the grand old Melbourne church like a parade of shimmering peacocks.

‘Why ever not?’ Aiden didn’t look remotely fazed, waving cheerfully to a couple of familiar faces in the crowd.

‘They’re never going to believe us,’ Tabitha repeated, after taking a deep steadying breath, ‘because I don’t look like a society wife.’

‘Thank God,’ Aiden muttered. ‘Anyway, you’re not a society wife; you’re merely pretending to be my girlfriend. So if it’s any consolation, you’re allowed to have sex appeal. They’ll think you’re my last wild fling before I finally settle down.’

‘They’ll see through it straight away,’ Tabitha argued, refusing to believe it could all be so simple. ‘I’m a dancer, Aiden, not an actress. Why on earth did I agree to this?’

‘You had no choice,’ Aiden reminded her, before she could bolt back into the car. They started to walk, albeit slowly, towards the gathering throng. ‘I played the part of your devoted fiancé at your school reunion in return for you accompanying me to my cousin’s wedding. Simple.’

‘No,’ Tabitha said, pulling Aiden’s hand so he had to slow down. ‘Simple would be telling your family that you’re gay. It’s the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake; it’s not a crime any more!’

‘Try telling that to my father. Honestly, Tabitha, it’s better this way, and don’t worry for a second about not looking the part—you look fabulous.’

‘Courtesy of your credit card,’ Tabitha scolded. ‘You shouldn’t have spent all that money, Aiden.’

‘Cheap at half the price; anyway, I wouldn’t dream of throwing you into the snake pit that is my family without a designer frock and shoes. Oh, come on, Tabitha, enjoy yourself. You love a good wedding!’

After slipping into the pew and idly scanning the Order of Service, Tabitha let her jade eyes work the congregation, and though it galled her to admit it she had never been more grateful for the small fortune that had been spent on her outfit. What had seemed appropriate for the multitude of weddings she had attended this year definitely wouldn’t have done today.

Her dress had been a true find, the flimsy chiffon fabric a near perfect match for her Titian hair, which she wore today pinned back from her face but cascading around her shoulders. Her lips and nails were painted a vibrant coral that matched her impossibly high strappy sandals and beaded bag perfectly, and Tabitha felt a million dollars. It was a colour scheme Tabitha would normally never even have considered, with her long red curls and pale skin, yet for once the gushing sales assistant hadn’t been lying: it all went beautifully.

The guests that packed the church seemed to ooze money and style—for the most part, at least. But there were more than a couple of garish fashion mistakes to giggle over that even Tabitha recognised—born, she assumed, from a bottomless wallet and an utter disregard for taste. Aiden took great delight in pointing out each and every one, rather too loudly.

An incredibly tall woman with the widest hat imaginable chose to sit directly in front of Tabitha, which ruined any hope of a decent view of the proceedings. But even with Aiden’s and Tabitha’s combined critical eyes there wasn’t even a hint of a fashion faux pas in sight on this ravishing creature. Height obviously didn’t bother this woman either, judging by the razor-sharp stilettos strapped to her slender feet. Oh, well, Tabitha shrugged, it must be nice to have so much confidence.

Only when the woman turned to watch the bridal procession did Tabitha start with recognition. Amy Dellier was one of the top models in Australia, and, judging by the extremely favourable write-ups in all the glossies Tabitha devotedly devoured, she was all set for international fame. Suddenly the golden chiffon and coral which she had been so pleased with only a few moments ago seemed a rather paltry offering, standing so close to this stunning woman.

As the organ thundered into the ‘Bridal March’ they all stood, every eye turning as the bride entered and started her slow walk down the aisle. Every eye, that was, except Tabitha’s. She had seen more brides this summer than a wedding photographer. Instead, some morbid fascination found her gaze constantly straying to Amy Dellier. She truly was beautiful—stunningly so. Not a line or blemish marred her perfect complexion, and her make-up highlighted the vivid aquamarine of her eyes.

‘Excuse me.’ A deep voice dragged her back to the proceedings. ‘I need to get past.’

The voice was deep and sensual, and as she turned her head Tabitha almost braced herself for disappointment. It probably belonged to some portly fifty-year-old who did voice-over commercials part-time. But there was nothing disappointing about the face that met hers. If Amy Dellier was the epitome of feminine perfection, then standing before Tabitha was the male version. Jet hair was brushed back from a strong haughty face, and high cheekbones forced her attention to the darkest eyes she had ever seen. At first glance they seemed black, but closer inspection revealed a deep indigo, framed with thick black spiky eyelashes. The heady scent of his cologne and his immaculate grooming indicated he was freshly shaven, but the dusky shadow on his strong jaw conjured images of bandanas and tequila, a world away from the sharp expensive suit he was wearing. He looked sultry and masculine—animal, in fact. As if no amount of grooming, money or trappings could ever take away the earthy, primal essence of man.

‘Of course.’ Swallowing nervously, she pushed her legs back against the pew in an attempt to let him past—but her bag was blocking the way, with Aiden’s foot on the strap. Aiden, totally mesmerised by the wedding, was happily oblivious to the obstruction he was causing.

‘Sorry.’ His apology was mere politeness, exactly as one would expect when a stranger had to push past—the same as at the movies, when the inevitable hordes returned with their dripping ice-creams and you had to lift your legs up and squash back into the seat to let them past. Except demi-gods like this never appeared at the movies Tabitha attended—at least not off screen—and this moment seemed to be going on for ever.

If he didn’t want to fall, he had no choice but to steady himself briefly on Tabitha’s bare arm as he stepped over the small bag. The pews were impossibly close, each jammed to capacity with guests. As his hand touched the flesh of her arm Tabitha found she was holding her breath; two spots of colour flamed on her carefully rouged cheeks as he brushed past her, the scent of him filling her nostrils.

Aiden turned then, a smile of recognition on his face as he mouthed hello to this delicious stranger. The bride was passing, and he had no choice but to stand between Tabitha and Aiden as the procession slowly passed.

So slowly.

It was probably only a matter of seconds.

It seemed to last for ever.

Never had she felt such awareness—the whole focus of her attention honing in on this everyday occurrence. Her skin was stinging as she stood next to him, every nerve in her being standing rigid to attention, so painfully aware of his close proximity. But all too soon it was over; the procession had dutifully passed, allowing him to slip into the pew in front and Tabitha to finally breathe again.

He moved directly into the seat reserved next to Amy, and by the way her hand coiled possessively around his she was only too pleased to see him.

Tabitha found herself letting out a disappointed sigh while simultaneously admonishing herself for overreacting. Well, what did you expect? she reasoned. That someone as utterly gorgeous as that would be here alone?

Only she wasn’t talking about Amy Dellier.

‘Dearly beloved…’

The congregation hushed as the service started, but it held no interest for Tabitha. Instead her attention was entirely focused on the delicious sight of the man who had sat himself in front of her. His thick hair was beautifully cut and absolutely black, without even a single grey hair. It sharply tapered into a thick, strong and tanned neck, and his suit was superbly cut over his wide shoulders. As they stood to sing the first hymn Tabitha stared, mesmerised, her eyes unashamedly flicking downward. Despite her height, Amy Dellier seemed almost petite beside her partner; he was incredibly tall. It was no wonder she could get away wearing heels with him around.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Aiden whispered into her ear as the congregation sang heartily.

‘What are you talking about?’ Tabitha flushed, snapping her attention to the hymn book she was holding in front of her.

It didn’t work. ‘You’re supposed to be on page forty-five, Tab.’ Aiden grinned. ‘That, my dear, is my brother Zavier.’

‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

But Aiden had known her far too long to be fobbed off. ‘You know exactly who I’m talking about, Tabitha, and take it from me—he’d crush you in the palm of his hand.’

Tabitha winced at the expression. ‘Meaning?’

‘Just that. Zavier might be a dream to look at, but he’s bad news.’

Their heads were huddled over the hymn book, and they spoke out of the sides of their mouths, but it wasn’t enough to prevent a few withering looks being cast in their direction. ‘Then it’s just as well I’m not interested,’ Tabitha hissed.

Aiden gave her a knowing look. ‘On your head be it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She sang tunelessly, her eyes straying all too often to the delectable diversion so achingly close in front of her. Despite her recent aversion to weddings, this one was turning out to be a sheer pleasure; even the endless wait while the happy couple went off to sign the register passed in a blur of delicious fantasy. Never had she felt such a strong physical attraction to someone—someone she knew absolutely nothing about. He was completely unattainable, of course. Way, way out of her league.

Despite her protests, Tabitha had to admit that hobnobbing with the seriously rich had its perks. There was no question of standing bored and thirsty as the photographer clicked away for hours. Instead, a small marquee had been set up in Melbourne’s Botanical Gardens and delicious fruit and champagne were being served as the family mingled, disappearing when the photographer called them to do their duty.

Accepting a glass of champagne, Tabitha smiled as she was introduced to Aiden’s parents. Despite Aiden’s gloomy descriptions, Tabitha was instantly won over and utterly in awe of Aidan’s mother, Marjory, who oozed glamour and wealth.

‘A lovely wedding, wasn’t it? Though I’m not sure Simone’s dress was quite the part. I really don’t think thigh-length splits are appropriate attire in a church. What did you think, Jeremy darling?’

Jeremy Chambers had none of his wife’s effervescence. His black eyes were as guarded as Zavier’s, his haughty face as stern and unyielding as his favourite son’s. ‘She looked like any of the other brides I’ve seen this year,’ he answered loudly, not remotely bothered who overheard him.

‘I know the feeling,’ Tabitha groaned, then instantly regretted her comment. ‘I’ve been to rather too many weddings myself this summer,’ she offered by way of explanation, taking a good slurp of her champagne. As Jeremy’s stern gaze turned to her she wished that she’d stayed quiet, but Jeremy actually smiled.

‘Tell me about it,’ he said gloomily. ‘How many have you been to?’

‘Ten,’ Tabitha exaggerated, then did a quick mental calculation. ‘Well, six, at the very least,’ she added, rolling her eyes. ‘All my friends seem to have taken the plunge en masse.’

‘That’s just the start of it,’ Jeremy said knowingly. ‘The next few years will be taken up with christenings, and before you know where you are all your friends’ children are getting married and the whole merry-go-round starts again. Marjory loves weddings, unlike me, and feels duty-bound to attend each and every one—no matter how distant the relative. Speaking of which, I’d best go and say hello to a few. It was a pleasure meeting you, Tabitha.’ He went to shake her hand, but halfway there seemed to change his mind and instead kissed her on the cheek, much to Aiden’s wide-eyed amazement.

‘My goodness, you’ve actually made a hit—my father doesn’t usually like anyone.’

‘He seems charming,’ Tabitha scolded. ‘I can’t believe all the awful things you’ve said about him.’

‘He is charming, if you happen to be the right son—and talk of the devil…’

‘Zavier!’ Marjory exclaimed, kissing him warmly on the cheek. ‘I thought you weren’t ever going to make it to the church. Where on earth did you get to?’

‘Where do you think I got to?’ Tabitha noticed his haughty demeanour was somewhat softened when he addressed his mother. ‘I was working.’

‘But it’s Saturday,’ Marjory protested. ‘Not that that ever stopped you, Zavier. But that’s quite enough about work—I, for one, intend to enjoy myself today. Have you met Tabitha, Aiden’s darling, er…’ the pause was interminable, but Marjory eventually recovered. ‘…er, friend?’

Aiden took a hefty swig of his drink, avoiding Tabitha’s eyes. Only Zavier’s gaze stayed steadily trained on her.

‘Briefly, in the church.’ He offered his hand and she shook it gingerly, noticing how hot and strong his grip was.

‘Where’s Lucy?’ Marjory asked.

‘Amy,’ Zavier corrected, ‘is touching up her make-up.’

‘Lovely girl,’ Marjory said warmly. ‘She’d make a beautiful bride.’

‘Subtle as a brick, as always,’ Zavier groaned.

‘Well, what choice do I have? I’ve got two sons in their thirties,’ she said, her eyes on Tabitha, ‘and not even the tiniest hint at a wedding, let alone grandchildren. Simone’s barely twenty; no wonder Carmella’s grinning from ear to ear.’

‘The reason she’s grinning is because Simone’s actually managed to nab someone rich enough to get them out of debt—not because of her daughter’s eternal happiness.’

‘Ahh!’ Marjory wagged a playful finger. ‘Being out of debt practically ensures eternal happiness.’

‘For you, perhaps,’ Zavier quipped. ‘Anyway, given that you can’t even get Amy’s name right, I think that says a lot for your motives. Forget it.’

‘It would make your father so proud.’

Tabitha was actually enjoying the conversation. She liked the gentle verbal sparring between mother and son, and even Zavier didn’t seem so formidable up against the feisty Marjory. But as she mentioned his father suddenly the temperature seemed to drop, and the affectionate, teasing reply that Tabitha eagerly awaited never came. Zavier Chambers, the epitome of confidence, suddenly seemed lost for words.

‘It would, Zavier,’ Marjory said, a note of urgency in her voice. ‘It’s your father’s dearest wish.’

‘What’s your father’s dearest wish?’ All eyes turned as Amy appeared. Immaculate, gorgeous, wafting expensive perfume, she sidled up to Zavier and wrapped her arm around him. But Zavier barely acknowledged her presence. ‘What did I miss, darling?’ Amy persisted in a low, throaty purr.

‘Nothing,’ Zavier said darkly, shooting his mother a warning look. ‘At least nothing that you have to worry about, Amy.’ And, extracting himself from her clutches, he nodded to the photographer who was hovering on the sidelines. ‘I think we’re wanted.’

Even though she had just checked her make-up, Amy whipped out a mirror from her bag and started dabbing at her lips.

‘Come on, Tabitha.’ Aiden beckoned, but Tabitha shook her head.

‘You go. I’m hardly family.’

‘What’s that got to do with it? Come on.’

But Tabitha was insistent. Immortalising a lie seemed wrong, somehow. ‘The photographer said family only. Please, Aiden, don’t make me feel any worse about this.’

‘You’ll be all right on your own for five minutes?’

‘For heaven’s sake, Aiden, just go. They’re all waiting.’

Sipping on her drink, she watched as they all lined up; it was easy to tell which side they all belonged to. The Chamberses reminded Tabitha of a Mafia movie—all their suits seemed darker, all the men taller, all their hair cut just that little bit more neatly. The fatal combination of money and a perfect gene pool—only Aiden didn’t quite fit in with the masses. His features were gentler, his gestures more expressive than the tight-lipped brooding looks of his relatives. Zavier stood out also. If the Chambers family were a formidable bunch then Zavier was the pinnacle—taller, darker, and, from the reverent way everyone treated him, the most powerful.

‘So you’ve been relegated to the role of bystander as well?’

Startled, Tabitha turned, only then registering that Amy wasn’t up there amongst them.

‘It’s a bit early in the piece for me to start appearing in family albums,’ Tabitha said lightly, somewhat taken aback that someone so famous was actually talking to her.

‘And a bit late in the piece for me; I think I’ve just been dumped.’

‘Oh.’

‘Bloody Chambers.’ The sob in Amy’s voice was one of raw anguish, and Tabitha watched, startled, as tears slid down the oh-so famous face. With a strangled cry she attempted to run off, but soft grass combined with six-inch heels didn’t make for a dignified exit, and Tabitha cringed as she watched her trip away. ‘It’s the effect I have on women,’ Zavier quipped as he joined Tabitha. ‘They can’t get away quickly enough.’

‘What on earth did you say to her?’ Tabitha asked, even though she knew it was none of her business.

‘Not much. I just pointed out it was pretty stupid for her to be in the family photo when she wasn’t going to be around long enough for the films to be developed.’

‘But that’s horrible,’ Tabitha gasped. ‘Couldn’t you have finished with her in a nicer way?’

Zavier shrugged. ‘Believe me, I tried. Unfortunately she either didn’t want to hear it, or it was beyond her comprehension that a man actually might not want her.’

Tabitha stole a closer look, and knew it must be the former. Zavier had a haughty, effortless arrogance that must be a natural by-product when you were so beautiful. And beautiful just about summed him up: an immaculate prototype that left all others as a pale comparison. No wonder Amy hadn’t wanted to hear it was over. To have known such perfection, no matter how briefly, would ensure a lifetime addiction.

He didn’t seem remotely bothered by her scrutiny, and calmly stood as Tabitha surveyed him. Only when she realised the pause had gone on far too long and that she was obviously staring did Tabitha flush, instantly snapping back to the conversation in hand. She was cross at herself for being caught unguarded, and the scorn in her voice came easily. Gorgeous he might be, but beauty was only skin-deep, and it would serve her well to remember that fact.

‘Well, I think you treated her appallingly.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘My, you do get worked up easily, don’t you? I assume that hair colour didn’t come out of a bottle, then?’ Picking up a mass of curls, he pretended to examine them as Tabitha stood burning with indignation. Suddenly he was close, far too close for comfort, the dark pools of his eyes so near she could see the tiny sapphire flecks in them.

‘Of course it didn’t.’ Flicking his hand away, she felt her hair tumble down over her shoulders. The brush of his hand on hers was electric, and she felt a blush stealing across her chest, working its way up her long, slender neck to meet with the scorching heat of her cheeks. ‘I don’t know why any woman would put up with you.’

‘I can answer that for you.’

Tabitha shook her head angrily. ‘It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Just because you’re rich and good-looking you think you can treat women…’ Her voice tailed off as she realised he was laughing—laughing at her.

‘So I’m good-looking, am I?’

Tabitha snorted and instantly regretted it; the undignified noise hardly did her gorgeous frock justice. ‘You know you are, and you think that gives you a licence to hurt people.’

‘Considering we only met…’ he glanced at the heavy gold watch on his wrist, his eyes narrowing slightly as he did so ‘…an hour ago, you seem to have formed a rather hasty opinion, and from the venom in your voice I’m assuming it’s not a good one. Can I ask why?’

She stood there, searching for an answer. Why had her reaction to him been so violent? Why was she angry at him for so carelessly discarding Amy when if the truth were known Tabitha knew nothing about the circumstances that had led to the conclusion of their relationship? ‘I just don’t like seeing people hurt,’ she said finally, while knowing her response was woefully inadequate.

‘Amy’s not hurt,’ he answered irritably. ‘She got exactly what she wanted from me: her picture in all the social pages and a fast ticket to fame. As for rich and good-looking—I don’t think she has any trouble qualifying for that title either.’

‘She was hurt,’ Tabitha insisted, but Zavier just shrugged nonchalantly.

‘Maybe,’ Zavier conceded, but any surge of triumph for Tabitha was quickly quashed when he carried on talking, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his full sensual mouth. ‘After all, she’s just lost the best lover she’s ever had.’

‘You’re disgusting,’ Tabitha spluttered, her cheeks flaming as her mind danced with the dangerous images that had suddenly flooded her mind.

‘Just truthful. Look, we had a good time while it lasted. Amy wanted more, and I wasn’t prepared to give it to her.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘The grass is a bit damp here to go down on bended knee.’

‘She wanted to get married?’

Zavier nodded.

‘But that’s even worse.’ Tabitha was genuinely appalled. ‘She loves you and you ended it like that?’

But Zavier just shook his head. ‘Who said anything about love?’ He saw the confusion in her eyes and it seemed to amuse him. ‘You think Amy loved me?’

‘Why else would she want to marry you?’

‘Oh, come on, Tabitha—surely you’re not that naïve? For the same reason that you’re here with my brother: money and position. Why let a little detail like love get in the way of a good deal?’

‘But I’m not with Aiden for his money.’ She was stunned that he thought this of her.

‘Please,’ he scoffed.

‘I’m not,’ she retorted furiously, but Zavier wasn’t listening.

‘Sorry I took so long, Mr Chambers.’ A waitress rushed over, a glass of ice and a bottle of mineral water in her hand.

‘Just the bottle will do.’ He took a long drink as Tabitha searched frantically for Aiden. Finally catching sight of him, Tabitha groaned inwardly. The bride was chattering to him now, which meant there was no chance of imminent rescue; she’d just have to make the best of it.

‘So what do you do?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘For a living.’ Her patience was starting to run out now. ‘I mean, I assume that you work?’

His brow furrowed for a moment before he answered. ‘I work in the family business; I would have thought you’d have at least known that.’

Tabitha frowned; there was obviously rather a lot of ground that she hadn’t covered with Aiden, and his brother’s resumé was one of them. Still, she was happy to attempt a recovery. ‘That’s right! Aiden did mention it, of course. I’m useless with names and details like that.’

‘So how did you meet my brother?’

‘At a party.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t have been at work, would it?’ He flashed a very dry, guarded smile. ‘We both know the effect that four-letter word has on my brother.’

‘Aiden does work,’ Tabitha bit back. ‘He’s a very talented artist.’

‘Oh, he’s an artist all right.’ Zavier’s black eyes worked the crowd and they both watched as Aiden knocked back one drink, grabbing a couple more from the passing waiter. ‘Dedicated too,’ Zavier mused. ‘So, what do you do for a living?’

Tabitha swallowed. Normally she loved saying what she did for a living, loved the response it evoked in people, but somehow she couldn’t quite imagine Zavier’s face lighting up with undisguised admiration when she revealed her chosen profession. ‘I dance.’

He didn’t say a word, not a single word, but his eyes spoke volumes as they slowly travelled her body, one quizzical eyebrow raised in a curiously mocking gesture as she blushed under his scrutiny.

‘Not that type of dancing,’ she flared. ‘I work on the stage.’

‘Classical?’ he asked, in the snobbiest most derisive of tones.

‘A—a bit,’ Tabitha stammered. ‘But mainly modern. Every now and then I even get to do a poor man’s version of the Can-Can.’ The bitter edge to her voice was obvious, even to herself, and she blinked in surprise at her own admission.

A sliver of a smile moved his lips a fraction and his eyes languorously drifted the length of her long legs. ‘Is that the sound of a frustrated leading lady I hear?’

‘Possibly.’ Tabitha shrugged. Hell, why was she feeling like this? Why did one withering stare from him reduce her to a showgirl? ‘But, for your information, I’m actually very good at what I do,’ Tabitha flared. ‘You might mock what your brother and I do for a living, but you don’t have to pull on a suit to put in an honest day’s work. We happen to give a lot of people a lot of pleasure.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do.’ Again those black eyes worked her body, and again Tabitha mentally kicked herself at the opening she had given him.

For something to do Tabitha drained her glass and accepted another from a passing waiter. But still Zavier’s black eyes stayed trained on her, making even the most basic task, such as breathing, seem suddenly terribly complicated.

‘Don’t worry.’ He smiled at her for the first time, but just as Tabitha felt herself relax his cutting voice set the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. ‘I mean, once you get that ring on your finger you’ll be able to hang up your dancing shoes for ever.’

Her jade eyes flashed with anger at his inference. ‘I’ll have you know that I happen to enjoy my job—very much, in fact. If you really think I’m seeing Aiden for the chance to marry into his charming family—’ she flashed a wry smile ‘—you couldn’t be more wrong.’

Her fiery response to his provocative statement did nothing to mar his smooth expression, and he stood there irritatingly calm as Tabitha flushed with anger.

‘We’ll see,’ he said darkly. ‘But something tells me I’m not going to be pleasantly surprised.’

Aiden appeared then, oblivious of the simmering tension. ‘Glad to see you’re getting along.’ He smiled warmly. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous, Zavier?’ He squeezed Tabitha around the waist as he haphazardly deposited a kiss on her cheek.

‘Gorgeous,’ Zavier quipped, his smile belying the menacing look in his eyes. ‘Now, if you two will excuse me?’ He flashed the briefest of nods vaguely in her direction as Tabitha stood there mute. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you.’

Not a pleasure, exactly, Tabitha mused as he walked away, but it had certainly been an experience; the only trouble was, she couldn’t quite decide whether it was one that she wanted to repeat.