Bound To A Billionaire: Protecting His Defiant Innocent (Bound to a Billionaire) / Claiming His One-Night Baby / Buying His Bride of Convenience

She remembered being a small child and her mother casually asking her father for money to buy some new shoes. It had been a nothing incident, her father going straight into his wallet and handing the money over, but it had crystallised in Francesca’s mind as the years passed. What if he’d said no? What would her mother have done then? Why should her mother not manage her own money? And why should she, Francesca, not be expected to go out and make a living of her own just because she was born a girl? Why could she not be like her brothers?

‘I’ve no idea how Daniele will handle having the future of the Pellegrini family on his shoulders if it comes to it,’ she carried on, shrugging off the old memories. ‘He was so competitive with Pieta that he drove himself to make a fortune that was twice what Pieta would have inherited just to show that he could, but was able to live his life as he wanted without the responsibilities Pieta had. If he does inherit he’ll have to marry so he’ll say goodbye to his freedom too.’

Francesca’s chest tightened, all this talk of her family reminding her of her mother stumbling at Pieta’s funeral. She’d spoken to her briefly the night before, letting her know she’d arrived in the Caribbean safely. Her mother had been too used to Francesca’s stubbornness to try and talk her out of going but had made her swear she wouldn’t put herself in any unnecessary danger.

‘Forget your brothers, I’m curious about you. Do you even have a trust fund?’

‘No, but all my education was paid for and I never wanted for anything when I was growing up. That’s enough for me. I want to forge my own life.’ One where she didn’t have to ask for money to buy essentials.

‘By following in Pieta’s footsteps?’ he said with obvious scepticism.

She paused, considering. ‘There are—were—no better footsteps for me to follow in but don’t think I wanted to make myself into his female clone. I saw the good Pieta was doing with his law degree and wanted to do it too.’

‘Corporate law?’

She grimaced. ‘No. I meant how he used it for the benefit of his philanthropy. Corporate law was a means to an end for him and that’s what it is for me while I complete my traineeship.’

‘What will you do when you’re fully qualified?’

‘I’m going to specialise in human rights.’ She looked back up at him, straining to stifle the lump pressing in her chest. ‘Can we stop talking about me and my family now? Just talk about nonsense? Otherwise I’m going to embarrass both of us by crying.’

* * *

A couple of hours later, Francesca’s belly was full and her melancholy gone. The quick meal she’d intended to have before retiring to the unwelcome solitude of her suite had extended over three courses.

As time had passed, her animosity towards Felipe had melted, which she thought the handful of cocktails she’d consumed might have helped with.

A jazz band was playing on the stage, thankfully uplifting tunes, and there was a buzzing atmosphere she’d enthusiastically embraced. After the trauma of the past week it felt good to be letting her hair down. The gorgeous company helped.

Felipe was proving to be not quite the dictator she’d painted in her mind. But still arrogant, although not in the entitled way most men she’d come across in her life were. Felipe’s arrogance came with an authority earned and built over an adulthood of having orders obeyed without question.

His apology had shocked her. She’d never known a man to apologise before, was quite sure the word ‘sorry’ didn’t exist in any of the male Pellegrinis’ vocabulary. Or her own, she had to admit.

She thought the more of him for it. A man who could hold his hands up when he was in the wrong without emasculating himself only soared in her estimation.

Francesca knew she could be pig-headed. It wasn’t a part of her character she liked and, while in her head she would want to be saying sorry for whatever mishap or argument she’d caused or contributed to, her tongue would stubbornly resist.

Idly she wondered if Felipe’s authority extended to the bedroom. What sort of lover would he be? She’d seen hints of fire beneath the calm, authoritative exterior—that fire had been aimed firmly at herself—and imagining those strong hands touching her made her skin tingle. What would it be like to have those intense dark eyes staring into hers in the height of passion...? Her lower belly clenched just to imagine it, the intensity of it shocking her.

She’d never had thoughts like these before.

Once their desserts were cleared away she ordered them Irish coffees.

She laughed at his arched eyebrow. ‘It’s not that late,’ she defended.

‘I’m more concerned about your head in the morning.’

She waved a hand airily. ‘My head will be fine. I’ve not drunk that much.’

He fixed her with a stare that made her laugh when it should have quelled her.

‘I might have drunk a little more than is good for me but I’m not drunk. And you’ve had as many as me.’

‘I’m twice your size and have a much greater tolerance.’

‘You are huge,’ she agreed, leaning over to put a hand on his bare forearm. ‘I bet you work out a lot.’

‘Whenever I can.’

The dark hairs resting under her fingers were much finer than she’d expected, his skin smooth and warm.

‘Are you married?’ she asked impulsively.

‘No.’ Felipe moved his arm away from her touch and drained the last of his beer.

Her touch had felt too good for comfort.

‘Have you ever been married?’

‘No.’

‘Ever come close to getting married?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

He sighed. His love life was not a discussion he wanted with Francesca.

He should have gone to bed a long time ago.

‘No. There’s no room in my life for a relationship.’

‘No room in your life? What a strange thing to say.’

Their Irish coffees were laid before them. Francesca popped two sugar cubes into hers and gave it a vigorous stir.

‘That spoils it,’ he reproached. ‘See? You’ve mixed the cream into it.’

‘I need the sweetness.’

She would taste sweet. His weak-willed imagination that couldn’t stop picturing her in that damned bikini was certain of it.

‘Why is there no room for you to have a relationship? Do you need a bigger house?’

He almost laughed at the wink she finished her question with. As the evening had progressed she’d relaxed, her antagonism towards him now but a memory. Francesca had proven to be fun company, far removed from the spoilt brat he’d assumed her to be.

He had to keep reminding himself that she was his client—a grieving, vulnerable client—and that he needed to keep his guard up. This wasn’t a date. It wouldn’t end with a nightcap in one of their suites followed by...

He refused to allow his mind to wander any further.

‘It’s my life as a whole. When my job with you is over I’m going back to the Middle East and then on to Russia. I run a business with three hundred employees. It takes a lot of management.’

‘Why does that stop you having a relationship?’

‘I doubt there’s a woman out there who would be happy with a man she went months at a time without seeing and weeks without any communication at all.’

‘Natasha and Pieta often went months without seeing each other,’ she pointed out. ‘It didn’t do them any harm and they were together for years.’

That’s what she thought.

But Felipe wouldn’t say anything negative about her brother when his coffin had only just been lowered into the ground. One day the truth he suspected—and he had no proof, only a gut instinct—about her brother would come out as the truth always did. He just hoped she was in the right mental space to cope with it when it did.

‘Pieta was a very different man to me and when I disappear it’s usually into danger. My business comes first. It has to. My men are deployed to the world’s most dangerous hotspots where situations are fluid. Every eventuality has to be catered for. A call can come in at any time for an evacuation.’

‘What if something were to go wrong with one of the jobs while you’re here dining with me?’ she asked reasonably.

He held his phone up. ‘This is a satellite phone. It’s standard military issue. All my men have one. They allow us to communicate with each other wherever we are in the world and the encryption means no one can hack them.’

‘So if one of your clients or men were to get into trouble right now, you’d sort it all out sitting here with me?’

‘My headquarters are manned twenty-four seven. There are protocols in place for every eventuality. But if anything untoward were to happen I’d be kept informed throughout.’ Situations happened all the time. It was the nature of the job. People needed his protection for very good reasons and they hired his firm because they were guaranteed the best. In the ten years since he’d formed the firm, no client had ever come to harm.

‘But if anything were to happen right now, you wouldn’t personally be involved with solving it,’ she persisted. ‘So if you have the staff in place to keep everything running during your absences, there’s nothing to stop you having a relationship.’

‘I’m only ever absent from headquarters when I’m on a job. Being the boss means having all the responsibility if anything goes wrong.’ He would not allow anything to go wrong.

Her eyes narrowed then began to dance. ‘You sound like a man making excuses. Has a woman broken your heart?’

‘No woman has ever got close.’ And no woman ever would. During his army career he’d been happy to play the field—many women loved a man in uniform. He’d watched friends and colleagues settle down and seen the pressure starting families had had on them, how it could affect their focus and priorities, and had decided to wait until he left the forces before finding someone to settle down with. Then his unit had been flown in to handle a hostage situation, his life had gone to hell and thoughts of a family destroyed with it. He was better off on his own. Solitude was what he’d grown up with, what he was used to. Safer.

He thought of Sergio. He thought of Sergio’s wife and unborn child. He thought about the hostages they’d been trying to save, half of whom hadn’t made it out alive. Sergio hadn’t made it out alive either, a memory that still had the power to sear him. His child was now a healthy nine-year-old growing up with a father he would only see in photographs.

Francesca didn’t say anything, just stared at him with those beguiling light brown eyes that seemed to drink him in...

Without warning, she got to her feet, her face breaking into a beaming smile. ‘I love this song! Let’s dance.’

The jazz band had finished their set and now a DJ was playing to the full crowd.

‘I don’t dance.’

‘Then I shall dance on my own.’ And with that she finished her coffee and glided to the dance floor, her shoulders and hips swaying to the music he vaguely recognised, her long ebony hair shimmering in the lights.

Without an ounce of self-consciousness, Francesca threw her arms in the air and began to dance. The joy on her face must have been infectious because a couple of women hurried onto the floor to join her, the three of them immediately dancing and singing together as if they’d known each other for years.

He should leave her on the dance floor and go to bed. He wasn’t her babysitter. His protection of her did not involve making sure she was safely tucked up at night. Judging by the animation on her face and in her body she’d found her second wind and wouldn’t be going to bed any time soon.

Felipe sighed and signalled to a passing waiter for another beer.

He couldn’t leave her.

And neither could he take his eyes from her.

He accepted his beer with a nod of thanks.

He sipped it slowly, watching her dance.

How could someone be so uninhibited? Did it come naturally to her or was it something she’d forced herself to be? He suspected it was the former, that this woman on the dance floor was the closest to the real Francesca he’d seen in their short time together.

It felt as if he’d been in her company for weeks.

She kept glancing at him, sometimes overtly, beckoning him with a finger to join her, to which he always shook his head.

Hell would freeze over before he’d dance with anyone, let alone Francesca Pellegrini. Watching her move and imagining her body flush against his own was enough torture to inflict on himself.

And sometimes her glances were fleeting, as if she couldn’t help but look. Just as he couldn’t help but look at her.

He shifted in his seat then smiled sardonically when a waiter brought the three dancing ladies a cocktail each. So much for his keen attention to detail—he’d no idea how or when she’d ordered them but seeing as they were Tequila Sunrises, he knew damn well they’d come from Francesca.

She met his eye again and winked, then drank her cocktail and returned to dancing with gusto.

The bubble of laughter swelling inside him died on his lips when one of her straps fell down her slender arm. She giggled and pulled it up, only for it to fall straight back down again.

The attraction Felipe had been trying to contain all night seemed to burst through him, the pulsing music dimming to a background noise as blood roared through his ears.

Shoving his chair back, he got to his feet.

It was time to call it a night before he did something he regretted, like joining Francesca on the dance floor and holding her so close she’d be able to feel his desire for herself.

CHAPTER SIX

FELIPE MADE IT out of the restaurant and was halfway across the atrium when he heard light footsteps behind him.

‘You left without me!’ she accused.

He closed his eyes tightly and prayed for strength.

When he opened them he found Francesca’s beautiful face gazing up at him, her skin glowing from her exertion on the dance floor. She didn’t look upset at him leaving. If anything, she looked far too knowing.

‘We weren’t on a date and it’s late,’ he felt compelled to remind her. And remind himself. When she looked at him like that...

‘Have I annoyed you again?’

He could laugh at her lack of guile. How many times had he heard his colleagues complain that women never made it easy for them, always expecting them to read their minds and know when something was wrong rather than just coming out and saying it? There was none of that with Francesca. Her emotions were always on the surface.

‘No, you haven’t annoyed me.’

‘Good.’ She tucked her arm through his. ‘Then you can walk me back to my room.’

If she didn’t look so unsteady on her feet he would shake her off.

He was annoyed enough with himself for allowing their meal drag on so long and for hanging around to watch her dance when he should have taken the earliest opportunity to escape.

His heart sinking in rhythm with his warming skin, Felipe took a deep breath and led the way.

‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ she said. ‘Thank you for keeping me company.’

‘No problem.’

‘And you?’ When he didn’t answer, she prompted, ‘Have you had a nice evening?’

That was a question he was not prepared to answer with anything more than a noncommittal grunt.

Thankfully they’d reached her door, allowing him to remove his arm from her hold and step back.

She rummaged in her bag and found her key card and immediately dropped it.

‘Oops.’

‘I’ll get it,’ he muttered.

He scooped it up and swiped the lock for her, then opened the door.

‘Do you want to come in?’

He shook his head.

‘The bar’s got beer in it,’ she said temptingly.

‘I’ve had enough to drink.’ He’d drunk only half of what she had but, as he’d reminded himself a dozen times throughout their meal, he was working. All that dancing had probably worked a lot of the alcohol out of her system but she was by no means sober. And she’d had the extra cocktail on the dance floor...

Yes, there was no way she was sober. Felipe was used to drinking with hardened men, not slender—but curvy, Dios, he could not get those curves out of his mind—women.

She bit her lip then tilted her head. ‘Don’t you find me attractive?’

God give him strength.

‘I need to get some sleep.’

‘You haven’t answered my question. You didn’t answer my last question either.’

The strap of her dress fell down again. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I’m not going to answer it.’

Heavy footsteps trod towards them. He turned to see a man around his own age heading their way.

‘Get into your room.’ Felipe took hold of her wrist and walked her in. He didn’t want to advertise the fact she would be alone in her suite.

The door closed quietly behind them.

Resolutely, he kept his back pressed against it. He would count to ten and then leave.

One. Two. Three.

‘You do find me attractive,’ she whispered, eyes shining as she stood before him.

Four. Five. Six.

She raised herself onto her toes and palmed his cheeks with hands as soft as anything he’d ever felt. ‘I find you attractive too,’ she breathed.

Seven. Eight...

He lost the count when her breath danced over his lips and her mouth found his.

Holding his breath, he clenched his hands into fists and willed himself not to respond.

He couldn’t. He mustn’t.

Francesca’s lips didn’t move. Not for a long time. He felt her breathe him in and fought not to inhale. Then she did move. Just a little. A turn of her head to cover his mouth better, a gentle, tentative exploration of his lips while her fingers made a gentle, tentative exploration of his cheeks and jaw, rubbing against his beard and up to trace the contours of his ears.

He fought to hold on, fought to deny the sensation burning through him.

He might have won had he not opened his mouth to let in air and her tongue darted through his parted lips. In an instant he was filled with the sweet heat of her kiss and the fingers he’d raised to yank her hands away from him were cradling her skull as he kissed her back as deeply as a parched man drinking from a cup.

She tasted sweeter than he could have dreamed.

Her arms wrapped around his neck while his arm hooked around her waist to crush her to him. She melted into him with a breathy sigh, charging his desire like a rocket.

He roamed her curves, finding her waist, her hips, her bottom, which was round and pert and felt delectable beneath his fingers. She was delectable. Soft and womanly beyond imagination.

Rising onto her toes had the effect of lifting her dress. When he skimmed down her thigh he came to bare skin that had him sucking in a breath at its satin sheen and holding her tightly so he could devour her mouth again.

It was her response that so blew his mind. Her hunger was as acute as his own and it fed his.

He could take her now if he wanted and she would welcome him with the breathy sighs that were growing in intensity. God knew, he wanted to take her, this craving like nothing he had ever known.

His exploring hands ran up her bare thighs to find her panties and he slipped a finger under the skimpy material and almost groaned aloud to feel the hot dampness there.

She squirmed against him, one foot running up and down the length of his leg, kissing him, licking him, her teeth grazing his neck then kissing up to brush her cheeks against his beard like a purring cat. He could taste her desire in her kisses, smell it in the heat radiating off her.

Tugging the panties down her hips, he pressed the palm of his hand over the soft, downy hair and felt the gasp that flew from her throat. She pressed her pubis into him but before he could explore any further, her nails suddenly dug through his shirt and into his flesh and she collapsed into him, crying out and shuddering.

And then she stilled.

For a long, drawn out moment Felipe couldn’t find his breath. Francesca didn’t seem to be breathing either.

The only sound he heard with any clarity was the roar of blood in his ears.

It was like the room was clearing of fog. Slowly they released their hold on each other and took wary steps back.

What the hell did he think he was playing at? Had he lost his mind?

Francesca put trembling hands to her mouth, covering it as if in prayer, her eyes wide and dazed.

He felt pretty dazed himself.

He breathed out deeply.

He’d been minutes away from making love to her. There were no excuses he could make.

For the first time in his life he’d let his desire guide him and his loathing for himself tasted like salt on his tongue.

He was a thirty-six-year-old man. He knew better than this. He demanded better than to behave like this.

He should never have followed her into the suite, not when his awareness of her and the desire in his loins had been simmering since the first moment he’d set eyes on her.

‘I need to go.’

She jerked her head and took another step back. He took it as agreement.

His heart hammering, he backed away to the door and left.

* * *

Francesca put the pillow over her head to drown out the sound of the knocking on the door. She knew who it was and she did not want to see him. She didn’t want to see him ever again. She couldn’t. It was just too mortifying.

She’d rather dance naked through the streets of Caballeros with the lecherous Governor ogling her than see Felipe again.

Her cheeks scalded to remember how she’d come undone with one touch.

One touch.

Why didn’t she know that could happen? How could she have known when she hadn’t even kissed a man before?

His face. He’d been horrified.

No wonder he’d run from her suite.

And to think she’d gone into the restaurant hating him.

She’d just wanted to kiss him.

It was his smile that had done it, one unguarded curve of those gorgeous lips that had made her own lips tingle and her pulses quicken.

She’d spent almost their entire meal fantasising about the feel of his lips on hers.

Curiosity had certainly killed the cat.

She couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, although she wished she could. It had loosened her inhibitions considerably but she’d been the one to drive the kiss, not the Tequila Sunrises.

She’d played with fire and been burnt for her trouble. She certainly wouldn’t open the door to the man who’d lit it.

The phone beside her bed rang.

She wanted to scream. Just leave me alone!

She snatched the receiver up. ‘What?’

‘You have one minute to open your door or I break it down.’

The dial tone played out before she could summon the words to answer back.

Throwing on her robe, she hurried to open the door a crack before Felipe could follow up on his threat.

He was already there.

He didn’t wait for an invite, simply pushed the door open and strode in, glass of fizzing water in hand.

‘Drink that,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘It’ll help your hangover.’

‘I don’t have a hangover.’ She was quite sure the sickness in her belly was nothing to do with alcohol. Her banging head might be, though.

‘Just drink it.’

How could he look so fresh? He’d showered, his charcoal suit crisply pressed, his hair still damp.

Sulkily, she did as she was told and gulped the liquid down. It tasted much less disgusting than she expected.

He took a deep breath. ‘May I sit down?’

No. Go away and let me sleep away my mortification. ‘If you want.’

He sat on the armchair in the corner and indicated for her to sit on the sofa.

Perching herself gingerly, aware of the humiliation ravaging her, she tried to put on a brave face. Tried to show she didn’t care what he thought of her.

But she did care. She really did.

‘I must apologise for my behaviour last night,’ he said heavily. ‘I should never have taken advantage of you as I did.’