Page 24 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Isla

"Oh, my god, you girls shouldn’t have."

I’m overwhelmed by the spread of food and drink on the terrace adjoining the living room.

It’s a beautiful evening. The air is balmy, and the scent of flowers teases my nostrils.

In the distance, the sun is beginning its journey toward the horizon.

I heard the sound of the plane earlier and knew more visitors were arriving.

I was sure it was Liam’s friends who’d touched down.

In fact, I didn’t give it any more thought because Zara and Summer, along with Amelie and Karma were keeping me busy.

They insisted I try on my dress for them, then showed off their own bridesmaid dresses, which were gorgeous.

In fact, Karma Sovrano ensured her creation celebrated Summer’s bump.

Rather than trying to hide Summer’s condition, the design highlighted Summer’s pregnancy in a way that was both tasteful and sexy.

Leave it to a pregnant woman to design something that not only didn’t look like frumpy pregnancy-wear, but in fact, flattered the mother-to-be’s figure and made her look captivating.

Not that I would’ve expected anything less from her, especially since Summer’s her sister. But still, the fact that she put so much thought into creating the dresses made me teary.

Damn, I really am getting into the mood of the wedding.

So what, if it all started as an arrangement?

Things are getting dangerously mixed up in my head.

I’m already feeling emotional, so when I walk onto the terrace and see the food and drink laid out on the table, along with the familiar faces of Amelie Kincaid and Karma Sovrano herself, my emotions well up.

My throat closes, and I’m unable to stop the tears that trail down my cheeks.

"Oh, my goodness, are you okay?" Amelie walks over to me. She throws her arms around me, enclosing me in a cloud of what smells like sugar and cinnamon. She squeezes me tightly.

"You always smell like a walking dessert," I murmur.

Amelie laughs. "Perks of being a pastry chef.”

I hear footsteps as first Summer, then Karma, and finally Zara—who’s not much of a hugger—put their arms around us.

"Group hug!" Summer chortles.

"Ooh, haven’t had one of these in a while. It feels so good, doesn’t it?" I hear the smile in Karma’s voice.

"There; now that’s out of the way." Zara steps back.

I chuckle. "Can’t believe you girls managed to get Z to hug."

"You’re right. I don’t normally indulge in superfluous emotions, except when it comes to you." She stabs a finger at me.

I sniff again, get a good whiff of the pastries that are arranged on the table. There are— I stare. "Are those penis-shaped cookies?"

Amelie nods happily.

"And those bonbons are supposed to be—"

"Balls, it would seem." Zara’s eyes gleam. "I know which one I’m eating first."

"Ms. Balls-of-steel," I refer to her by the name a well-known mainstream daily has nicknamed her, "I didn’t think you needed more balls in your orbit."

"One can never have too many of them, darling. You just have to be careful to keep them all up in the air at the same time, if you know what I mean.”

“Not exactly.”

She opens her mouth, no doubt, to explain herself, and I raise a hand. "Don’t need the details.”

She shrugs. "Hey, one needs to get one’s protein fix. I just choose to get mine this way."

There’s silence, then the girls burst out laughing.

“Though, perhaps, just this once, I might favor going for the biggest ones of them all.” She narrows her gaze on two of the balls which are larger in size than the others.

Once more, silence descends. After a few seconds, Zara looks up and spots the rest of us staring at her.

“What?” She scowls.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about a specific pair of balls,” I murmur.

Zara lowers her chin to her chest so her hair falls over her face. “I think we should park this conversation for another time. Don’t want to steal your limelight today, babe," she mumbles under her breath.

I peruse what I can see of her features. "OMG, you’ve met someone.”

She seems taken aback, then laughs—a little weakly, I think, "What? Of course not. What gives you that idea?"

"Because you’re blushing." Summer’s lips curve at the sides.

Her cheeks pinken further. "Me, blushing?" She waves a hand in the air. "You girls are imagining things. Also" —she glances at the table loaded with pastries— "I’m hungry."

As if on cue, my stomach rumbles.

"That’s a ton of goodies." I glance from Amelie to the table, then back at her. "Did you really make all of these?"

"Yes." She rubs her palms. "I had so much fun. We were taking the jet, so I transported everything over."

"Almost ran out of space, too." Karma chuckles.

"Speaking of—" I narrow my gaze on her. "Should you even be here?

" Not only is Karma pregnant, but she also has a heart condition which means she needs to be very careful not to exert herself. Summer mentioned to me that she kept this from Michael until recently. After which, he’s refused to let her out of his sight.

"Don’t you start, too. It was almost impossible to convince Michael I’d be fine."

"I’m surprised he agreed to let you come," I murmur.

"Him agree to let me come?" She sets her jaw.

"Nothing and no one is keeping me away from enjoying the wedding of one of the Sorority-of-the-Seven.” She grins.

“Besides, he’s here, too, as is Weston, my own personal heart specialist." She winks at Amelie. “Don’t worry, we all know whose heart he cares about the most.”

We all laugh. "I’m really happy to see you here. This way, I can personally thank you for the gorgeous wedding dress—"

"—And for the dresses of the bridesmaids. At least someone realizes we are bridesbabes who don’t need to be dressed in drab colors, or uniformly, for that matter.

" Zara tosses her mane. Her thick, dark hair seems to have a life of its own as it flows and crackles about her shoulders. I touch my own hair, making sure it’s in place.

Z catches sight of my action and frowns.

I shake my head in an almost imperceptible gesture. Her gaze narrows.

I look away, then squeeze Karma’s hand. "Thank you, anyway," I say softly. "Couldn’t have done this without you. Without" —I glance about the faces of the women who mean so much to me— "all of you."

"Aww!" Summer’s chin wobbles. "You’re making me all emotional. And it’s not just because of the pregnancy hormones."

Karma blinks away what looks like tears. Amelie sniffs. Even Zara looks moved. Emotions coil up in my chest. My throat closes. Oh, no, no, no I’m not going to cry. I clap my hands. "Time to sample the cookies."

"And drinks." Zara walks over to the jugs of margarita placed next to a bowl of jellybeans shaped as—you guessed it, willies. To her credit, she doesn’t even glance at them as she reaches for the pitcher of slushy liquid. "There’s alcoholic and non-alcoholic versions of this cocktail. I know which one I’m drinking. "

"I shouldn’t be drinking so much." I stare down into the depths of my double-bowl glass. The rim is so massive, I could be holding a soup bowl between my fingers. Also, most of the contents of said glass are now in my stomach.

"Nonsense." Zara raises the jug and tops me up… for the fifth, or is it sixth, time. I’ve lost count, to be honest. Sometime after the second glass, a warmth began to spread through my veins. After the fourth, I remember giggling a lot as Amelie, Summer and Karma had recounted for Zara’s benefit the stories of how they’d met and tamed their respective alphaholes.

Zara scoffed and said the arsehole—she pointedly refused to use the world alphahole—who’d tame her has yet to be born.

At which point, the three women looked at each other and shared a secret smile.

She demanded they tell her what that look meant.

And the three women had insisted it was merely a shared sentiment about how they’d each been sure they’d never meet their match and yet, they had… in said alphaholes.

To which I had raised a finger—which had seemed suspiciously like two fingers in my line of sight but which I had ignored—and told them I was with Zara. It might have worked for them but no snarly, mean-mouthed, grumpy-faced, handsome as Lucifer a-hole was going to put me in my place.

The three had glanced between me and Z then snickered to themselves. They hadn’t pushed the matter further but I had this strange feeling they were going to have the last laugh at our expense.

Shortly afterward, Michael and Sinclair came by to pick up Karma and Summer.

Considering they’re pregnant, we couldn’t stop their early escape.

Amelie had stayed on and told me how she was thrilled to be here and help with the arrangements.

She also mentioned how her catering business was booming thanks to her having pitched in with the quick-turnaround weddings of the rest of the Seven.

Which is positive right? Perhaps this harebrained scheme of mine will have the intended effect and benefit my wedding planning business too?

When Zara tops up her own drink and mine yet again, I don’t even pretend to resist. I hold up the glass and rise to my feet, sway, then find my balance.

"To girlfriends who always know what to say.

" I try to smile but my face has gone numb. Given the ordeal I have to face tomorrow, I welcome it. Hopefully, my thoughts will also be frozen so I don’t have to relive the sensations of his skin on mine, his rough fingers inside me, his thick cock swelling until it felt like he was going to carve me in half.

"Isla?"

I blink and turn to find Zara and Amelie watching me closely.

"Uh, sorry, it’s been a long day. What did you say?"

Zara arches her eyebrows but doesn’t question me, thank god. She raises her glass and says, "I was raising a toast to hoes before husbands."

"I’d say they’re both equally important." Amelia grins, her eyes over-bright, no doubt, because of all the alcohol she’s consumed. "I’ll toast to sex, lots and lots of sex, and enough orgasms to keep you adrift in happy hormones so you always look on the bride side."

Both Zara and I groan.

Amelie hiccoughs, then begins to giggle helplessly.

"I think this is my cue to take you to bed, Buttercup." Weston prowls into the room and scoops the still giggling Amelie into his arms. "Ladies," he says and dips his head in our direction before walking out.

The two of us watch them leave, then Zara blows out a breath. "I hate to say it, but being around you guys might convert me yet."

"You mean, you’d actually think of a relationship with you-know-who?" I waggle my eyebrows at her.

"I have no idea who you’re talking about." She buries her nose in her drink.

I lower my voice. "Aww, come on, Z, the way you and Hunter go at each other—"

"Is because we hate each other," she snaps.

"See, this is what I mean." I crunch down on a piece of ice, then raise my soup bowl—I mean, my margarita glass—in her direction. "The way the two of you snipe at each other, then steal glances when the other is not looking, it’s clear there’s this entire sexual attraction thing going on—"

Zara makes a gagging sound. "Please! I wouldn’t sleep with him if he were the last man on Earth."

"You talking about me?"

Both Z and I pivot in the direction of the voice.

Hunter leans a hip against the door, his gaze on Zara. Next to him, Liam stands with a hand in his pocket. He’s taken off his jacket, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. I glimpse his veiny forearms and my core throbs. What is it about his veiny forearms that I find so irresistible?

His gaze holds mine. The air seems to grow dense.

In the distance, lightning flashes. At some point, the sun dipped behind the horizon, and one of Liam’s staff came around and lit the candles.

The flickering light illuminates the hollows under his cheekbones and lends a blue hue to his already dark hair.

Those gray eyes of his seem almost silver.

Like clear mirrors of emotions. Fluid, yet secretive.

Like fireflies spark below their surface.

Meanwhile, the standoff between Hunter and Zara continues.

Hunter’s jaw tics. Zara leans back in her chair and drains her glass.

She holds it out and gestures to the half-full pitcher of margarita by her side.

Hunter’s gaze narrows. His shoulders bunch.

He seems like he’s about to say something, then changes his mind.

He crosses over, picks up the jug and motions it in my direction. "Would you like some more?"

"Umm, no, thank you." I rise to my feet and sway. The only reason I don’t fall is Liam’s appearance next to me. He swings me up in his arms.

"Hey, what are you doing?" At least, that’s what I think I say. I can’t confirm that, to be honest, because the numbness that started at my extremities has now spread to include the rest of me.

It feels like I’m floating away on a soft cloud, tethered to the earth by firm arms. Firm, muscled arms, the muscles flexing against me as he carries me out of the terrace, through the adjoining room, and up the stairs.

He carries me like I weigh nothing, which I know is not true, for I’ve weighed myself and my scales don’t lie.

I turn my face into the wall of his chest. I can feel the solid planes of his torso digging into my skin.

He’s so damn tough, I could hurt myself.

Correction, I’ve already hurt myself. I allowed myself to sleep with him, and now he’s under my skin.

I’m pathetic, really. Okay... So maybe not ‘sleep’ in the strict sense of the word, but he fucked me in ways that make forgetting him impossible.

He takes the steps two at a time, and his heartbeat stays even.

Jeez, how much does this guy work out? More to the point, when does he work out?

Every time I see him, he’s either too busy being pissed at me, or he’s running his empire.

"In the early morning." His voice vibrates up his chest.

Apparently, I asked the question out loud.

"It shows." I curl my fingers about his biceps and squeeze.

When he lowers me to the bed, I look around. "I’m not going to sleep in your room."

I sit up, and the room instantly swims. "Oh shoot." I sink back onto the bed and squeeze my eyes shut.

"Relax," his voice wafts over me, "I can go one night without touching you."