Page 29 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Isla

He turns his head toward me, our eyes hold, and my breath leaves me.

He rakes his gaze down the length of my body from my features to my chest, down past my hips, to my skirt clad legs, to my crystal-embellished Manolo Blahnik's.

A pair I found when I returned to my room this morning.

I really need to speak to him about his shoe fetish.

That, combined with his hinted penchant for erotic electrostimulation, paints the picture of a very complex man.

He raises his gaze back to my face, and my entire body feels like it’s on fire.

A surge of what seems like thermonuclear radiation sizzles between us.

He’s the fisherman reeling in the catch.

The magnet against which I have no defense.

The calm at the eye of the storm that’s enveloped me, pulling me toward him, inch by inch.

Then I’m a few yards from him, then a few feet away.

He holds out his hand, and I place my palm in his. His is warm, mine freezing cold. I’m trembling like the chords of a guitar that’s been dropped. He squeezes my fingers. The band around my chest loosens. I draw in a breath and my head spins.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Easy, LadyBird, I’ve got you."

His voice rumbles across my skin. My blood begins to pump again. My arms and legs feel weak, but I manage to pull myself together.

The music fades away and we turn to face the official.

"Thought we weren’t going to have any music," I murmur.

"I changed my mind."

I turn to him, but the official is already speaking.

We decided not to say any vows, so the ceremony is quick. Then he’s sliding a ring onto my finger. I blink. It’s a platinum band that matches with my engagement ring. I slide the coordinating, slim band onto his ring finger, and we’re done. I step back, but he circles his fingers around my wrist.

"Not so fast." He tugs, I lose my balance, and he catches me against his chest. He wraps his other arm about my waist, then closes his mouth over mine. No half-assed, chaste pecking on my lips. This is a full-fledged meeting of his mouth with mine, his tongue sliding over mine, his lips sucking on mine as he takes—and gives. It’s a mutual melding of our desires—our hearts beating in synchronicity, our breaths intermingled, my arms twined around his neck. I don’t close my eyes and neither does he.

The rest of the world—the clapping by our family, the whistles from our friends, the smile of the official—all of it fades.

It’s just me and Liam. Liam and me. And his bottomless, ocean-like eyes into which I’m sinking, sinking without an anchor.

Without the want to swim. Without the need to save myself.

My entire life has been building toward this moment where I’m trapped by the weight of his body, the heat that spools from his chest, the heaviness of everything that has transpired between us, and the possibility of a future together.

He sees me like no other person, trusts me enough to share his secret, hints at his proclivities—which should scare me, but honestly, don’t.

I want to find out everything about this man. About how his past impacted him, and about why it’s so important for him to inherit the family business, a reason that I think goes beyond just money. It’s something he’s built, something he’s proud of, something he wants to put his stamp on.

Something he cherishes as much as the idea of being married to me. Something he hasn’t realized yet.

He must sense my thoughts, for he pulls away. My breath is my own again, my heart pounding like the wings of a caged bird. The noise of clapping and cheering washes over us.

He frowns into my face. "What’s wrong?"

I shake my head.

"Tell me, LadyBird."

I clutch my fingers together, the weight of the new ring weighing me down further. "The wedding… Coming here… It’s a lot to process."

He brushes a strand of hair that’s blown across my face. "You need a drink."

I chuckle. "That, too."

He wraps his arm about my waist, then turns me so we both face our friends and families. They’re all on their feet smiling. We walk forward, and birdseed showers us.

Then, Zara is at my side. She hugs me. "Congratulations, babe. Thanks a lot—you made me cry again." She laughs.

She steps back, and the rest surge forward. First Summer, followed by my mother and Liam’s mother, then Amelie and the rest of the Sisterhood-of-the-Seven, most of whom are here, with the exception of Baron and Ava who are traveling.

Meanwhile, Liam is slapped on his shoulder by Weston, his hand shaken by Hunter.

Karma hugs me, while Sinclair and Michael congratulate Liam.

My brother, with Tiny straining at his leash, approaches me. He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. "You look beautiful, baby sister."

I throw my arms around Dorian and hug him. "I’m so pleased you could make it. And Tiny, too."

As if hearing his name, Tiny gives a bark, then leaps forward.

Tiny tears his leash from Dorian’s hand, then crashes into the chairs.

He uses them for leverage and jumps over the others.

He hits the lawn and, while barking, races toward the open bottle of champagne that’s been left on one of the cocktail tables set up outside the tent.

"Tiny!" Dorian yells. He runs toward our Great Dane, but it’s too late. Tiny jumps up and places his paws on the table. He neatly snatches the bottle in his jaws, upturns it, and in one gulp, empties it down his gullet.

"The dog likes to drink?" Zara stares at Tiny who’s sprawled on the grass next to my feet. "He emptied the entire bottle of Cristal, in one go." There’s awe in her voice. And it takes a lot to surprise this woman.

Tiny raises his head, then crawls toward her. With a heavy sigh he plonks his head on his paws, then stares up at her from under his long eyelashes.

"He also does an army crawl?" She blinks.

"He’s Tiny." I shrug.

"Like that explains everything?"

I chuckle, "He’s been this way since he came to live with us.

The first time he jumped on a champagne bottle and downed it, my Ma nearly had a heart attack.

She rushed him to the vet, who examined him and couldn’t find anything wrong with him.

They kept him overnight for observation.

He was sick the next morning and they concluded he had an hangover.

As you can see, he seems to thrive on it. "

Tiny makes a whining sound at the back of his throat, as if he knows we’re talking about him.

"Hmm." She holds her hand out to him, and Tiny licks it. He makes a contented sound at the back of his throat. Then rubs his head against her fingers.

"I think he wants you to pet him," I murmur.

She scratches him behind his ear, and Tiny arches his neck.

"You remind me of the men I’ve been with—all bark, no bite, like to be petted, and overdoing on the drink without realizing the repercussions," she says in a thoughtful voice.

"Clearly, you haven’t been with the right kind of man yet," Hunter’s voice cuts in from behind her.

Zara stiffens. She arches her eyebrows at me, but I’m too distracted watching Liam approach.

His hair is mussed as if he’s run his fingers through it.

Other than that, he looks like he walked off the pages of a fashion magazine, or off a catwalk.

Once more, I can’t help but admire how the fitted jacket clings to his shoulders, how his pants mold to his powerful thighs, how the white of his shirt sets off the tan on his skin.

He walks over and holds out his hand. "Dance with me."

I blink. We didn’t discuss having a first dance, and vetoed speeches by bridesmaids or groomsmen.

Guess both of us wanted the ceremony to be done with and focus on having enough pics and video footage to share with the influencers and media.

After all, the main reason for this entire charade is to prove to the world at large that we’re married, so he can claim his inheritance, and I can legitimize my wedding planning business.

And we’ve done that. So why is he asking me to dance with him now?

"Isla," he lowers his voice to a hush.

A shiver ladders up my spine. My nerve endings crackle. And before I can stop myself, I’ve placed my hand in his and he’s pulled me up to my feet. He leads me out to the center of the space, then past it and out of the tent. "Where are we going?"

He doesn’t reply.

I glance up at his features, but he’s staring straight ahead. He leads me down the decking where we got married earlier, then toward the beach. The last rays of the sun slant down over us. The sun is a ball of fire sinking slowing into the horizon.

He pauses and pulls out his phone. "What do you say, shall we put up the video showing us as a happily married couple?"

"Here?" I glance about the decking in the backyard of the house where the wedding had been held. Ahead is the beach and behind us, the sounds of the party floats over to us. "Isn’t this a little informal?"

"Isn’t that the best way to be? So it comes across as unplanned and spontaneous?"

"You do have a point there,” I concede.

He pulls the phone from his pocket, switches it to selfie mode, then wraps his arm about my waist and pulls me toward him.

He holds up the phone so the screen reflects back the two of us.

Even with my heels, I only reach his chest. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes shine.

My hair is behaving itself; its simple style enhances the look of the dress which reflects back the rays of the sun.

He flattens his palm against my stomach, and the darkness of his fingers is almost obscene against the white of my dress.

I glance into his eyes to find he’s surveying me with a frown on his face.

"What?" I frown back.

"Something’s missing."

"There is?"

He nods, then releases me long enough to pull something from his pocket. "Hold my phone, will you?"