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Beddable Billionaire
Alexx Andria
How do you resist the perfect guy?You don'tJournalist Lauren Hughes needs her job. And if that means writing a feature on Nico Donato—billionaire playboy and primo fantasy material for every straight woman with a pulse—so be it. All she has to do is not be charmed by him. Or tempted. Or invite this sexy, too-hot-to-be-true man into her real world… especially when he has the power to destroy it.
How do you resist the perfect guy?
You don’t
Journalist Lauren Hughes needs her job. And if that means writing a feature on Nico Donato—billionaire playboy and primo fantasy material for every straight woman with a pulse—so be it. All she has to do is not be charmed by him. Or tempted. Or invite this sexy, too-hot-to-be-true man into her real world...especially when he has the power to destroy it.
“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”
—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
ALEXX ANDRIA is a USA TODAY bestselling romance author who writes about bad boys with a tough exterior but a soft, warm heart deep down. She loves sweet but dirty romance, with lots of witty banter and, of course, sizzling scenes in the bedroom (or kitchen, or wherever they happen to end up) and a guaranteed HEA.
If you liked Beddable Billionaire, why not try
Close to the Edge by Zara Cox
Getting Lucky by Avril Tremayne
Forbidden Pleasure by Taryn Leigh Taylor
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Beddable Billionaire
Alexx Andria
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07133-8
BEDDABLE BILLIONAIRE
© 2018 Kimberly Sheetz
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#u62d87e81-0e3a-50b0-98a9-6850cd4e9711)
Back Cover Text (#u46de8dc9-70fb-59d2-824a-997e1718564a)
About the Author (#u865a6564-4897-5d1d-88df-8a4c2763bd7d)
Booklist (#u9bc1bb10-6233-5518-bcfc-5aa2f8b56e4c)
Title Page (#uc76d450c-9261-5bb2-9c93-ff98b2202afc)
Copyright (#ubda576fc-a65b-5f98-a387-85fcf2222266)
CHAPTER ONE (#u42c59b46-b1f2-5ac0-ac5c-f48f19ab8d71)
CHAPTER TWO (#u61d83162-13ad-5a3f-a827-66dbcee87178)
CHAPTER THREE (#u57225461-ad81-5d3b-9836-5786511a9638)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u8922a38a-1010-581d-86d9-582a4406d4c5)
CHAPTER FIVE (#udcd43bbc-0ed5-5958-9ae9-285db3dcb74a)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua2852c08-e2be-557c-bc0a-7a857e68afb0)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u7f74b6e3-e4cc-5bfa-b503-cbe49d2b8287)
Lauren
“AND I WANT YOU, Lauren, to cover the story.”
“Excuse me, I’m sorry, what?” I paused my notes to meet my editor’s stare, stifling the groan that wanted to pop from my mouth. Truthfully, I was only half listening during this morning’s staff meeting, but what little I’d heard wasn’t exactly flipping my interest switch.
“‘Hottest Bachelor in Town.’ I want you to write it,” Patrice answered, tapping her manicured finger against the slick tabletop. “Pay attention, please.”
I didn’t say the actual word, but my expression clearly said blech, and Patrice Winneham, executive editor of Luxe magazine, wasn’t known for her willingness to hear objections. “Problem?” she asked with a layer of frost blanketing her tone.
The last thing I wanted to write was some frivolous article on New York’s most eligible and, more important, rich bachelors, but I needed my job. “No problem,” I lied through my teeth. By now it should’ve become second nature, but it still curdled my guts to pretend to care about stories that held no bearing on actual life.
Like the world needed another spread on complete and utter nonsense. The longer I worked for Luxe, the more I was certain I would be required to turn in my feminist card because of crap assignments like this.
Who knew the going rate for a piece of your soul is the bargain-basement price of rent on a shitty apartment in Brooklyn. From my peripheral I caught our newest and youngest staffer nearly wetting herself to land this gig, and I readily threw her a bone.
“Actually, I really think Daphne would kill a story like that,” I suggested, casting a helpful look down the boardroom table toward the young redhead. Daphne was practically nodding her head off in eager agreement, salivating at the prospect. I smiled. “She’s got that young voice that I think would really sell the piece far better than me.”
Also, because the idea of pandering to an overprivileged prick is about as appealing as jamming a pen in my eye. But I couldn’t exactly say that without risking my job, and as shitty as the job was, it paid the bills—granted, barely—but still, they were paid.
“Yes, and she’s also gullible,” Patrice replied without apology, continuing with a briefly held smile, “and would likely end up falling in love with the man before the interview was finished. That’s a headache I don’t need. No, you’ll do the interview. End of story.” Patrice added with a warning glower, “And wear something nice. You’re representing Luxe.”
I ignored Patrice’s not-so-subtle dig. Fashion wasn’t my God, and I didn’t worship at the altar of haute couture. I’d wear what I pleased. “Fit before fashion” was my mantra, and I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for the women who chose to trudge around the city in high heels who, by the end of the day, were rubbing the agony from their barking dogs.
Nope, I sailed right past them in my sensible flats, happy as a clam and stealing their cab because I could run faster.
I caught Daphne’s crestfallen expression. Poor girl, I could only imagine how her dreams of working at a high-end magazine like Luxe were nothing like the reality.
I remembered being that idealistic newbie.
Now I was the jaded staffer who ran on a steady diet of cynicism and sarcasm, with the occasional sprinkling of “WTF?” thrown in for flavor.
Patrice, satisfied that her word was law, moved on with a smug smile. “We have managed to snag one of the sexiest bachelors yet from a distinguished family, old-world money, if you can imagine such a thing anymore. A real Italian stallion, if you will, and having this hottie on the cover is going to snag eyeballs, but I need someone experienced to handle the copy.”
Irritated and bored but having at least the sense to put on a good face, I forced a smile to ask, “And the name of this sexy and single vagina hound?”
“Wait for it...” Patrice paused for dramatic effect before gushing, “Nico Donato of Donato Inc. His family hails from Italy, starting with a humble yet wildly successful winery in Tuscany. Isn’t that dreamy? Does anything else scream romance more than the Italian countryside?”
I wouldn’t know, I wanted to quip. It’d been a long time since I’d experienced anything resembling romance after my ex ran off when I was five months pregnant—six years ago.
It was safe to say the most romance I’d had in my life consisted of furtive moments spent hiding in the closet with my Magic Wand.
Was it TMI if I admitted I’d already burned through three of those hardy vibrators? I rubbed at the phantom scorch mark left over from my last vibrator when it rudely caught fire in my hand.
So, yeah, romance? Not even sure I would recognize it if it bit me in the ass, but that was okay because men were a complication I didn’t need in my life. I was perfectly happy with the way things were, and I didn’t need wine and roses from some man to feel complete.
Did I miss an actual warm body to cuddle with on cold nights? Yeah, but then, I could always get a dog or a cat and achieve the same effect, which I’d been seriously considering.
“Wow, I’ve seen pictures of Nico Donato, and he’s definitely a hottie,” Daphne gushed, her eyes alight with envy. “I can’t imagine a woman alive who would turn him down if he asked.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Continuing my Golden Globe‒worthy performance, I nodded like a good staffer and agreed with Patrice because I needed my job. “Sounds fantastic,” I murmured, trying not to gag.
Daphne sighed, and I could practically see the cartoon hearts and rainbows floating around her head. Good grief, Patrice was probably right. Sending someone like Daphne to interview this Italian stallion would be like sending a lamb to slaughter. Daphne was probably still in that stage of her life when her bra and panties matched.
I was sporting underwear with a hole in it, and my bra was three years old.
Any seduction attempt for my benefit would end in laughter. Mine and his.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly and I do probably (maybe) own a matching bra and panty set, but let’s face it, fancy panties are uncomfortable, and these days, comfort was king.
#singlemom.
#allmymoneygoestomykid.
#myvibratordoesntjudge.
