All Chapters of The Billionaire Bargain : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Long seconds later, the doors rolled open to reveal the penthouse—a vast expanse of black granite, faintly lit and lavishly furnished. The walls, which could have been covered in crisp bills, screamed of an opulence as loud as the owner’s net worth. The walls were adorned with art that cost more than the apartment that Elizabeth currently shared with her brother. To a mortal, this place seemed as inaccessible in price as the man himself was claimed to be in character. Elizabeth stepped inside. A pair of elegant porcelain vases flanked the entry, and a massive oil painting, thick with vibrant brushstrokes, dominated the far wall. Before she could absorb the rest of the space, her gaze landed on him, drawn by an inescapable force of nature. He stood by the bar at the far end of the living room, as elegant and unmoving as the designer furniture surrounding him. Tall, dark, and detached. He faced the window, his broad back filling the shoulders of his jacket. Her heart thumped as she to

"Anything," she said. His gaze was positively lethal. His hands—they made fists. "There's something I want. Something that belongs to me. Something I must have, or I'll lose my mind with wanting it." A shiver ran hot and cold down her spine. He wasn't speaking of her—of course he wasn't—but nonetheless, she felt a heat bloom in her chest as though he were. What would it feel like for Henri to want her so fiercely? "I… understand." "Do you?" He smiled bleakly at her, then continued around his desk. He swept up a gemstone globe from the edge and spun it. A lapis lazuli ocean blurred into a blue whirl. "Here." His finger stopped the motion, pinning a country inlaid with stone beneath his touch. "What I want is here," he tapped. She stepped closer, longingly lifting a fingertip to stroke the map he indicated. Travel had seemed so far down the list of her priorities that she hardly gave it any thought now. "France," she whispered. His finger slid, his skin brushing against hers. H

Your new lover?"​Silent, Henri stood at the living room window and broodingly watched the car pull away with Elizabeth inside. From the penthouse, the sedan looked like a sleek black beetle slipping into the intermittent traffic below.​The pressure in his chest mounted with the distance. His blood still pumped hot through his veins, and his head swam with a thousand erotic thoughts he had no business entertaining.​"Or a mistress, maybe?"​Twisting around, Henri faced his guest. Matthew Smith—corporate raider, self-made millionaire, and currently inquisitive nuisance—was helping himself to a bowl of nuts he’d scavenged from the bar.​"My assistant," Henri said, swirling the amber whiskey in his glass.​Matthew had arrived promptly at eleven. The blond, Toronto-born millionaire was never late, and like a predator catching a faint scent, he had cocked his head the moment he spotted Elizabeth nearly in Henri's arms. As she had whispered her goodbye, Henri’s own instincts had flared, si

Licking her lips as he stepped forward, she pulled the suitcase up and planted it at her feet—a barrier between their bodies.​"You got a head start on me," she said. Her voice was throaty and thin, betraying the calm she tried to project.​He eyed her lips. They were burnished a silky pink today, inciting a sudden, sharp urge to taste them. "I apologize. I had some last-minute work out of the office."​Taking a slow breath, he jerked his chin toward the long table down the hall. It was laden with coffee, cookies, and napkins—all the domestic details Elizabeth liked to fuss over. "Fix yourself something to eat if you want. We’ll be boarding in a few minutes."​"And you? Coffee?"​He shook his head somberly. He couldn't help but notice the subtle sway of her hips as she left her compact black suitcase with him and walked away. He was fascinated by her—by the sweet, alluring package of Elizabeth Stone. Five feet six inches of reality acting as a pretend lover.​Cursing under his breath,

This morning, squeezed between phone calls, coffee, and errands, Elizabeth had gotten acquainted with Lyon from afar. She’d scrolled through articles describing the city’s heart at the confluence of two major rivers and its reputation as the birthplace of cinema. It was a place of traditional bouchons and Renaissance-era streets, a city defined by a dramatic silk-weaving history and massive wall paintings that earned it the title of the capital of murals. ​Gagnon Autos wasn’t a bed of roses, she supposed, but she had never expected Henri to willingly attempt to destroy it. ​"You look as if I’d confessed to something worse," he noted, sounding not too pleased with himself. ​"No. It’s only that—" She checked herself before continuing. "That’s not like you. To give up on something. You’ve never given up on Antoine, no matter what he does." ​His intense expression lightened considerably. "My brother is a person. Gagnon is not." ​Mightily aware of how out of character this decision wa