All Chapters of The Billionaire Bargain : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Was this what his father had felt for Marie? Was this why he’d given everything for her, everything to her? Let her slowly finish him off… so long as she kept on kissing him, looking at him, touching him like this?​His heart rammed into his ribs, his blood a thick, terse boil in his veins. He was losing his head, and he didn't like it. He wanted her—God knew he did.​Gritting his teeth against the flaring lust, he readied himself briskly, his erection springing free. He grabbed her hand and placed it on himself. If that didn't show her how far gone he was, then he didn't know anything anymore.​Still, he recalled Lyon, all those nights with her, the days, and gruffly spoke. "You're staying the night here with me."​She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes bright and fiery. She stroked his chest with soft, fluttering hands, dragging her lips across his jaw, his chin. "I want you in me, Henri."​A primal hunger had overtaken his mind, his senses, until he felt as instinctive as an animal—

​Henri absently scanned the busy sidewalks below. There were too many uncertainties in this merger, but one thing he was certain of was the plan known only to him. Everything he'd done had brought him to this point. He knew Marie would not be so easily swayed to sell her shares, not with more than half of the board members on her side.​"And what if your plan fails?" Matthew quizzed.​"It won't." A smirk formed on Henri's lips as he turned to face Matthew. "I always get what I want. Always."​Matthew's usually fast retorts seemed to fail him this time. Henri's mind raced as he thought of Tom Stone and how he fit into his contrivance. The man had lost his way—not unusual after the heartache of losing a beloved wife and daughter to a tragic accident, Henri supposed. But Tom had been visiting AA meetings and seemed to be struggling to get his life back on track. He'd been a risk-taker on the job, and ruthless when it came to disciplining those beneath him. Years ago, he'd pushed his chai

The rain had begun as a fine drizzle, slicking the cobblestones of the Place des Terreaux until they reflected the yellow glow of the streetlamps like polished obsidian. By the time Marie’s Mercedes pulled up along the quiet rear alley of the Rue de la République, the drizzle had deepened into a steady, methodical downpour that washed the dusk out of the Lyonnais sky.​Inside the private salon of L’Olympe—an exclusive, unlabeled club housed in the vaulted stone basement of an eighteenth-century hotel particulier—the atmosphere had the scent of aged cedar and the medicinal bite of peat smoke.​Sebastian Gagnon sat in a deep velvet armchair near the monumental marble fireplace, a tumbler of untamed Islay single malt resting between his fingers. He had not taken off his coat. The heavy charcoal wool draped over his shoulders like a mantle he had yet to earn, casting long shadows across his angular, sharp-featured face.​He was four years younger than Henri, built leaner, with pale blue e

The sleek black Lincoln came to a smooth stop on the private airfield, its tires sighing against the tarmac. Before the engine had fully quieted, Jean-Paul was already moving. He rounded the vehicle with practiced efficiency to open the passenger door. Marie stepped out into the air, pausing for a moment to smooth the lapels of her ivory cashmere coat and straighten the pristine silk blouse beneath. She turned her gaze toward the Falcon 7X resting on the apron—a striking white jet. A surge of confidence, warm and invigorating, washed through her. The meeting with Sebastian had gone exactly as she had planned. She understood him well: the brooding, overlooked child always living in his brother’s shadow, desperately eager for a chance to fight back. When she presented him with the blueprint, she watched as the skepticism melted from his face, replaced by raw, eager excitement. It was a perfect arrangement—a shared conquest where they both stood to gain everything they ever wanted. As

She moved in a week later, crossing the threshold into a world completely different from her sparse upbringing. The job itself was surprisingly simple. Henri was not the careless slob she had expected. Although he carried the easy posture of someone born into privilege, he had no extravagant tastes. He didn’t require fancy meals served on silver platters; he was satisfied with simple, honest cooking. This left her with plenty of quiet time to focus on her studies while managing the everyday needs of the household.Above all, Henri had a unique warmth that made his spacious house feel more like a sanctuary than a workplace. He firmly wanted her to avoid hiding in the background, encouraging her to spend time in the shared spaces and make the house her own.To her, the situation reminded her of navigating the foster care system. Early on, she learned a crucial survival skill: if she performed perfectly and made herself essential, she could count on a roof over her head. This strategy ha