Curves for the Billionaire

By Meghan Alexis Moore

When her late father's will stipulates that fuller-figured doctor Samantha McMillan must marry and have a child within three years, or lose her inheritance, her friend Zachary de Luca offers to marry her. She's unlike the cool, slender blondes always photographed on the playboy billionaire's arm, so why would he be willing to sacrifice three years of his life for her? There's no way he could feel the same attraction she feels for him, is there?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meghan Alexis Moore
• Release date: May 27, 2018

Meghan Alexis Moore

Meghan Alexis Moore is a demure office worker by day and a writer of steamy stories by night. If, like her, you enjoy naughty little nibbles then her stories are for you. They're short enough for you to sneak away and read on your Kindle before anyone notices that you're gone. Of course, you'll have to come up with an explanation for your restlessness and flushed face entirely on your own.Get 'Curves for the Billionaire' FREE by signing up for her newsletter: https://tinyletter.com/MeghanMooreBlog: http://bit.ly/1GUCCapTwitter: http://bit.ly/1M9FqIg

Book preview

CURVES FOR THE BILLIONAIRE

(A BBW Billionaire Erotic Romance)

Published by Meghan Alexis Moore at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Meghan Alexis Moore

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher or author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.

Copyright © 2012 by Meghan Alexis Moore

All Rights Reserved.

Published by SpreadEagle Publications.

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgement

CURVES FOR THE BILLIONAIRE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Thank you!

Also by Meghan Alexis Moore

Acknowledgement

A big ‘thank you’ to all my wonderful readers.

CURVES FOR THE BILLIONAIRE

When her late father’s will stipulates that fuller-figured doctor Samantha McMillan must marry and have a child within three years of his death, or lose her inheritance, her friend Zachary de Luca offers to marry her.

Samantha is unlike the cool, slender blondes always photographed on the playboy billionaire’s arm, so why would he be willing to sacrifice three years of his life for her? There’s no way he could feel the same attraction she feels for him, is there?

Chapter One

Samantha McMillan breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as she slipped into the air-conditioned apartment, grateful to escape the punishing heat of the relentless Rwandan sun.

The house phone rang as she threw her medical bag onto the large sofa she often fell asleep on after a gruelling day.

She jumped in shock.

No one ever called her on that number.

No one had the number except her father and his housekeeper.

It couldn’t be good news.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the receiver before she lost her nerve.

Hello? she queried, praying that it was simply someone who had misdialled a number.

Samantha? She would recognize her father’s voice in her sleep. As a child it had been the last thing she heard at night as she drifted off to pleasant dreams of beautiful princesses in peril and dashing heroes who came to their rescue. Its distinctive rasp was a result of his forty-a-day cigarette habit.

Yes, Dad, it’s me, she replied, her breath hitching with dreaded anticipation.

Never one to procrastinate, her father got straight to the point, Darling girl…bad news.

Go on. Samantha’s legs suddenly felt as strong as overcooked spaghetti. She collapsed heavily onto the sofa and waited for him to continue.

Not been well lately— a harsh cough interrupted his words and increased Samantha’s sense of foreboding. Went to Harley Street…yesterday.

How bad is it, Dad?

Lung cancer…very advanced. I— he broke off again as another fit of coughing rendered him speechless.

Dad, I’ll be on the next flight. Try to get some rest and we’ll talk when I get there.

OK, her father barely managed to squeeze the word out before another bout of coughing seized him as he disconnected the call.

Paralyzed by the thought it would be the last time she heard the sound of his voice, Samantha held on to the receiver, afraid to break the link, oblivious to the droning sound of the dead line.

If he died she would be an orphan. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She quickly dashed them away and commanded herself to get it together—she was twenty-seven, for heaven sake, not seven!

Replacing the receiver, she reached into the pocket of her creased, loose cotton dress and pulled out her mobile phone. The tears started flowing again as she pressed the button to dial the last number which had called her.

Sam? The deep voice at the end of the line was filled with concern. It made her cry harder. What’s the matter, honey?

Oh, Zac.

Are you hurt? he demanded, sounding ready to cause serious injury to whoever had dared cause her harm.

Like her father, her friend Zachary De Luca, had tried to dissuade her from volunteering at the children’s clinic in Rwanda. They’d both agreed it was a worthy cause and had contributed substantial amounts, but neither had appreciated the risk to her life.

No, I’m not, she quickly assured him and heard his harsh breath of relief. Dad’s been diagnosed with lung cancer. It’s pretty bad. I’m flying home as soon as I can.

Darling, I’m sorry to hear that.

"I feel so guilty, Zac! He was relieved when my stint here was over and I went home at Christmas. I should have never come back for another six months! Daniel would have eventually found someone else. Dad must have known something was wrong. I should have been at his side. I would have recognized his symptoms and made him go to the doctor sooner"

Sam, don’t beat yourself up, Zachary chided gently. He should have told you.

But—

Sam. Zachary was the only person who ever called her the masculine diminutive of her name. It should have annoyed her or added to her insecurity of not being desirable enough for him, but instead it did the exact opposite—made her feel incredibly cherished. Sweetheart, I have to get back to the boardroom, but I will call you as soon as I’m finished. How soon can you be ready to fly?

You shouldn’t have left the meeting! Samantha felt like kicking herself. Needing to hear his voice, she hadn’t given the matter a second thought. She should have known better than to dial the private number only a handful of people had access to. She really should have called his executive assistant. She just prayed that he hadn’t been in the middle of some multi-million dollar negotiation.

"I knew it had to be important because you never call me, he accused, sounding extremely bothered by the fact. Even in her distressed state a thrill of pleasure ran through her, but it was quickly doused by the briskness of his voice as he asked, Can you fly tomorrow?"

Yes. Daniel will understand. The clinic had managed to engage the services of two doctors and five nurses, all Rwandan born, from America and things had improved significantly in the last weeks. Daniel had enticed them by matching their American salaries and Samantha was heartened by their dedication.

It’s the least he can do. Samantha never understood Zachary’s animosity each time she mentioned Daniel’s name. I’ll have a seat booked for you on the first flight out tomorrow.

I can do that my—

Sam, let me do this for you. His voice softened, infused with the persuasive quality that had convinced wealthy investors to take a chance on him when he had first started his software company. Pack the things you need and then try to get some sleep. You’ll need to be rested for the challenge ahead.

Thanks, Zac. She felt horribly guilty for disrupting his busy schedule, but it was a relief to have someone to turn to at a time like this.

No need, sweetheart. I’m just glad you called me.

Samantha pondered his last words as she ended the call, got up and started packing as he’d advised. With no siblings to share her joys and sorrows growing up, she had learned to depend wholly on herself. The private girls’ school she’d attended had been filled with slender, coltish girls who danced ballet and counted calories—she’d stuck out like a sore thumb with her softer, rounder body. They hadn’t been unnecessarily cruel to her, but their constant worry about gaining weight and their fascination with size-zero supermodels and celebrities had somehow made her feel that they pitied her with her fuller figure. She hadn’t needed their pity. She’d been comfortable in her own skin even then. In fact, she had pitied them. Three girls had died of anorexia in the seven years she had attended the school and several more had been hospitalized from time to time. Whenever she met them now at school reunions or out shopping in the West End, they marvelled that she still had the same lush body of her school days; she marvelled that they mostly still had the starved, emaciated look of war victims.

***

When will this blooming flight be over? Samantha stared blindly out of the window at the clouds. Dear Lord, please don’t let him die before I get there.

She felt empty and numb…and so guilty. She had travelled halfway across the world to help strangers while the person she loved the most suffered alone and in silence.

Losing her mother had been traumatic for her, at fifteen and on the cusp of womanhood—losing her father at twenty-seven would be no less painful.

Her lecturers at University College of London had said that as doctors they would become accustomed, even immune to death. Perhaps that came with years of practice; at the clinic she still felt profoundly affected each time another innocent child surrendered to its waiting arms. She often shed bitter tears in the privacy of her room at night when one who seemed on the road to recovery, giving its parents and the medical staff hope, succumbed unexpectedly.

She’d always known that it was more likely when, not if, her father would develop lung cancer. It had only been a few puffs after meals or when out socializing, and he’d been careful not to smoke in the house or around her. But then her mother had died