The Billionaire’s Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance

By Nikki Chase

He was my first kiss. And my first heartbreak. 
Now, he wants to put a ring on my finger and a baby in my belly.

Of course I know what my ex has been up to. He’s the name on everyone’s lips. A modern rags-to-riches success story, he built a billion-dollar business empire from nothing. The magazines say he’s the most eligible bachelor in the city. 

But to me, he’ll always be the bad boy who used to sneak into my bedroom when my parents were away. He reminds me of late nights and new, sinful sensations. I hate to admit it, but those memories still ignite a red, hot flame in my center. 

Time and distance tore our young love apart, but now he’s back. And he needs me...to be his wife. 

Yes, he wants me to marry him. But it’s only for the sake of his business. In exchange, he’ll give me five million dollars. He’ll double it if I’ll also have his baby.

This is going to sound crazy, but...I accept his offer. I’ll marry him and play house with him. 

He still has the same cocky smile, and the same sexy stare. And every time he opens his dirty mouth, I’m whisked back to the hot, sweaty nights of our youth… Let’s just say baby-making will be a cinch.

But I am not giving him a second chance. This marriage is not about that. This is just pretend.

I’ve never been good at saying no to this bad boy. But no matter what, I will not let my heart go all the way. Not again. Never.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nikki Chase
• Release date: Dec 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9788835340553

Book preview

Romance

Prologue

Ali

An icy chill runs through my whole body. I can’t tell if it’s because of the cold marble tiles under my bare feet, or because I’m terrified of what’s waiting for me behind this door—who’s waiting for me.

I pull the door open and find the room already dark and quiet. A figure on the bed stirs—I can hear the sheets rustling.

Hey, Mrs. Harris, Zeke greets me. He has been calling me that all day.

Back when I was younger, years and years ago, I would’ve been happy to hear it. But now… Now I’m conflicted.

Back then, there was only love for him.

But now, there are so many different emotions I can’t even hope to name them all. Anger, disappointment, sadness—they’re all there.

And yes, that love is still there, too, despite my best efforts to kill it.

Stop calling me that, I say curtly.

Okay… wifey. Zeke grins as he flips the blanket open and pats the space on the bed next to him. In that low, seductive tone that I haven’t heard in a long time, he says, It’s our wedding night. Come join me.

Electric currents rip through my body, sending goosebumps all over my skin and waking up all my senses. My body longs for him.

Even after all this time, being alone with him in the dark evokes so many memories. So many different emotions.

Lust. Trepidation. Yearning. Fear.

I lie down on the bed and pull the blanket over my body, all the way up to my shoulders. I’m fully aware that Zeke is staring at me, watching my every reaction.

I’m also fully aware of the fact that he’s naked—or almost naked, at least.

The blanket only covers the bottom half of him, and I can see the solid lines of his muscular abs, as well as the tattoos all over his arms.

I wonder if he’s naked underneath the blanket, too.

I can feel my heart jumping in my rib cage. Jesus, it’s so damn loud. Can Zeke hear it too?

It’s been such a long day, Zeke. Can we just go to sleep? I ask.

But Zeke puts his hand on the back of my head and shuts me up with a kiss.

God, it feels even better than the one we had this afternoon—the wedding kiss. Now it’s just the two of us in the dark, just like it was when we were young and in love.

My heart can’t help but go back to that place, and soon I stop avoiding him, avoiding this kiss. I forget why I even try.

So I give in. I let myself drown in this kiss. I let myself forget all the ugly things that have happened between us, and focus on the now.

I’ve agreed to have a baby with Zeke, and we’ve even gotten married. I’m halfway there already.

There’s no going back now, so why not go all in?

I’ll be his wife, even if it’s only for one year.

Ali

My new boss is also the man who took my virginity.

Wait, no. That came out wrong, although it’s technically true.

He wasn’t my boss at the time. He was just a boy, and I was just a girl. We talked, we laughed, and we loved.

Then things got too complicated and we parted ways.

Looking back, it should’ve been simple. We could’ve tried harder; we could’ve made good on our promises. And then maybe I would’ve avoided all the heartache and pain I’ve gone through over the past few years.

Could’ve.

Should’ve.

Would’ve.

But we were young.

I was just starting college. It was a time for fun and adventure. Life was about meeting new people. Having a serious boyfriend would’ve held me back from new experiences.

And I didn’t want to put Zeke in danger either. I knew my dad—his boss at the time—would’ve pummelled him into pulp had he known that Zeke had taken my V-card, when he was supposed to be guarding me.

Yes, that’s right. He used to work for my dad, and now I’m going to work for him.

It’s a big role reversal, for sure. But I’ve known Zeke for ten years now, and that’s not even the biggest change between us over the years.

But now is not the time to be thinking about old times. I need to finish my shower and get ready for work.

I find myself stalling, and I’m blaming this dream that I had this morning.

The dream was just getting good when my alarm started blaring, shoving me into the real world. I woke up with throbbing at the juncture of my thighs.

Even now, as hot water hits my skin, I can’t stop thinking about it…

In the dream, I’m eighteen again. I’m living in my parents’ grand mansion, surrounded by luxury and opulence.

Zeke and I are sitting on a couch with our arms touching. The part of my skin that makes contact with him is burning up.

It feels strange… funny. I’ve ever been this close to a guy before. My heart is beating fast. I’m eager to learn more about these new sensations.

There’s no one else in the house except for us. Oh, there are the guards, of course, but they’re all outside, patrolling the premises.

Zeke should be outside as well, but he has never been one to follow the rules.

At twenty-one, he has already collected almost a sleeve of tattoos. And just before we put on the DVD—The Godfather—he offered to go to the liquor store and buy us some beer.

I said no to the alcohol, but I’m regretting it. Some liquid courage would’ve helped with my nerves, which are going wild right now.

On the screen, the credits are rolling.

What are we going to do next?

Hey, Ali. Zeke turns toward me, smiling with a mischievous glint in his brown eyes—they seem almost black in this darkness.

Hey, Zeke. I return his smile and turn to face him. I’m rewarded by a heavy, masculine hand on my waist.

And just like that, things change. He’s transitions from being one of my dad’s employees, to something more.

Do you really have to leave in four days? Zeke asks. He shifts forward and leans his forehead against mine. You’re going to be so far away from me.

My heart, which has already been racing for a while, starts pounding.

He doesn’t usually talk like that to me. We don’t usually get this close with each other.

This is different. This feels strange. But this… I want this.

The ticket is bought and paid for, I say, my chest tight as I think about leaving him.

Too bad, he whispers. He leans closer and then, his lips land on mine.

Oh my god.

Zeke Harris has just kissed me.

I can't believe this is happening, but it feels too real for it to just be a dream.

His lips are hot and firm. They heat up my whole body, starting from my chest and spreading all the way to my scalp and the tips of my toes.

He moves closer, and the couch between us dips deeper, as if conspiring to pull us closer.

There's no need for some divine intervention, though. This is happening.

It has taken us three years, but we’re here now, finally.

With my lack of experience, I don’t know the details of what’s about to happen next. But I have an idea. The girls at school have been talking about it enough for me to get the gist.

And I’ve been playing with myself enough to know it’s going to feel good—and I bet it’s going to feel a lot better with Zeke than it does when I’m on my own.

Unlike me, Zeke seems to know exactly what to do.

His tongue tastes my lips and explores my mouth, while his hands touch my breasts and my butt. They run up my thighs until they reach the top.

My lips part and a strange sound escapes. A moan. Is that really me? It sounds kind of sexy.

Slowly, Zeke takes off my shirt and my pink sweatpants, as well as my bra and panties. He’s shedding his black shirt and jeans, too. Our clothes lay on top of one another on the floor.

Soon enough, he’s on top of me, as well.

Without a word, he puts his hard cock at my opening as he hovers over me. The ghostly glow from the TV screen falls on one side of his face, making him appear more threatening than usual.

But whatever he wants from me, I want it too.

Staring into my soul with his dark eyes, Zeke pushes inside. It hurts at first, but his soothing hand, stroking my hair, makes it bearable.

So many new sensations. And they’re all so wonderful, so intense, so overwhelming…

I cry out as my whole body shudders, releasing my pent-up arousal. My voice echoes in the bathroom, but the sound of the water drowns it out.

I take the shower head away from between my legs and place it back in the holder mounted on the wall.

I’m trying to save money, so I really shouldn’t be wasting water. And I’m rushing to get ready for work, so I really shouldn’t be wasting time either.

But after my sexy dream ended abruptly, can you blame a girl for indulging?

That night was magical, but we had so little time to spend together.

Regret fills my chest as I think about how different things would’ve been, had we made different choices back then. Because even after all these years, no man has ever made me feel the way Zeke did.

If I had dared to tell my parents, if Zeke had made good on his promises, if we had put more effort into it…

There are too many ifs.

Still, I can’t help but wonder… Would we have a little family by now? Maybe we’d already have a child together—or two.

We could’ve been perfect.

I can’t believe I’ll finally see Zeke again, seven years after he took my virginity.

I’m nervous and excited at the same time. And scared.

Ali

Hi, I’m here to see Zeke Harris. I put my hands on the cold stone surface of the tall counter. I give the receptionist a polite smile. If we’re going to start seeing each other every day, maybe it’s a good idea to be friendly.

Do you have an appointment? asks the pretty twenty-something blonde with a stern expression. Briefly, I wonder if she has decided that she doesn’t like me, or if she just has a bad case of the Resting Bitch Face.

Yes, at nine, I answer, just as curtly. I’ve come early, so there’s nobody else in the lobby of this office building.

Can I have your name, please? Her hands hover over the keyboard, frozen in the air as she looks at me expectantly.

Alejandra Martin. Already, I can feel a tired sigh coming from deep inside me.

How do you spell that?

Damn it. I knew she’d ask me to spell it out. I hate when that happens, because it happens too damn much.

Sometimes I wish there was a famous person with the same name as me, just so people would learn to spell it. Man, if they can spell Kardashian, they can spell my name.

A-L-E-J-A-N-D-R-A, I say, knowing she probably won’t need me to do the same with my last name.

Her fingers start to dance, filling the big, quiet space with the tapping of her keyboard. She adjusts her glasses and says, Okay, I found you. You’re early.

Yes.

Well, Mr. Harris is in a meeting right now, she says, her eyes glued to the computer screen. But you can go up to the eightieth floor and wait for Mr. Harris there. He’ll be with you right after he’s done with his meeting.

Okay, thanks. I walk across the lobby toward the rows of elevators, my shoes making loud click-clacking noises against the marble floor tiles as I do.

Zeke must’ve spent a fortune on this building. Considering his background, he has done impossibly well.

Compared to him, my life has been going downhill. It’s hard to admit, but I think I’m one of those people who peaked in high school.

Sure, I’m not unattractive or impoverished, but I’ve been better—way better. I guess that kind of gives me a skewed perspective on life.

I enter an empty elevator and check my reflection in the mirror.

I look professional enough. I’m wearing a loose navy-blue blouse, a gray pencil skirt, and a black blazer. It’s a pretty basic outfit. Millions of American workers are probably wearing something similar right now.

But to me, this is a poor imitation of what I used to have.

In my parent’s mansion, I used to have a personal stylist who updated my clothes for me.

At the beginning of every season, I’d open my wardrobe and find all-new items that had been tailored to fit my measurements perfectly.

A new set of clothes was usually the first sign of a new season for me. I’d enter my walk-in wardrobe and go, Oh, the heavy jackets are gone. They’re replaced by floral dresses and light sweaters. I guess it’s spring time now.

Of course I could shop on my own as well. But my stylist would regularly go through all my purchases.

She’d come up with outfits for me, taking polaroid pictures and sticking them on my inspiration board.

She’d also throw out or return items that she didn’t think would work with the rest of my wardrobe. For the rest, she’d get them altered to fit me. As a petite girl, I often needed hemlines and shoulder straps shortened.

Having a personal stylist is as awesome as it sounds.

I’ve learned a lot about dressing for my body from my stylist, which is why I look passably professional now, even though these clothes I’m wearing will probably get destroyed after a few cycles in the wash.

I run my fingers through my dark brown hair, removing any tangles and strays. I bare my teeth to check for any remnants of my breakfast. I blow onto my hand and find that my breath is still perfectly minty.

This is the first time I’m seeing Zeke again, after seven years. I shouldn’t have any feelings left for him—it’s been way too long. But my heart is beating so quickly, and it’s not just because this is my first day at work.

I’m nervous to see what he’s like, now that he’s all grown up. And I’m anxious about him seeing me. I’m excited and worried, all at the same time.

The elevator door opens and my heart goes wild, sending a rush of blood throughout my body. I look around, expecting to spot him.

Stop being an idiot, I chide myself. The receptionist already said he’s still in a meeting. It’s going to take a while until I finally get to see him.

I walk through the glass doors with the Harris Holdings logo on them.

Hello, greets another pretty blonde in her twenties. This one is friendly. She’s smiling, at least.

Hi, I say as I approach her desk. I’m here to see Zeke Harris. I was told to wait here.

Miss Martin, right? she asks cheerfully.

Yes.

My name’s Dana, by the way. I’m Mr. Martin’s personal assistant, she says. Your appointment has been moved back by half an hour. I sent you a text message to let you know. Didn’t you get that?

I fish my phone out of my bag and light up the screen. Sure enough, there’s a text from an unknown number about the appointment.

I did, I admit. I don’t know why I didn’t read it. But it’s okay, I can wait.

If you go down this hall, you’ll find the waiting room, she says. I’ll let you know when Mr. Harris is ready to see you.

Thank you.

My heart pounds so hard in my chest that my legs feel weak as I make my way down the hallway.

I try to distract myself from my anxiety by studying the black-and-white photographs hanging on the wall. They all depict strange, foreign lands. I used to love to travel, but that was a long time ago.

When I finally reach the sitting area, I plunk myself down on the couch. I grab a magazine from the coffee table and put it on my lap.

But my legs start to shake, making it hard for me to read . If this keeps up, I’ll fall down on my face before I even get to see Zeke.

I’ve gotten through about half of the magazine when the personal assistant finds me and asks me to follow her.

More blown-up black-and-white photographs line the walls of the hallways we pass through. Zeke must really like this set of pictures—or maybe his interior decorator does.

Luckily, Dana walks me all the way to the door of Zeke’s office. She smiles at me as she knocks. The wood sounds thick and solid, but