Marrying for King's Millions / The Spanish Aristocrat's Woman: Marrying for King's Millions

“Actually,” Jackson mused, his features tight as he began to get the picture that something was off. “I wasn’t paying attention. It was Nathan who cued me in.”

“Great.” So it wasn’t only his immediate family that had their radar tuned in. Travis could only hope that the rest of their guests hadn’t noticed anything odd.

The trouble was, there were too many damn Kings, Travis thought. His father had been one of four brothers and those brothers had spread out and created at least three sons apiece. Now they were all running different aspects of the King dynasty. Couldn’t throw a rock in California without hitting at least one King cousin.

Nathan’s company built personal computers and made them so well and so affordable, King PCs were threatening to take over the world. “What’d he say?”

“Nothing much,” Jackson said and stepped out of the way as a catering crew member staggered past him carrying an oversized coffee urn. “Just that Julie looked like she was going to be sick and you looked like the top of your head was going to explode. Me—” he added with a sly grin “—I’m so used to seeing that expression on your face, it never registered.”

“Thanks.” Travis shook his head and ground his back teeth together. Nathan had noticed too much. “He tell this to anyone else?”

“Nope. Well, wait. Cousin Griffin and his twin Garret were there, too. So they know you were pissed. So what? You’re always pissed about something, big brother.”

He supposed that was true, but this was different and apparently, Adam sensed it. Jerking his head to the side, Travis’s oldest brother shifted farther away from the rest of the cleanup crew. Adam didn’t speak again until the three of them were standing in the shadows of the main house, surrounded by overgrown hydrangea bushes. “What’s going on, Travis? Who was that guy? And what’s he got to do with you and Julie?”

“He’s an irritant.” The hairs at the back of his neck bristled and Travis felt the urge to howl or hit something. His perfectly laid plans were threatening to crumble down around him. All because of one greedy bastard.

“Care to explain?” Jackson asked.

Travis glared at him. “Not really.”

“Do it anyway,” Adam said.

He blew out a breath and surrendered to the inevitable. “Name’s Jean Claude Doucette.”

Adam whistled. “So I was right. He’s Julie’s ex?”

“Well, that’s tacky as all get out,” Jackson muttered. “Why the hell did he come to the wedding?”

As the workers went on about their business, the muted sounds became nothing more than white noise. But Travis still kept his voice pitched low. “Because as it turns out, he’s not as ex as we thought.”

“Explain,” Adam said.

He did. While Jackson and Adam threw astonished glances at each other and then him, Travis told his brothers exactly what had happened after the wedding. Watching their reactions, Travis felt his own anger begin to bubble fresh in the pit of his stomach.

“You paid the bastard?” Jackson demanded. “Are you nuts?”

“Had to,” Travis said. “No choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Jackson told him, then paused and cocked his head. “You hear that? Sort of a low rumble?” When neither of his brothers said anything, Jackson said, “That’s the sound of dad spinning in his grave.”

Travis nodded. “Yeah, helpful. Thanks.”

“You never pay a blackmailer, Travis,” Adam said. “You should have called the police.”

“Right. Because cops showing up to my wedding would look so great in the papers.” Travis shook his head again and dearly wished he hadn’t quit smoking two years ago. He’d only quit then to prove to himself he could do it. That his own will was stronger than the siren’s call of nicotine. Well, fine. He’d proved his case. Now he wanted a damn cigarette.

“He’ll only come back for more,” Adam warned.

“Think I don’t know that?” Travis shifted his gaze from his brothers to the remnants of the party. A tablecloth lifted lazily into the wind and a napkin skipped across the lawn, tossed by a breeze that rifled the leaves of the bushes where they stood. The sun was sliding down toward the horizon and painting the slivers of clouds in the sky a pearly sort of dark peach. And he was taking note of all of this in an attempt to not think about what his brain was chewing on.

Pointless.

Turning back to his oldest brother, he said, “I paid him because I wanted to buy myself some time. We’re going to Mexico to arrange for a divorce and a quick—quiet—wedding. When we get back, I’ll take care of the little creep.”

“What do you want us to do?” Adam asked and Travis was suddenly grateful for his family. Sure, they argued and fought him and let him know when they didn’t agree with him, but when it counted, they stepped up to help in any way they could.

“Keep an eye on him. Watch where he goes. Who he’s with.” Travis had been thinking about this for the last couple of hours. Even when he stood beside Julie to cut the cake. When he’d posed for pictures he didn’t want. When he danced with her to thunderous applause. During all that time, he’d been planning his next move. He’d decided to hire a P.I., but this was better. His brothers would never betray him and the fewer outsiders who knew the truth, the better for him.

He checked his wristwatch again. Whether Julie was ready or not, it was time to go. “Look in to this French guy’s past. I don’t care how you do it but get me some information on him. I’m thinking this isn’t the first time he’s pulled this stunt.”

“What?” Jackson almost laughed, then sobered up again fast. “You think he marries women then goes around blackmailing ’em? Gotta be easier ways to make a living.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m thinking blackmail’s not new to him. He was really smooth. Wouldn’t surprise me to find out it wasn’t his first time.”

“We’ll do it,” Adam said softly, shooting a look at the house behind them. “But what about Julie?”

Travis went cold and still. “What about her?”

“You don’t think she was in on it, do you?”

“The million-dollar question,” Travis said, turning so that he could look up to the window of the bedroom where he knew she was changing clothes, preparing to leave. “I don’t know if she’s a part of this. But I intend to find out.”

“I don’t like this a bit.”

“I know, Mom,” Julie said as she tried to fluff hair that refused to be fluffed. She gave herself a quick once- over in the mirror and thought that despite everything that had happened that day, she looked pretty good. Her red hair was flat, but her sleeveless, dark green dress looked great. Frowning a little, she tried to tug up the bodice, but it fell back into place again, displaying a little too much cleavage for comfort.

Too late to change now, though. She was already behind schedule and if there was one thing Travis appreciated it was a tightly run ship.

“Why was Jean Claude here?” her mother asked from her seat on the edge of the queen-size bed.

Julie looked into the mirror at her mom’s concerned features and for just a minute or two, she considered confessing all. But what would that serve? All she’d do was worry her mother. It wouldn’t solve the problem. Wouldn’t make it go away. So, no point in opening this particular can of worms.

“To wish me luck,” she said instead and forced a smile.

“Hmm…” Her mom wasn’t buying it, but she wasn’t arguing, either, so that was good.

“Look, Mom,” Julie said, spinning around to face her. “I know you don’t approve of my marrying Travis—”

“I have nothing against him,” her mother interrupted sharply, getting to her feet and coming closer to Julie. “You know that. The King boys all have good hearts.”

“See?” Julie argued. “It’ll be fine.”

Her mom wasn’t finished, though. “I know the two of you were close when you were children, but people change and—”

“Mom, that was a long time ago.” Julie’s memories rose up in a rush, though. In seconds, she saw herself and Travis as kids, sneaking out to the barn to give the horses apples. Hiding from Jackson when he wanted to play with them. Following Adam around until he chased them off. They had been close. But that was childhood. This was now. “We’re two consenting adults and we know what we’re doing.”

“But marrying a man you don’t love and letting him pay you for it—”

“Wow, when you say it like that, it sounds really bad,” Julie said.

“It is really bad, honey,” her mother said and took both of Julie’s hands in hers. “You’ve already had one miserable experience with marriage. I want more for you. I want you to love and be loved.”

“Maybe one day that will happen,” Julie said, sighing a little, since this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. “But this isn’t about love. Travis needed a wife and I get my bakery. It’s a simple business deal.”

“Hmm…” Her mother’s features twisted into a disapproving frown and Julie knew that Mary O’Hara Hambleton would never be okay with this situation.

But it was a done deal now. Or was it? Since she was still married to Jean Claude, she wasn’t married at all to Travis, so—Oh, she really didn’t want to think about any of this anymore.

“Mom, I’ve got to run. Travis will be waiting.”

Her mother swept her up in a hard, tight hug and kissed her soundly on the cheek. Cupping Julie’s face in her palms, she said, “Don’t get hurt again, Julie honey. I don’t think I could bear it if I had to see your heart broken like it was before.”

Julie didn’t want to see that again, either. As miserable a creep as Jean Claude actually was, once upon a time, Julie had thought herself desperately in love with him. And when he’d tossed her aside, the bruises had been soul deep. She wasn’t interested in ever going through an experience like that again. Which is why this “marriage” to Travis would work so well. Neither of them were even pretending to be in love.

Julie hugged her mom, then stepped away and headed for the bedroom door. Her suitcases had already been loaded into the car, so all she had to carry was her slim, green leather clutch bag. Her high heels were soundless on the thick carpet and the cut-glass doorknob felt cold against her palm.

At the door, she turned to look at her mother and tried not to dwell on the worry in her eyes. “I won’t be hurt, Mom. This isn’t about love, remember? It’s business.”

Travis hardly spoke to her for the first hour of the flight to The Riviera, Maya, Mexico.

It shouldn’t have surprised her any, but a part of Julie wished he would just say what he was thinking instead of sulking with a glass of scotch. Although, the fact that he was drinking expensive, single malt scotch, instead of his beloved wine, was an indicator that he wasn’t looking to relax. He was looking to cloud his mind. So maybe she should be grateful for the quiet after all.

The flight attendant, who was wearing a crisp, navy blue skirt and short-sleeved white blouse, came through and offered Julie a drink. After a moment’s hesitation, she ordered a margarita on the rocks. With the day they’d had, she deserved a little mind-numbing herself.

The attendant left a frothy pitcher of margaritas within easy reach of Julie, then disappeared into the cockpit to join the pilots, leaving the newlyweds alone. Great. Because being alone with a man who was so angry he wasn’t speaking was sure to make the honeymoon trip a good one.

With a sip of her drink, Julie distracted herself by looking around the plane and eased back into the soft-as- butter, pale blue leather chair. The carpets were sky- blue, as well and there were two couches, as well as several wide chairs such as the one she’d claimed. At the back of the plane, there was a bedroom, complete with king-size bed, and a bathroom that made the one in her apartment look like a broom closet.

There was a plasma television screen affixed to the front wall, and a tiny kitchen tucked into a corner. There were a few paintings hung about and a vase, attached to a low table, boasted a stunning bouquet of fresh spring flowers.

It should have been ideal. Romantic. In any other circumstance.

But the quiet, broken only by the low, insistent roar of the engines, began nibbling at Julie’s nerves and soon she was glancing at her new, would-be husband. Travis was stretched out in a chair closer to the front of the airplane. His long legs were crossed at the ankle and the only muscle he’d moved in an hour was his right arm, as he lifted his glass of scotch to his mouth.

She took another long gulp of her margarita and swallowed the Dutch courage before asking, “So are you permanently mute or is this just a temporary condition?”

Slowly, Travis swiveled his head to look at her then, almost lazily, he swung his chair around until he was facing her. His brown eyes were narrowed and the shadow of whiskers darkened his jaw. “What would you like to talk about?”

Good question. She didn’t really even want to think about Jean Claude, let alone talk about him. But she knew that conversation was coming. No way to avoid it forever, but putting it off for a few hours didn’t seem like a bad plan, either. She didn’t want to talk about the money he’d paid Jean Claude, either, because that just infuriated her and she was fairly certain that Travis was still furious about it, too. Should they talk about how they weren’t really married and that if that fact came out they’d both be publicly humiliated?

No thanks.

So what did that leave?

“Um, nice plane?” Lame, Julie thought. Seriously lame.

He snorted, shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “Thanks.”

She wasn’t willing to give up on this so soon. Now that she had him talking, she wanted to keep it that way. Julie had never been an “easy” flier. Normally, she was too busy praying frantically to keep the plane in the air to enjoy anything of the experience. Today, though, it was different. She hadn’t bothered with prayer because she figured the day had been so bad already, karma wouldn’t allow this plane to crash.

“I’ve never ridden a plane where I didn’t have the guy in front of me leaning back into my lap. This is much nicer.”

He glanced around at their sumptuous surroundings and shrugged in dismissal. “I haven’t flown commercial in so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

Wow. More than a couple of words. They were closing in on an actual conversation. “You’re not missing anything. Trust me on this.”

Instantly, his gaze shifted back to her. “Well now, that’s the thing, isn’t it, Jules?” He was using the nickname he’d given her when they were kids, but there was nothing friendly in his gaze. “I don’t know that I can. Trust you, that is.”

Four

The ride to the hotel was a silent one. Travis kept his thoughts to himself, which was just as well, since they were black enough to form storm clouds inside the limousine.

Julie sat beside him, but they might as well have been in two separate cars. He felt her nerves like a living thing in the limo and he was feeling just cold enough himself to do nothing to dissuade them. She should be nervous, damn it. Hadn’t been his fault they’d had to trek to Mexico to clear up her past before someone in the media found out.

He closed his eyes as that thought settled in tight. He could just imagine the field day the press would have blasting this little piece of news across the front pages of their rags. The King family name would be trashed and any hopes he had of moving his winery into the upper echelon of the business would have to be put on hold for years.

He simply wouldn’t allow it.

He’d worked too hard, come too far for his plans to be disrupted by an oily Frenchman with a penchant for greed.

Slanting a look at the woman beside him, Travis watched her face as she stared out the window at the passing landscape. The streets of Cancún were nothing more than a colorful blur, shaded by the tinted windows as the limo sped through traffic.

But he didn’t need to look at the scenery. He’d been here so many times, there was nothing new or interesting to catch his attention. Yet, Julie sat there like a kid at the circus, her gaze flitting over everything, despite her nearly palpable anxiety.

His last words to her repeated in his mind. I don’t know that I can trust you, do I? He’d seen her face, the shocked hurt in her eyes, and still, he hadn’t called those words back. It was just too neat that she had agreed to marry him so quickly only to have her soon-to-be ex-husband show up on their wedding day.

She had to have been in on it with the Frenchman.

The question was why?

With the agreement they’d made, she stood to make considerably more than a hundred thousand dollars at the end of their marriage. So why would she risk it all for a quick fix?

“It’s beautiful here,” she said now, and her voice shattered the silence.

“I guess.” He didn’t want to talk to her right now, but he also was tired of thinking, so he supposed he was grateful for the reprieve.

She turned to look at him and exasperation glittered in her eyes. “Y’know, Travis,” she said quietly, “I’m not the enemy.”

“Well now, that’s yet to be decided, isn’t it?”

“Apparently.” Julie sat back against the seat, crossed her truly great legs, shook her head and flashed him a glare. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“So you say,” he admitted with a nod even as his gaze locked on the slide of her legs.

“That’s right, I do. We’ve known each other since we were kids, for crying out loud. Do you really think I’d blackmail you?”

“We used to know each other,” he pointed out, still trying to look away from the legs she kept crossing and recrossing in an obvious show of nerves.

“What I can’t figure out is why you’re so willing to believe Jean Claude? You’ve never seen him before but you’re willing to take his word over mine?”

“Why would he lie?”

“He’s a blackmailer and you think lying is beneath him?”

“Why bother?”

“To make you pay him?” she asked.

“He didn’t need to name you as a conspirator to get the cash. So why would he?” He watched her and saw a flash of fire in her eyes. So she wasn’t all nerves. There was temper there, too.

“Because he’s a creep and he wanted to do everything he could to make sure I was miserable and you were furious.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and that movement was enough to pry his gaze from her legs. Her crossed arms plumped up his already excellent view of her cleavage. His gaze lingered for a long minute, until she was uncomfortable enough to ease her arms away.

“Seems like a lot of trouble for him to go to,” Travis mused.

“Didn’t take much on his part at all to turn you into an über-jerk,” she said.

Now his own temper flashed and his was a hell of a lot more intimidating than hers. “Jerk? I think I’ve been pretty damn considerate, considering,” he pointed out. “We’re here, aren’t we? Going to get you that divorce and get married again so that the deal still holds and nobody else is the wiser?”

“Yes,” she said, turning her gaze from him to stare out at the passing sights. “And you’ve been a delightful companion so far, too, so thanks very much.”

He fumed silently. She wanted him to be a companion now? Friendly banter? He’d had potential disaster tossed at his feet on his wedding day and she wanted good company? To hell with that.

Thankfully, their debate ended soon after that. Travis sat up as the limousine approached the hotel. Castello de King, or King’s Castle, was opulent, over-the-top luxurious and owned by family, so it would give him exactly the privacy he required.

It was a huge building, taking up half the block. The walls were a soft pink stone that seemed to shimmer in the late afternoon sun. There were round tower rooms on every corner and leaded glass panes of the windows winked with the sun’s reflection. Built more than a hundred years ago by an American businessman who’d imagined himself royalty, the castle had been purchased by the King family several decades before and turned into a hotel.

But it was only in the last five years or so that the castle had been “discovered” by the famous and infamous.

Travis had always liked the place, and since his cousin Rico had taken over the castle, it had become one of Travis’s favorite vacation spots.

Cameramen and tourists lined the front of the hotel, each of them trying to get a picture of someone interesting, and they all moved reluctantly out of the limo’s way as the driver steered the car onto the property.

Travis imagined how Julie was seeing the place and took it in himself as if for the first time. The driveway was wide and circular, and swept past banks of tropical flowers in every imaginable color. A towering fountain stood in the center of the courtyard and water fell from its tip to dance in its base in an unceasing cascade. Doormen in full white livery waited to serve the wealthy guests who flocked here looking to be spoiled in secure, lavish comfort.

Travis could almost feel the lenses of the paparazzi stationed on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Their cameras were no doubt focused in to help them in their quest for an embarrassing or incriminating photo of celebrity lives. But they were kept off hotel property by a fleet of security guards, who protected the guests privacy at all costs, which was only one of the reasons Castello de King was such a popular resort for the wealthy.

The limo pulled to a stop and before Travis could get out on his side, one of the doormen had opened Julie’s door and offered her a hand. She stood, turning in place and admiring the view, as Travis got out of the limo to join her.

The look on her face was one of wonder—sort of what he imagined a child might look like at her first sight of Disneyland. And he was willing to bet that the paparazzi were getting quite a few great shots of the latest King bride. As long as no reporter thought to check into her background, they might be all right. God help them both if someone got nosy and discovered the truth.

“Señor King, it is good to have you with us again.” The older man had skin the color of milky coffee, snow-white hair and pale green eyes, crinkled at the corners.

Travis nodded. Over the last few years, Travis had become well known to the hotel staff. “Esteban, good to be back. Is my cousin here?”

Of course Rico was here, Travis told himself. His cousin rarely left the hotel that he’d single-handedly built into one of the most sought-after vacation sites in the world.

“Sí. Would you like me to call him for you?”

“Not necessary,” Travis said. “But thanks.” He’d look Rico up himself as soon as he got Julie settled in one of the penthouse suites always kept in reserve for visiting family.

“Hello,” Julie interrupted. “I’m Julie O’—King.” She held out one hand to the doorman, and he took it, surprised a little that she would take the time to introduce herself.

Travis frowned a little and she gave him a smile that told him she wasn’t going to be ignored. He imagined the cameramen stationed out in front of the gates were now busily clicking off shots of he and Julie together. And they probably didn’t look real happy with each other.

That thought paramount in his mind, he took her elbow, nodded at the doorman and led her into the sanctuary of the hotel—away from prying camera lenses.

“That was rude,” she muttered, pulling her elbow from his grasp.

“I don’t ordinarily introduce my companions to the doorman,” Travis muttered and laid his hand on the small of her back.

“God, you’re a snob.”

“I’m not a snob,” he whispered, irritated at the jab. “But Esteban has his job and he doesn’t expect to be pals with the guests.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to have lunch with him, but he knew you. No reason why he couldn’t know who I am.” Her heels clicked musically on the polished marble floor until she stopped abruptly. “Unless of course, you’re ashamed of me.”