The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

THE BILLIONAIRE’S SEDUCTION REVENGE CLARE CONNELLY CONTENTS About the Author Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Craving the Off-Limits Billionaire Books By Clare Connelly Join the Club Now in Audio ABOUT THE AUTHOR Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood. From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.) Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing. Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to www.clareconnelly.co.uk to sign up to her newsletter, or join her official facebook page. Facebook Twitter Instagram All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s very-vivid, non-stop imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention (mwah-ha-ha). All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author. The illustration on the cover of this book features smokin’ hot model/s or illustrations of models and, as gorgeous as they are, the model/s featured bear no relation to the characters described within. *** First published 2023 (c) Clare Connelly Cover Credit: adobestock / Guy Contact Clare: http://www.clareconnelly.com Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/ Email: [email protected] * Follow Clare Connelly on facebook for all the latest. Join Clare’s Newsletter to stay up to date on all the latest CC news. www.clareconnelly.com 1 MUSCLE MEMORY WAS A FUNNY thing. Despite the fact it was the middle of the night, the only light in the pool house cast by the high, silver moon, and even though Vasilios had not been inside for almost a year, he remembered where every single piece of furniture was, and therefore found it easy to walk unobstructed across the lounge area and through the door of the bedroom. He inhaled deeply, the fragrance of the sea calling to him, reminding him of something he’d tried to forget these past few years: this was home. At least, it was the closest thing to a home he’d known, and it was right that he should be back here now. His gut rolled as he recalled the phone call he’d received from his grandfather’s doctor only hours earlier. “I cannot say how long, exactly, but I do not think more than a month.” Vasilios’s eyes swept shut, his breathing grew ragged as he unbuttoned his shirt and hung it over the back of the armchair. His relationship with his grandfather was not uncomplicated, but regardless, Vasilios loved the old man—he was all Vasilios had left. The prospect of his death was not something Vasilios could face with ease. He stripped out of his pants, then his boxers, contemplated a shower before deciding it would wait until morning. Having flown in from back to back meetings in Tokyo only hours earlier, then gone straight to his office in Rome to finalise some paperwork, he’d already been bushed when he got the call. He needed to catch a few hours sleep, see Costa in the morning and work out what the next step should be. Cancer was an unflinching adversary; Vasilios wasn’t arrogant enough to presume he could wage war on the disease and be guaranteed to win, but he knew he had to at least try. To make sure his grandfather had the best medical care money could buy, that no stone was left unturned. He strode to the side of the bed, pulled back the sheets and slid between them. He was exhausted, and the first thing he was aware of was a deep sense of relief to be horizontal at last, a comfortable duck down pillow behind his head, the sheets crisp and cool. It was all so familiar and expected. But then, there was something wholly unfamiliar. A leg, soft and smooth as satin, against his toe. His hand reached out on autopilot and connected with a cotton-covered hip, and courtesy of a long spell of celibacy, Vasilios’s body immediately stirred, his masculine instincts undeniably firing to life. What the hell was a woman doing in his bed? His hand lingered longer than it should have, until a soft, feminine exclamation cut through the room and then his vision flashed with white. Pain induced stars in his eyes, he diagnosed a second later, when he felt the throbbing in his nether regions and swore darkly, the word reverberating around the walls at the same time the covers flew off the bed and the lights came on in the room. He pressed one hand to his groin and the other to his eyes, trying to focus when he felt a wave of nausea courtesy of the knee he’d copped between his legs. “Who the hell are you?” Her voice was high-pitched and accented. Australian? She had hair as pale as the moon he’d been admiring only minutes earlier, and skin the colour of creamed honey, and though she wore a nightgown, it was so flimsy he could see the silhouette of her body through the fabric and it did little to help his situation. His mood tanked. “I could ask the same of you,” he responded in a grim tone, grateful at least that the blow she’d delivered had stalled