My Wicked Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 6) Read online

  My Wicked Billionaire

  The Billionaire Kings Book 6

  By

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  Copyright 2019 Serenity Woods

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The King Family Tree

  Chapter One

  Clio

  “Clio!” Stefan bellows, his voice echoing throughout the veterinary center. “For the third time—I’m leaving!”

  I blow out a breath, pausing in the act of writing a report on my clinic duties that week for veterinary college. I’m in the final week of my course. I’ve already sat my exams, and now I’m completing my last work placement. When I finish the report of this month’s work, I’ll be done. I’m so close!

  “Clio!”

  I slam my pen on the table and grit my teeth. “I haven’t finished,” I yell back. “I want to stay and get it done. You go—I’ll lock up.”

  He appears in the doorway, all six-foot-four of him, and glowers at me. “You’ll be late.”

  “I won’t. I’m all packed, and I’ve only got to go home, change, and pick up my case. Stop fussing. You’re worse than my mother.”

  “All right.” He holds up a hand. “But don’t blame me if you miss the plane.” He gives me the sort of look a teacher gives a student he’s just caught smoking and leaves the room.

  I stick my tongue out. He’s the head of the veterinary center, and he loves to boss me around. I’d complain to Noah, the head of the animal sanctuary, but the truth is that Stefan has a heart of gold, and he’s spent hours of his spare time helping me with my studies to ensure I pass with flying colors. He thinks acting like an army sergeant will train me to be a more efficient human being. He’s probably right; I’m terribly disorganized and I lack discipline in most areas of my life, but it’s fun to pretend he ticks me off.

  I check my watch where I’d removed it and placed it on the table. It’s only just gone one p.m. and I don’t have to check in at the airport until two-thirty, so I have plenty of time until I need to leave. He’s such a fusspot.

  This weekend, the whole Ark is on an adventure, with everyone traveling to the very bottom of the South Island of New Zealand for my brother’s wedding. Leon and Nix are getting married in Dunedin, at Larnach—the country’s only castle, and Leon’s generously flying everyone down for the party and a two-night stay. I know that he’s ordered several bottles of the region’s best whisky and countless bottles of champagne, and they’ve planned an amazing dinner in the castle’s ballroom. It’s going to be one hell of a party, so I’m really looking forward to letting my hair down after months—years—of study. I’m also looking forward to seeing him marry the one woman who seems able to keep him in check. Lord knows I haven’t had a lot of luck, and neither has our mother.

  I brush my thumb across the face of the watch tenderly. It once belonged to my mom, and before that to my grandmother, who passed away a couple of years ago. I love that she used to wear it. I’m really into family history, which is one reason why I’m looking forward to going to the South Island. My great-great-great-grandmother was the daughter of William Larnach, who built Larnach Castle in 1871. I’m so excited to visit it, and I know it’s one of the reasons why Leon decided to get married there.

  I just need to get this report done before I leave so I don’t have it hanging over my head all weekend, and then I can celebrate properly tonight. I can’t believe I’m so close to finishing my studies. It’s been a long, long journey. With a full-time job lined up at Noah’s Ark, and with my own clinic room and a supportive team, I’ll finally be all grown up.

  I purse my lips, my fingers hesitating on the keyboard. The thought isn’t as appealing as it should be. Lately, whenever I think about settling down and working in a normal job, a wave of panic washes over me. As usual, though, I push it away and scold myself. People across the world would kill to be in my position—wealthy and well-loved, living in the paradise that is the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, qualified in an important career, and with a full-time job lined up. What more could a girl want?

  Not for the first time that day, an image fills my head of a tall, gorgeous man with dark hair and a sexy glitter in his brown eyes when he looks at me. He thinks I haven’t noticed it, but I have. I’ve spent years telling myself that Ryan King is not for me. He’s my cousin, for Christ’s sake. Okay, only by adoption, and okay, a relationship with a cousin isn’t illegal in New Zealand, but even so… He’s eight years older than me, he’s been married before, and he’s calm, confident, and self-assured, so I know I must seem young and immature to him. Plus we both work at the Ark, which means that even if I were to do so little as to wink at him, Leon would have a coronary.

  But oh my God, he’s gorgeous, and I want him the way I want a box of truffles whenever I’m on a diet—desperately, all-consumingly, and nothing else in the world will do. Ever since Poppy’s wedding, when my cousin and best friend Jules let slip that she’d overheard Ryan’s wife calling him insatiable, I can’t stop fantasizing about what he’d be like in bed. He’s turning me into a nympho, and I haven’t so much as kissed him.

  A few days ago, I came up with a brilliant idea. What happens in Dunedin stays in Dunedin, right? I know the rest of my family is going to be there, but it seems like the perfect opportunity to suggest to Ryan that while we’re away, we indulge in some bedroom gymnastics. I’m sure if I can get him out of my system, I’ll feel much better, and I’ll be happy to come back to the Ark and continue with the rest of my life.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. I can’t wait to arrive there, get him on his own, and see whether he’s interested in a brief fling. If I’m lucky, I might even get to sit next to him on the plane. First, though, I need to finish this damn assignment.

  I finish the report, read it through, sign it, scan it in, and email it to the university. I’m done! But it’s not time to celebrate yet. I take ten minutes or so to update the computer records with the cases I’ve seen that morning. I should have done them as I was seeing the animals, but I was so busy I didn’t get around to it. Something else Stefan is trying to train me to do. I check through the handwritten notes I’ve scrawled. Dammit, what was wrong with the Boxer I saw? Hormonal trouble, I think—she was losing hair on her flanks. I type up a summary of her symptoms and enter the medication I prescribed, then move on to the next.

  When I’m done, I file all my notes in a folder in the cabinet and return to my computer t
o send my daily report to Stefan. He gathers them together and forwards them on to Noah each week. Stefan won’t get around to it until Monday now, but at least I’ll be on top of things—one less reason for him to nag me.

  As I’m typing, I glance at the clock in the corner of the computer screen. I carry on typing, and then my fingers stop. I stare into the distance, calculating, then drop my gaze back to the clock. It says 2:26 p.m. Wait, what? Two twenty-six? It was only just gone one p.m. when Stefan said goodbye, and I’ve not been here for ninety minutes. I snatch up Grandma’s watch. It still says just after one p.m. It’s stopped. Stupid frickin’ watch!

  “Holy shit.” I push my chair back so quickly it falls over, but I have no time to pick it up. I grab my purse and keys, dash out, cast a quick glance around the rooms to make sure everything is as it should be, run out of the building, and lock it behind me. I sprint across to the car park. There are only a couple of cars there, both belonging to the veterinary nurses who look after the sick animals in Ward Seven. Other than that, the Ark is empty; everyone’s gone to the airport. Crap, no wonder Stefan was telling me to get a move on. He’s going to be so smug when I get there late.

  I drive too fast to the apartment I share with Jules in Paihia, run up the stairs, and go inside, knocking over a vase as I enter. Dammit—it was my favorite, but I don’t stop to pick up the pieces. I don’t have any time to change, either, which is really frustrating as I’m in my work clothes, and my T-shirt and cut-down jeans are covered in hair and animal fluids. Hurriedly, I spray some deodorant under my arms and some perfume behind my ears, dash out of the bathroom, and promptly fall over my case where I’d left it on the floor.

  “Motherf…” I howl as I rub my shin, cursing with every swear word I can think of, but I can’t afford to waste time, so I lock the door, hobble down the stairs, heft my case into the car, and then head along the road out of town toward the Bay of Islands Airport.

  The clock on the car dashboard reads 2:37. The flight goes at three. I put my foot down and take the bends tightly, hoping beyond hope there are no police cars sitting on the roadside this afternoon.

  I can’t believe I’ve been such an idiot. I’m going to miss the flight. You’re supposed to check in half an hour before, and they’ll be boarding now. Dammit, I should have gone yesterday with Leon and Nix on the Yonder Star. Leon asked me whether I wanted to go on the Kings’ private plane, but I said I was happy to stay and cover the veterinary clinic for the morning with Stefan and Summer so Izzy and Hal could go down with them early, and then I’d travel on Air New Zealand with everyone else. It’s only four hours to Dunedin with one connecting flight at Auckland. Plus, I was hoping to swap seats with someone so I could sit next to Ryan.

  But it’s now 2:52, and I’m only at the roundabout. It’s 2:55 before I pull into the airport, and I still have to hand over my car. I screech to a halt outside the office, throw my keys and a handful of notes over to the woman behind the counter, apologize profusely, and sprint across the airport with my case bumping behind me to the check-in desk. I can see the plane outside the window. Oh no, they’re closing the doors…

  “I’m late,” I say pointlessly to the attendant, “I’m so sorry. Can you be a real sweetie and let me on?”

  Her look is sympathetic, but she shakes her head and says, “Sorry, ma’am. Check-in for the flight is closed now.”

  “Dammit.” I fight the urge to bang on the desk. It’s not the woman’s fault, it’s mine for being such an idiot. Oh Stefan, if only I’d listened to you…

  “Can you see if there’s another flight to Dunedin today or tomorrow morning, please?” I ask her. The wedding isn’t until two p.m. tomorrow, so there’s still time for me to get there. Even if I have to catch the six a.m. flight in the morning, I’d do it.

  She taps into her computer and then, to my horror, shakes her head. “I’m very sorry; the last flight from Auckland to Dunedin today is fully booked, and so is the morning one. There are vacancies on the afternoon flight tomorrow from Auckland…”

  But it’s no good, I’d still miss the big event. And I can’t even ask the Yonder Star to come back and get me because Leon told me that the pilot is going off to visit family down there before he attends the wedding.

  I try to smile, fail miserably, and turn away, full of disappointment. My shin is throbbing like a bastard, and when I look down, I discover it’s bleeding, a trail of red running down over my scruffy old Converses. For fuck’s sake.

  Walking over to the seats by the window, I sit heavily, letting my case fall to the floor. I don’t have the energy to walk back to my car.

  I was so looking forward to spending some time with Ryan. And I’m going to miss my brother’s wedding. He’s going to be so cross with me. I can only imagine my parents’ disappointed faces and what they’re going to say. Oh Clio, trust you… And Stefan even reminded you it was time to go! You really need to act more responsibly and get your act together.

  The worst thing is, they’ll be right. I feel as if I try so hard sometimes, but I’m always making mistakes. Mom’s called me an eternal teenager many times, and although it rankles, she’s not wrong. I haven’t changed since I was sixteen. I’m over-talkative, loud, and pushy. I act first and think later. I’m always in a rush, I constantly forget things, and I never know where I’ve put anything. People try to help me, but I refuse to be told what to do. I’m obstinate and stubborn, and I always think I know best. Quite clearly, I don’t.

  I feel a wave of self-pity and cover my face as tears prick my eyes. I want to change. I want to grow up and learn to be self-dependent, and to earn everyone’s respect. I admire the women I work with—Izzy, Nix, Remy, Poppy; they’re all so conscientious and composed. Why can’t I be like that? I try, and I manage for a few days or weeks, and then I lose my temper when someone irritates me, or I get tired of being responsible and grown up, and I go out and get drunk with friends. I don’t understand how everyone else is so in control. It’s as if my life is a badly behaved dog that refuses to walk nicely on a leash. I want to be better. Why can’t I be better?

  Oh God… why does everything I touch fall to pieces?

  Chapter Two

  Ryan

  I sign my name at the bottom of the document and push it back across the table to Max, the lawyer.

  “Thank you.” Max slides the completed form into a folder. “That’s it. All done.”

  I glance across to the woman sitting by my side. Samantha obviously sees me looking at her, but she drops her gaze to where her hands sit in her lap and examines her nails.

  After a two-year separation, our divorce became final at Christmas, but we’ve only just finalized the sale of our house because she’s been living there since I moved out. I wanted her to keep it, but she refused, saying she’d rather have her half of the money from the sale because she wants to buy a place in Auckland. I was tempted to buy her out and keep the house—I loved that place when we first bought it, and it hurts to let it go. But not only do I not need a six-bedroomed place with acres of land, it would make me too sad to live there alone.

  I’ve gotten away lightly. By law, she could have claimed half of my fortune, the hundreds of thousands of dollars my father, Brock, has invested for me over the years after he married my mom. But to be fair to Samantha, although she’s claimed half of the finances from our shared account, she hasn’t touched my investments. She wanted the split to be amicable, she said, and she doesn’t feel she has a claim on my personal inheritance.

  I wish she had. Maybe things wouldn’t have gone wrong between us if she’d shown a little more passion. If we’d argued, yelled at each other, hurled spiteful accusations like hand grenades—at least we could have had fun making up. But that’s not Samantha’s way. Instead, she iced me out of the marriage, an inch at a time, until I found myself standing outside looking in, cold and alone.

  “Is that it?” I ask Max. The clock behind him says it’s nearly 2 p.m. I’m in Kerikeri, and the airport is only
about ten minutes away, but I don’t want to be late.

  “That’s it,” he says. “Expect the sale to go through on Monday. I’ll call you when it’s all done.”

  “Thanks.” I stand and shake his hand. Then I go out of his office and into the bright afternoon.

  “Ryan,” Samantha calls after me. I’m tempted to keep walking, get in my car, and drive away, but I curse under my breath, slow, and turn as she runs up to me.

  “What?” I say. “I’m in a hurry.”

  “I won’t keep you long.” She stops before me. As usual, she looks amazing. She has shoulder-length shiny brown hair cut in a neat bob. Her makeup is immaculate. She’s still the same weight she was when I met her, at age twenty, and her clothes outline her narrow hips and small breasts. I fell hard for her back then, entranced by her classy, almost ethereal beauty, and I found her calmness and elegance attractive. She works hard in her role as a family lawyer, and her intelligence turned me on rather than intimidating me.

  Unfortunately, though, as the years went by, I discovered she was like a work of art, made to be admired, but lacking any real substance beneath the surface.

  That sounds harsh and cruel, and sometimes I feel ashamed for wanting more. I’m sure other men must stare at me when they hear we’re divorced and think I’m crazy for letting her slip through my fingers. But all I wanted was to be loved, and I’m not sure Samantha is capable of that emotion.

  Briefly, my mind pictures another woman—young, blonde, sexy, gorgeous, who looks at me with the kind of heat I’ve always wanted from my wife. But I push thoughts of her firmly away. I mustn’t go within a hundred leagues of thinking about Clio King and her hot curves.

  “I need to ask you about the patio table and chairs,” Samantha says, referring to our wooden twelve-seater set that cost a small fortune. When organizing the divorce, she went through the house with a fine-tooth comb, making an inventory of every item and working out its worth to make sure the division of our property was fair. She’d allocated the patio set to me. I’d planned to sell it once the house was sold and she’d moved out. “Do you want it?” she asks.