Billionaire’S Bride For Revenge: Billionaire’s Bride for Revenge. Susan Stephens

at her unsmilingly, he removed his silver tie then undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

      The wrinkled old man who’d greeted them on arrival appeared as if from nowhere with two tall drinks. He placed them on the coffee table and indicated one of them to her. Then he left as unobtrusively as he had come.

      Benjamin mussed his hair with a grimace then took his glass and had a long drink from it. ‘What do you know about my history with the Casillas brothers?’

      Surprised at his question, she eyed him warily before answering. ‘I know you’re old family friends.’

      His jaw clenched as he nodded slowly. ‘Our mothers were extremely close. They had us only three months apart. We were playmates from the cradle and it’s a bond we have shared for thirty-five years. I was raised to think of Javier and Luis as cousins and I did. We have been there for each other our entire lives. You understand?’

      ‘I guess.’ She shrugged. ‘Is there a point to this story?’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘The point to this story is the key to it.’

      ‘You’re talking in riddles again.’

      ‘Not riddles if you would bother to listen to what I am saying to you.’

      She caught the faint scent of juniper. Although only a moderate drinker—very moderate—Freya loved the refreshing coolness of a gin and tonic. Usually she limited herself to only the one. But usually she hadn’t been practically abducted. And she’d fallen asleep before she could finish the one on his jet.

      And she really needed something to calm the ripples crashing in her stomach.

      Giving in, she picked it up then sat on the opposite side of the sofa to him, at the furthest point she could find, using all the training that had been drilled into her from the age of three to hold her core and enable herself to be still.

      Never would she betray how greatly this man unnerved her but beneath her outward stillness her pulses soared, her heart completely unable to find its usual rhythm. She wished she could put it down to fear and it unnerved her more than anything to know the only fear she was currently experiencing was of her own terrifying erratic feelings for this man rather than the situation he’d thrown her into.

      She took a small sip then forced herself to look at him. ‘Okay, so you grew up like cousins.’

      Before he could answer the butler reappeared with a tray of food.

      The tray was placed on the table and she saw a wooden board with more varieties of cheese than she’d known existed, fresh baguettes, a bowl of fruit and a smaller bowl of nuts.

      ‘Merci, Pierre,’ Benjamin said with a quick smile.

      Pierre nodded and, just as before, disappeared.

      Benjamin held a plate out to her.

      ‘No, thank you,’ she said stiffly. She would choke if she had to eat her captor’s food.

      He shrugged and cut himself a wedge of camembert.

      ‘It’s not good to eat cheese so late,’ she said caustically.

      He raised a brow, took a liberal amount of butter and spread it on the opened baguette. ‘You must be hungry. I took you from the gala before the food was served. You do not have to eat the cheeses.’

      ‘I don’t have to eat anything.’ She truly didn’t think she could swallow anything solid, doubted her stomach would unclench enough for food until she was far from this beautiful prison.

      Staring back out over the thick trees and hills casting such ominous shadows around the chateau, she resigned herself to staying under his roof for the night. As soon as the sun rose she would find something to put on her feet and leave. Sooner or later she would find civilisation and help.

      He took a large bite of his baguette and chewed slowly. His impenetrable green eyes didn’t move from her face.

      ‘If you will not eat then let us continue. I was telling you about my relationship with Javier and Luis.’

      Freya pushed her fears and schemes aside and concentrated. Maybe Benjamin really had gone to all this trouble to bring her here only to talk. Maybe, come the morning, his driver would take her to the airport without any fuss.

      And maybe pigs could fly.

      If Benjamin wanted nothing more than to talk he would have conducted this chat in Madrid.

      Either way, she needed to pay attention and listen hard.

      ‘Like cousins,’ she clarified. ‘A modern-day tale like The Three Musketeers, always there for each other.’

      ‘Exactemente. Do you know the Tour Mont Blanc building in Paris?’ He took a bite of creamy cheese.

      ‘The skyscraper?’ she asked uncertainly. World news was not her forte. Actually, any form of news that wasn’t related to the arts passed her by. She had no interest in any of it. She only knew of Tour Mont Blanc because Sophie had been fascinated with it, saying more than once that she would love to live in one of its exclusive apartments and dine in one of its many restaurants run by Michelin-starred chefs and shop in the exclusive shopping arcade.

      He swallowed as he nodded. ‘You know Javier and Luis built it?’

      ‘Yes, I knew it was theirs.’

      ‘Did you know I invested in it?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘They came to me seven years ago when they were buying the land. They had a cash-flow problem and asked me to go in with them on the project as a sleeping partner. I invested twenty per cent of the asking price. When I made that first investment I was told total profits would be around half a billion euros.’

      She blinked. Half a billion?

      ‘It took four years for the building work to start—there was a lot of bureaucracy to get through—and a further three years to complete it. Have you been there?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘It is a magnificent building and a credit to the Casillas brothers’ vision. Eighty per cent of the apartments were sold off-plan and we had eleven multinational companies signed up to move into the business part before the roof had been put on.’

      ‘So it’s a moneymaking factory then,’ she said flatly. ‘I take it there’s a reason you’re boring me with all this?’

      The piercing look he gave her sent fresh shivers racing up her spine.

      ‘We all knew the initial profit projections were conservative but none of us knew quite how conservative. Total profit so far is closer to one and a half billion euros.’

      Freya didn’t even know how many zeros one and a half billion was. And that was their profit? Her bank account barely touched three figures.

      ‘Congratulations,’ she said in the same flat tone. It was a lot of money—more than she could ever comprehend—but it was nothing to do with her and she couldn’t see why he thought it relevant to discuss it with her. She assumed he was showing off and letting her know that his wealth rivalled Javier’s.

      As if this chateau didn’t do a good enough job flaunting his wealth!

      Did he think she would be impressed?

      Money was nothing to brag about. Having an enormous bank account didn’t make you a better person than anyone else or mean you were granted automatic reverence by lesser mortals.

      Freya had been raised by parents who were permanently on the breadline. They were the kindest, most loving parents a child could wish for and if she could live her childhood again she wouldn’t swap them for anyone. Money was no substitute for love.

      It was only now, as that awful disease decimated her mother’s body, that she wished they’d had the means to build a nest egg for themselves.