Read Wicked Game: a Billionaire Stepbrother Romance for Free Online

puppies, but you ask your stepsister of all people to be your fake bride.  Why?”
    Damien lost his smile.  For the first time, he seemed uncomfortable.  
    He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck almost nervously.
    “You know….  Lots of reasons.”
    “Like?”
    “Well, you want nothing to do with me, for one,” he said, thoughtfully.  “Any other woman, and I’d never get her to leave me alone.  They’d want me for my money, or my notoriety, or just the chance to fuck someone famous.  You, on the other hand, can’t wait to divorce me.  And we’re not even married yet.”  
    True.
    “And it will be far more believable for the lawyers and company board if I married you,” he said, nodding to himself.  “If I was randomly engaged to some actress, no one would believe it.  But you?”  His gaze fell on me, and it sent electric shivers up my spine.  “We have history, Cleo, whether you like it or not.  People will believe it if I marry you.”
    History.
    That was one way to put it.
    “And why the hell did you think I’d ever agree to this?” I asked, crossing my arms.  “How about that?  Did you just assume I’d be totally happy to be your little mail order bride?”
    “I’ll pay you.”
    “There isn’t enough money in the world.”
    He snorted.  “Cleo, you hate my guts, and you still agreed to come home with me for five thousand.  I can offer you enough to make five thousand seem like pocket change.”
    “I really doubt it.”
    He pulled a pen out from his coat and snatched a piece of blank paper from among the stack on the table.  He pushed both toward me with a knowing grin.  
    “Write a number.”
    I frowned.  
    I scribbled down an insane figure, then slid it back toward him.
    He glanced down.  
    “Fine.”
    Seriously?  
    Damien was either ballsy or stupid.
    Probably both.
    “Maybe I should have written another zero.”
    “Write as many zeroes as you want, Cleo.  Like it or not, we both need this.  I need Dad’s business, and you need money, and neither of us can get those without this little game.  Pretend to be my wife for six or so months, and we both get what we need.  Easy peasy.”
    Fake marriage, with my billionaire ex-stepbrother, splashed across every news channel and magazine in the world.  To fool my evil ex-stepdad’s lawyers.  
    Easy peasy.  
    Right.  
    “You’re really not letting me get out of this one, are you?”
    “Of course not,” he said, grinning.
    “What if I say no?”
    “Then you’ll have a hell of a time dodging the paparazzi and news crews who will be following you for the rest of your life.  You know, the ones desperate to get the scoop on the mysterious woman who seduced famous playboy Damien Blackwood and then broke his heart?  Of course, with that many zeroes,” he said, nodding at the paper, “and the help of your dear old ex-husband, that wouldn’t be a problem.  Not if we went through with this little act, including the sad but inevitable divorce.”
    I glared at him.
    “I hate you.”
    “I know, wifey.”
    “Excuse me while I vomit.”
    “ Ahem ,” Ellison coughed.  
    I transferred my glare to him, and he jumped a little  in his seat.  That was satisfying—I was glad I could still terrify a man when I needed to.  Though it didn’t seem to work too well on Damien.  
    I hated that we were each other’s kryptonite.  
    He would never be intimidated by me, and I would never swoon for him.  
    Maybe that’s why we could never get away from each other.
    “Well,” Ellison said, adjusting his tie nervously under my hateful glare.  “I really think we should get started.  We don’t have much time, not if we want to get your things moved out and into the house before your eviction.”
    God’s sake.  They knew about the eviction, too.
    Which meant they knew how bad I needed this money.
    “I hate you, Damien Blackwood,” I groaned as I signed my name at the bottom of the page.  Damien beamed.  Ellison