Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

Two hours later, we’re sitting on a private plane, sipping champagne and soaring away from Boston and up into the blue, cloudless sky. Sorel has been quiet since we went to my place. She’s been there plenty of times before, but instead of coming in and sitting down while I packed, she hovered by the front entryway. I’m not sure she knows what to make of the turn her life has taken.

Her phone rests on her lap as she stares out the small oval window. She’s been texting a lot, as you’d expect, but her expression has been stoic, so I don’t know what’s going on or who she’s texting with, and it feels intrusive to ask.

Studying her glass of champagne, she watches the bubbles float to the top. With a tip of her hand, the glass meets her lips, and she swallows the rest. “That’s good.” She laughs, but there’s no humor to it as she sets the empty glass down on the thin table between us and returns her gaze to the window. “I picked out good champagne for the reception too. I love champagne, and I figured when’s a more appropriate time to drink the good stuff than at your wedding? Eloise thought it was a great idea, and we spent an afternoon taste-testing champagnes until we found the one we both liked best.”

She nibbles on her lip and stops talking for a few moments before she sighs and continues.

“I’m sort of shocked I haven’t heard from her yet. I mean, I realize it’s only been a couple of hours, if that, but she’s not one to let things lie. Serena always called her the yang to my yin. Maybe that’s why our friendship was so easy. She and Serena are a lot alike, though Serena would never betray me. This wasn’t the first time someone who I thought was my close friend did that. My high school bestie made the mean girls in Mean Girls look saintly. You’d think I would have learned my lesson about trusting outside people after that, but three years later, I met Eloise, so there you go.”

She pauses. Blows out a breath, but all of her thoughts seem to be pouring out one after the other, and I don’t dare move or speak as she does this.

“Is it weird that I’m not sad?” she asks but doesn’t turn away from the window. “Serena thinks it’s weird. She also thinks it’s crazy that I’m on a plane heading to Vegas. My parents do too. My little brothers think it’s awesome, but they would. They live in London and bounce around Europe all the time. It probably is crazy. All of it. Calling out Eloise and Brody the way I did and then running off to Vegas.”

I set my phone down and look at her since she’s sitting opposite me.

“You’re likely still in shock. And yes, it probably is a bit crazy, but sometimes the best things in life start as the craziest of ideas.”

“Let’s hope.” She smiles and brings her bare feet onto the seat and her knees up by her chest. “But I’m not sad,” she continues. “I’m angry. I feel duped and unbelievably stupid for not realizing it sooner. James, Eloise’s fiancé, texted to tell me that he broke up with her. He said she and Brody had been screwing around with each other since before he and I moved to Boston. Brody had a lot of ‘business trips’”—she puts air quotes around the words— “back in New York over the last year. He was trying to work out contracts with networks, or so he claimed, and per James, Eloise just so happened to have them at the same time. I can think of at least a dozen in the last year, and before that, when we were living in New York, it was clearly a regular thing between them. They were sneaking around and fucking each other right under our noses.” Now she turns to me. “How did I not know? How did I not suspect a thing? He was sleeping with my friend, and I had no clue.”

Shit, that’s rough. Once again, it makes me wish she had let me out of the car to hit him. I wouldn’t have stopped there. Not until he was bleeding and broken and unable to go near her ever again. Landon must feel good that he got a solid punch in on him. I’m insanely jealous.

I run a hand along my clenched jaw, trying to relax it. “Because you loved him.” I pause here, trying to gauge her reaction to that. “You trusted him. And her. Those are two very powerful weapons they used against you.”

“Tell me about it. It’s how I had videos and recorded conversations of me posted all over school and social media. Trust is dumb.”

I’m assuming that’s the high school friend who betrayed her. I stand and retrieve the bottle of champagne, top off her glass and set the bottle on the table beside it. I think she could use it.

“Thank you.” She lifts her glass and gulps half of it down. “What pisses me off the most is that in the texts between the two of them, she talked about how he always makes her come. Or maybe he said it. Whatever.” She waves that away. “He never made me come. Hardly ever. And if I said anything about it, he’d get all huffy and defensive and make it seem like I was the problem and not him.” She laughs mirthlessly and swallows down the rest of her champagne before she refills the glass again. “I don’t know why I’m telling you that. I’m just bitter, and it feels good to vent.”

I kick up my ankle to my opposite knee and lean back in my seat, throwing my hands behind my head. I wish I were wearing my hearing aids because the white noise of the plane and her soft-spoken words are making it tougher to hear her than it otherwise would be. Thankfully, her lips are pretty easy to read.

“You have every right to be bitter, and don’t feel weird or self-conscious about telling me whatever you need to get off your chest. For the record though, as far as I’m concerned, men only have one responsibility in bed, and that’s to make sure our partner gets off. There is nothing better or more of a turn-on than that. The ones who don’t get that are selfish and lazy.”

“He was both of those things. And inconsiderate. Everything was about him and not me. Everything from where we lived to his career being more important than mine to little things like where we’d go for dinner or what music we’d listen to or what we’d watch on TV. Even my fucking wedding band was wrong because he didn’t think for more than two seconds about it when he bought it.”

“He was like that as a player too,” I tell her. “He hated it when I’d throw to someone else or didn’t throw to him what he felt like was enough. He wanted his airtime and to always be the superstar, even if it didn’t benefit the team. He even used to mock my hearing deficit and how my dad and I would sign with each other sometimes.”

Horror floods her face and stains her cheeks red. “I didn’t know that.”

I grin. “Because I never told you.”

“I wish you had. That’s disgusting, and I likely would have left him then and there.” She shakes her head indignantly. “He used to complain about you, though he never mentioned your hearing deficit to me. He said you can’t be a superstar if you put the team above yourself. He also said you only got that position because of your dad.”

I shrug. “You know I never liked him much, so I don’t care. My dad did draft me, so he’s not the first to say that, and again, I don’t care because having my dad as my coach has been everything. No one believes in me the way he does.”

Truthfully, I always thought Brody was a dick, but I hated him because he had her, and now I hate him even more for having her and taking her for granted all that time.

“I don’t want them to break me, but at the same time, I’m not sure how I’ll trust beyond my family again.”

“What about friends of your family? You can trust them.”

“I do trust you, Mason. I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t.”

She drops her gaze, and it pulls at my heart, my chest inflating like a hot air balloon.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She laughs incredulously, brushing her bangs back from her forehead. “What the hell are you doing here with me, Mason? We’re on a private plane going to Las Vegas.”

“Like I said, I didn’t have much going on this week.”

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t you have training camp?”

“Next week. Rookies start this week.”

She points a finger in my direction. “You’re stuck with me and my crazy now. You know that, right?”

“Back at you.” I give her a long once-over, unable to help myself. “Though from where I’m sitting, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

Her eyebrows pop up and her lips part in shock. “Are you flirting with me?”

I wipe my thumb along my bottom lip. “Maybe.”

Her jaw unhinges further. “Are you going to flirt with me all week?”

“Would you like me to?”

She bites into her lip to hide her smile and turns back to the window. “Maybe.”

“Welcome to Las Vegas, Mr. Licke,” the concierge greets us, not even skipping a beat when he says my fake name as he shakes our hands the moment we step out of the car. “It is a pleasure to have you with us. We have secured the villa you requested for both you and Dr. Herass.”

Sorel snorts under her breath, but quickly masks it as she clears her throat.

“If you’ll come with me, it would be my pleasure to take you directly there and show you around.”

“Mr. Licke can make Dr. Herass come with pleasure too,” I murmur in Sorel’s ear, and she nudges me with her elbow and rolls her eyes. She hinted I could flirt, whether she meant it or not, so why not test the waters I’ve never tested with her before?

“Behave, Mr. Licke.”

“I’ll try, Dr. Herass.”

With that, we’re led onto an elevator off the private entrance we were brought through and whisked up forty-four floors. I haven’t touched Sorel since she ran out of the church, and I’m tempted to take her hand but refrain. She was quiet for the rest of the flight. I have to imagine she was questioning and rethinking everything, including this, and I don’t want to push her.

Our bags were already taken by the valet, and they’ll likely bring them through another elevator. Some might say this is a bit too excessive, but I don’t care. I’ve always wanted to stay in this villa, and now I have the perfect excuse. I want to wow Sorel. The girl of my dreams doesn’t know she’s the girl of my dreams. That means I have to pull out all the stops even if she is a Fritz and, with that, a billionaire heiress.

She doesn’t live like that, though, and if you didn’t know about her family, you’d never guess the kind of money she has other than from her bags. The girl likes her handbags.

The elevator opens, and we step out, guided by our concierge. “This is a three thousand square foot villa that features a living room with a full bar, a library, and a billiard room, as well as two king-sized bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms. But the real showstopper is this…” He trails off as he walks directly across the main living room to the balcony doors. He opens them with gusto, and both Sorel and I step onto the large terrace complete with a gas firepit, a plunge pool, and a hot tub, all overlooking the Strip from high above.

Sorel gasps and clutches my hand. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure Dr. Herass does Vegas the right way and has the time of her life.”

She turns to me, her hazel eyes challenging, and something warm courses under my skin. “And you, Mr. Licke? What’s in this for you?”

You. You’re the only thing I’m here for.

I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “Mr. Licke is all about Dr. Herass. And I think it’s pretty obvious what’s in it for me.” I pan my hand around the patio and then back toward the villa. “This is Vegas, baby. I love it here. I haven’t had a vacation in a long time either, so it’s a break for me too.”

She seems satisfied with that answer and doesn’t press me further.

I get it. It doesn’t make sense that I’d drop my life on a whim, take her away for a week to Las Vegas, and put up the cash for a private plane and a dope-ass villa. On the plane, she offered to split everything with me, and I refused. Not happening. But I think that confused her more. I saw her relief when the concierge mentioned two bedrooms, so I know she wants to keep this arrangement purely platonic as we’ve always been.

I’m playing the long game here, but so far, she’s still with me, and now she’s holding my hand.

The concierge finishes showing us around, informing us that our butler will take care of unpacking our luggage for us. Once he’s gone, I lead Sorel over to the bar. She drops her elbows on the wood top and stares expectantly at me.

“Would you like a drink, Dr. Herass?”

Sorel cracks up and then emits a little screech. “Oh, my hell, this is like Cocteau Twins’ ‘Heaven Or Las Vegas,’ and so not me. Sure. Why not? When life hands you lemons, make lemon drop martinis.”

“Coming up.” I go about fixing both of us a lemon drop and slide hers over to her. “I haven’t heard that song before.”

“You’re missing out. I’ll have to play it for you tonight.” She takes a slip and licks her lips. “Mmm. That’s good. Okay. What do we do first? Remember, I’m a Vegas virgin and I want the full experience.”

“A virgin, huh?”

She blushes ever so slightly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you the full experience. Let’s shower and get changed. Then we’ll go get some dinner and have a lot of drinks and fun. After that, we’ll see where the night takes us.”

“Hmm.” She takes another sip of her drink, and I have to imagine she’s still half-drunk from all the champagne on the plane and the wild day she’s had. “That sounds fun, but I don’t know what to wear.” She covers her face with her hands. “Christ, I don’t even know how to feel. This is so surreal.”

“Feel free because you are. Wear whatever you feel beautiful and sexy in because you are both of those things. And get used to being on my arm tonight because unless you tell me no, there is no way I won’t want you there.”

The reason I picked this villa, other than its exclusivity, is the pool. I want to get Sorel in her bikini or less in that pool before this trip is over. I want to imprint myself inside of her so all she feels and knows is me. I want to make her come and come and fucking come until she’s so blind with pleasure that she has no clue that any other man existed before me. I want to make her smile and happy and show her that not all men—including football players—are assholes who cheat.

Even if I don’t get the sex, I still want her to feel like that. How her ex not only cheated on her but never made her come is mind-boggling. I want all of those things with her, but I know I can’t have them yet. Still, it doesn’t stop the desire.

The corner of her mouth tilts up, and her eyes gleam. “Let’s do it then.”

We each retreat to our rooms with our drinks to freshen up. I never drink like this. During football season, I don’t drink at all, and once March hits, I’m in training, so I don’t drink much after that. Training camp starts next week, and while I want Sorel to relax and have fun, there is only so much fun I can have too.

Plus, one of us has to keep our wits about us.

I dump the rest of my drink down the bathroom sink and hit the shower. By the time I’m ready, Sorel is waiting for me on the patio in a short, white dress that is all tits and back and thighs.

Jesus, hell. I run a hand over my face and through the back of my hair. I can’t help but wonder what her skin smells like with my nose buried against her neck and what her mouth tastes like with my lips pressed to hers. Will she be as warm as she’s making me?

“Wow,” I tell her, not even pretending to hide the wonder in my voice or expression. “You look incredible.”

She turns and smiles at me, giving me a once-over. “You look pretty good yourself, Mr. Licke.”

“Are you ready?”

“For what?” she asks softly as she holds onto the railing behind her.

I reach out my hand for her. “For all this night has in store for us.”