Free The Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge by Clare Connelly Page B

Unlike Kyle, she’d never grown accustomed to the army of people who reported to him. The degree to which she’d been feted as the wife of this billionaire tycoon was unprecedented and intimidating.
    Kyle ushered her through the door. Annie had barely a moment to register the swift rush of ice wind before he’d bundled her directly into a waiting car. It was too fast for her to even note which of his fleet he was using, but whatever it was, there was warmth and luxury in the back of the stately vehicle.
    “Champagne?” He asked, his eyes drawn to hers.
    Her smile was cool. “Are we celebrating?”
    “Always,” he murmured, reaching into the console beside him for a bottle of Dom Perignon. She knew from experience that it was no ordinary bottle, too. The neck was crusted with what looked like tiny diamonds and the label had a special shimmer to it. It was the same bottle that had been served at their wedding.
    “It seemed appropriate.” His words were clipped. “This is, after all, our reunion.”
    “Yes,” she agreed, though her face showed little pleasure.
    He half-filled a flute and passed it to her, then replaced the bottle. “You’re not joining me?”
    “No,” he shook his head and reclined in the seat.
    “That’s a waste then,” she said, nodding towards the opened bottle.
    “Not if you enjoy it.”
    She pursed her lips together and ran an index finger around the rim of the glass. The condensation glistened on the tip of her nail. She lifted it to her mouth and tasted it without thinking; only when her eyes flicked to his did she see that he was staring at her with barely concealed desire.
    Her stomach turned over in an answering awareness but she looked away, focussing on the white-capped buildings on the side of the main road.
    “The snow’s thick,” she said to break the proverbial ice, and then sipped her champagne nervously when he didn’t immediately respond. Kyle watched her betraying gestures with a growing sense of confusion.
    His wife had fire and spirit. She spoke to him in a way that he rarely encountered now that almost everyone in his life was afraid of him. And yet at the flick of a switch she could morph into a timid, subdued, watchful creature.
    But God, she was beautiful. He loved her without all the makeup and the hair that looked like she’d just come from a photoshoot at Vogue headquarters. How many nights had he stared at her while she slept, her lips parted, her face bare, her expression peaceful, and thought her to be the loveliest creature on earth?
    He watched as she took another sip of the champagne. Did she have any idea how sexy she was? The way her perfect, cupids bow lips shaped around the glass and shone with a coating of bubbles as she sipped. He felt himself grow hard and had to reposition himself in the seat.
    The thought of a night amongst other people now felt like anathema to him. They could instead have been sequestered in the suite of the hotel, pretending they weren’t impatiently waiting to rip one another’s clothes off.
    “Where are we going?” She asked, as though she had read his thoughts.
    “An opening at the Galleria Hague,” he said referring to one of the most prestigious and established art institutes in town. Annie could just picture the scene when they arrived. More champagne. Beautiful music and far more beautiful guests. Art that made little sense but cost a lot of money. People tripping over themselves to get close to her husband, whether to flatter him, enjoy his charismatic company or try to get him to invest in their latest project.
    Annie had been on this merry-go-round before.
    “Sounds great,” she lied, finishing her champagne and leaning back a little in the seat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
    “The opening is for an old friend of mine,” he explained further, watching as a tight smile flashed on her face.
    Annie just bet it was. Undoubtedly a stunning, sensual, sexually-available friend.
    “Awesome,” she