Wanted: Billionaire's Wife

Danica replayed the conversations she had with Felicity. No, she didn’t mention marriage. She and Luke agreed he would broach the until-death-do-us-part subject when he felt it was right.

She had to warn him. If he let something slip to Felicity and it got back to Jackson...

“I have to go.” Danica shut down her laptop. “Thanks for the warning. Talk to you soon.”

“Sorry again,” Aisha started to say, but Danica hit End before she’d finished and dialed Luke’s number. No answer. Great. She ordered a car while keeping Luke’s number on redial. If he didn’t pick up his phone, she had only one option: get to him in person as quickly as possible.

* * *

The Aylward-Hopkins mansion hummed with laughter and conversation as the cream of the Bay Area elite enjoyed the Peninsula Society’s annual Monte Carlo Night. Croupiers spun roulette wheels, the wheel clack-clacking until the ball dropped with a soft metallic thud, while dice rattled against green felt at the craps tables. Although the games of chance were played with faux money, the charity expected its silent auction to bring in over five hundred thousand dollars to help fund its grants for the next year.

Luke stood in the expansive entry of the mansion, a space big enough that it easily accommodated one of the bars set up for thirsty guests. From his position, he could keep an eye on the front door and new arrivals but also survey the gaming tables occupying the long sweep of travertine floors just beyond the entry. French windows lined the opposite wall, their doors open to the mild night air and the sprawling gardens beyond.

Normally, he’d rather waste hours trying to code on an ancient Apple II Plus computer than put on a monkey suit and pretend to be interested in a retired captain of industry’s golf game. He sat on the charity’s board, which should be enough demonstration of his support. But he knew from observing his parents that strategic networking at social events was almost as crucial to success in business as a good product. His presence here tonight was a simple equation of trade-offs and benefits.

A member of the catering staff in a low-cut black dress offered him a glass of champagne. He took it off the silver tray and she smiled at him, giving him a slow wink as she brushed by a bit too close for social propriety.

At any other time, Luke might have been interested. But he was here to meet...what was her name? Right. Felicity.

Too bad it wasn’t Danica.

He did a quick calculation of the probabilities, as he did every time her green eyes crossed his mind. Which meant he ran this particular set of calculations on an hourly, if not even more frequent, basis. But his initial assessment always came out on top. Danica didn’t have the right variables he required.

Yes, she was smart. And he liked her assertiveness. Plus, she made him laugh. Her humor shone through in her texts and emails.

Nonetheless, statistical outcomes for maximum marriage success as measured by length of time married as plotted against divorce rates demonstrated he should stick to his original requirements for education, social status and career achievement.

But...

That kiss. She’d fit against him just the way he liked, her curves connecting with his body in all the right spots. Pure responsiveness, hot and genuine, the heat flaring spontaneously. And that moan, low and breathy, when she’d pressed against him... He’d had to walk multiple blocks in the chilly night air before he was comfortable enough to drive home.

If he wasn’t careful, the memory would require leaving the party for a similar stroll. He took out his phone to distract himself just as a pretty redhead, more auburn than strawberry blonde, came through the front door. She looked around and when her gaze met his, she gave him a small wave. He nodded at her over his champagne and put the phone, still off, back in his pocket.

He had to give Danica credit. The first candidate had more than met his criteria, and so far, Felicity also seemed like a good match. She wore a navy blue gown appropriate for the occasion, elegantly simple. Her smile was bright and easily given, her handshake firm as they greeted each other. She had no trouble meeting his gaze, her eyes a greenish brown.

Danica’s eyes were green. A warm green with flecks of gold. When her temper rose, they transformed to dark emerald. He liked she hadn’t hid her reactions during their dinner. She’d expressed them, fully. And when they’d kissed—