Redeeming the Billionaire Playboy (Taming The Bad Boy Billionaire 6)

Chapter 1

AFTER I FAINTED, I freaked when I woke up. I remember that much. When the good doctor arrived, and offered me a sedative, I said, hell yes. I guess it worked way too well, and I was really groggy. I remember walking to a Town car and being driven somewhere. The trustworthy doctor told me that I would be safe, and that I could just fall asleep and get a peaceful night’s rest. I told him that would be absolutely delightful. He said he would check on me first thing in the morning.

I woke up in a bed I didn’t recognize, in a robe I didn’t recognize, in a room that looked like it had been directly transplanted from the palace in Versailles.

For a second, all I could do was stare.

Pale creams and golds swirled in delicate patterns across the high walls. The canopy hovering over the bed swished softly in the warm breeze wafting in from the open window. A crystal chandelier, the elegant likes of which I’d only seen in movies, sparkled brightly in the morning sun, casting shimmering prism rainbow glints around the walls.

Wait. Morning sun?

The world tilted precariously as I sat up and let out a little gasp and tossed my wide-eyed gaze outside. What I saw there was even more shocking than waking up in a fairytale.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. How high up do you have to be in London to look out your window and see nothing but a clear blue sky?

I lifted my hand up to my face and released a tiny groan as I remembered, but what I saw when I closed my eyes was just as confusing. Not one but two men stared at me in the hallway. They were exactly the same, like twins, yet somehow completely different. Not one but two men just stared down at me, a heap on the floor. One was furious, but the one holding me seemed pleasantly surprised, his eyes twinkling as he gazed down upon me with a warm smile.

“I remember you. But what are you doing here?”

A pair of voices snapped me out of my trance, stirring my tired brain and reminding me that such a massive house had to be occupied by more people than me alone. I sat up gingerly on the bed and looked down for the first time to survey the damage.

My dress was still in place, but I was also wrapped in a soft robe, a man’s robe that smelled vaguely of honey. Without thinking, I pulled it up around my face. I closed my eyes and inhaled as deeply as I could, taking momentary comfort in the sweet scent. When those sharp voices shattered the silence once more, though, I hurried to my feet.

The room tilted again the second I was vertical, and I swayed dangerously to one side and was forced to grab hold of the frame of the four-poster bed to steady myself. I fully expected a wave of nausea to follow, but strangely enough, my stomach felt fine. I was just a little lightheaded, as far as I could tell, but just to be sure, I carefully inhaled. Just five deep breaths, I told myself, and then I’ll head downstairs and do my best to figure out what the hell’s going on.

On breath number three, however, the door flew open, and the doctor sauntered in. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said, not hiding his surprise. “I just came to check on you. How did you sleep?”

“It was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

“Good. You needed it. I stayed the night to make sure you’d be okay. I slept in another guestroom.”

“You didn’t have to go through all that trouble. I’m fine.”

“It’s what they pay me for, dear.”

He was an older man, probably in his late seventies, with a pleasant, soothing demeanor and the faintest hint of a German accent—the kind of man one might look up to as a child, the type to run to for help and sound advice with any and all youthful troubles, knowing he’d easily wash them away with a smile and a glass of lemonade.

“My name is Della,” I said.

“I’m Dr. Levinson,” he introduced, then stepped forward with a gracious nod, taking my wrist at the same time, albeit with hands so passive I almost didn’t notice. “And it seems there is great improvement in your pulse, young lady.”

I glanced down at our joined hands but didn’t pull away as he quietly counted out the rhythm. “I still don’t understand. Where am I? Did... Did Robert call you?”

“Not Robert.” He released my hand and looked over the top of his spectacles, giving me a gentle smile. “James. This is his London estate, miss.”

James? So my mystery man is real...and he has an actual name.

“James,” I whispered under my breath, trying to string it all together. There was only one possible explanation, and it was so obvious that I couldn’t believe it had never occurred to me before, nor had anyone bothered to explain it. “Wait. Are they, um...?”