Read Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife Online
Authors: Julia Kent
Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife
Table of Contents
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife
(Shopping for a Billionaire Book 8)
by Julia Kent
Who needs a SWAT team to escape from their own wedding? Me.
My Momzilla turned us into hostages at our own ceremony, so Declan and I are getting married the good old-fashioned way, just like everybody else.
By calling in his private security team, stealing away before the ceremony by helicopter, connecting to his corporate jet and heading for Las Vegas.
The Boston wedding of the year is about to become a trashy Elvis drive-thru ceremony.
Until the best man spills the beans and Mom, Dad, my sisters, his brothers, my maid of honor, my friend Josh, and even my cat, Chuckles, all come along for the ride.
I can’t win, can I?
Oh. Yeah. I already did.
Love conquers all.
Even my crazy family.
* * *
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife
is the 8th book in the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series. After Declan convinces Shannon to escape from their own wedding minutes before the ceremony begins, the madcap adventures are just getting started. When the mother of the bride pries their location out of the tortured best man, the whole crazy crew follows the bride and groom to Las Vegas in this romantic comedy from Julia Kent.
Copyright
© 2016 by Julia Kent
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
* * *
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Praise for Julia Kent
From Authors
“This one has it all: hilarious laughs, a sexy (almost) billionaire and a hint of tears. The best of the series!”
—Celia Kyle,
New York Times
bestselling romantic comedy author
“Julia Kent’s romantic comedies are so funny you’ll snort soda out your nose, so emotionally honest you’ll get misty eyed, and so charming you’ll be back for more. Loved the whole series!”
—Cheri Allan, author of the
Betting on Romance
series
Reader Reviews
“
You can see that he really loves Shannon to the very core of his soul, and it’s beyond interesting to watch how that love can bring a strong, confident, alpha male like Declan to his knees.”
“
Wonderful laugh out loud story of a family that reminds me of my own. I’m a sucker for good ‘how they met’ stories, and this is is by far the most creative. I wholeheartedly recommend you read the series.”
“Every chapter made my heart beat faster in anticipation. Julia Kent once again pulls at our emotions and allows us to fall in love with the characters all over again.… Very well worth my heart palpitations.”
“
If I could describe this book in a word, it would be, ‘EVERYTHING’.
It has everything you want in a romance.
It has those witty and sometimes downright hysterical situations that you can’t help but laugh at.
It has those hot, sexy moments that make a romance book a, well, hot and sexy romance book.
It has all those quirky, fun characters we’ve all come to enjoy through this series.
But better than all that, it has what I loved best about this book: those sweet, tender expressions of love that are written so beautifully and artistically.”
“As an avid reader I have to say there is nothing better than an author that can combine romance and humor. Julia never disappoints, and is one of the best at creating stories that suck you in and keep you laughing.”
Reader Emails
“I just can’t imagine how you come up with this stuff, but am so glad you do!”
“I finally had to write to you and tell you that you are simply one of the most amazing authors. Your humor is perfect. I really do bust out laughing out loud. My family thinks that I am crazy when I do it but I can count on a good read from you especially when it has been a rough day. There hasn’t been a single thing that you have written that I haven’t fallen in love with the characters. They become real and some of your lines have become a part of our family language. Thank you for sharing your amazing gift.”
“Having another fantastic evening as I just finished your latest book and now the fam can go to sleep since the laughing/screaming out loud has stopped... Stomach muscles are sore. Better than sit-ups! :-)”
Acknowledgements
To my reader group,
Laugh Your Way to Love
, I thank you for your encouragement, your wackiness, and your support. You folks are fabulous, and a joy to interact with on a daily basis.
To my amazing husband, thank you for sending me off to Vegas with threats if I didn’t indulge myself ;) .
To Daisy, who recommended the tapas bar at the resort next to mine, thus inspiring one of the scenes in this book.
To Sean, who helped with accuracy in my baccarat scenes.
To my kids. I always say “after this book I’ll slow down” and you always understand. Guess what, guys? This time, it’s for real. <3
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife
Chapter One
“They look like ants,” I shout to Declan as the helicopter lifts me away from the crazy chaos of my mother’s insane wedding. I do not speak in error. That wedding? That’s not
my
wedding. It’s not
Declan’s
wedding.
It’s
my mom’s
wedding, and the relief mixed with terror that pumps through my bloodstream right now confirms that I’m doing the right thing.
My inertia, combined with my future father-in-law’s huge error in giving her a bottomless wallet to spend on the wedding, turned my mother into a Momzilla.
A tiny speck of a screaming, frothing Momzilla.
Is it my fault the grin that spreads across my face makes me feel like Dr. Evil? No.
It’s
her
fault.
Declan’s arm is around my shoulders. He’s bent forward, our seat belts firmly on but our bodies leaning so we can look out the window. We can’t hear a thing, but my mother is jumping in the air like a trained poodle leaping for a snack.
Except poodles don’t look that murderous.
The crowd moves like one entity, the edges coalescing and flowing forward, toward Mom, as people realize something’s gone wrong.
We’ve
gone wrong. Me and Declan. The bride and groom have escaped from their own wedding.
Oh, God.
Did I make the right choice? Doubt pours over me like hot fudge on salted caramel ice cream. You know. Like it’s a requirement.
The little purse around Declan’s waist, called a sporran, buzzes and jolts like it’s filled with Mexican jumping beans, leaping and slapping against his crotch.
“You answering that?” I ask. Clearly, this is Declan’s phone going nuts with texts and calls.
“No.” He shakes his head and settles back into his seat, closing his eyes and letting out a long, extended sigh that stretches back in time about, oh, a year. Back to his proposal.
I’ve heard that sigh before.
It’s the sound of exorcising my Momzilla.
Bzzzz.
“Your sporran looks like it’s having more sex with you than I’ve had this week,” I note. I have no idea what I was thinking when I imposed a three day pre-wedding abstinence rule on my poor fiancé. When you’re apart as much as we are because of his crazy travel schedule, the times we
are
together involve making up for lost time. Lots of making up.
Like, two or three times a day of making up.
Three days without, when we’re in the same city, is like twenty years. I would imagine having anything vibrate that close to balls so blue I might as well start calling him Papa Smurf would—
Declan’s mouth is on mine before I can continue that thought. The warm press of giddiness tinged with authority makes me melt into him, body twisted to take in his heat. We’re ascending amid chaos and noise, the helicopter pilot trusted with our welfare, his job clear:
Get us away from that jumping poodle on the lawn.
Er, my mother.
Declan’s tongue pulls me to him, his hands cupping my jaw, his strength guiding me closer and closer to him, until our kiss is all raw energy and desperate need. We’ve just thrust a giant middle finger at all the people who helped put the gala of the decade together, and even though my fiancé—he’s still just my fiancé—is doing his damnedest to get me to think more about Papa Smurf than about Momzilla, I can’t.
I break the kiss, breathing hard. Am I panting from panic, desire, or...both?
“We abandoned everyone!” I shout. Panic wins. “Is Amanda okay? She nearly drowned! I’m leaving my bestie in crisis! And my dad—oh, Daddy, I feel so bad.”
“Jason’s down there absorbing the wrath of Marie, I’m sure,” Declan says in a soothing voice. Well, as soothing as you can be when you’re shouting above the
pftt-pftt-pftt
of helicopter blades cutting through the air a few feet above us. “And he’ll understand. Jason’s fine. They all will. And Amanda and Andrew seemed fine, too. It’ll all be fine,” he soothes.
I scowl. There were a few too many “fines” in there. I’m suspicious. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I don’t give a rat’s ass what they think or feel.” He gives me a thumbs-up and a big grin.
My turn for that long, exorcising sigh.
“You, on the other hand,” he shouts, one hand sliding up my calf and going for the garter, “
you,
I would like to feel very much.”
I slap his hand away. He snatches it back like I used a taser on him, his eyes wide and just a little feral. I give him a good, thorough look. God, he’s gorgeous. The cut of his dark jacket, short at the waist to show off the kilt that rests like a woman’s fingers against his mid-thigh, makes me pause. That McCormick tartan picks up a color that matches those eyes, which are currently looking at me with a mixture of
I want to be in you
and—
Actually, and
nothing
. There is nothing
else
those eyes are saying right now.
“Seriously, Dec? We just fled a thousand-person wedding in our honor and all you can think about is getting above the garter?”
His confusion just increases. “Yes,” he answers honestly.
I throw my hands in the air, whacking some sort of strap that stretches behind my shoulder. It begins to flap in the wind as we race toward whatever landing strip we’ll use to disembark. As it
fut-fut-futs
against my veil, I realize the wind isn’t whipping the long, white lace behind me. When we crawled into the helicopter and Declan put on my harness, he tucked my veil in.