Forcibly Wedded: The Billionaire’s Convenient Wife

Seto Kaiba knew trouble when he saw it.

And the lissome beauty sitting three tables down, with her shiny brunette curls, snowy white skin, and a mouth painted in a rich satin red was just that: trouble. With a capital T.

Not because, with that spectacular face, and those wide blue eyes, she was quite possibly the most stunning woman he had seen lately, but because she had stolen from him.

Six months ago he'd received the tragic news of his brother's death, and even more shockingly, the poisonous affair Mokuba had indulged in. A series of images whizzed through his mind starting with his brother's broken and lifeless body in the morgue, and ending with the black and white photo of Mokuba's mistress his PI acquired.

A muscle knotted in his jaw. His anger channeled to the seductress sipping champagne and laughing with another man.

Without lacquer, the sheen of her hair was brilliant and the delicate prettiness of her features made her look like an entirely different woman. More real, perhaps? Less unscrupulous?

Whatever it may be, she was attractive.

Bitter resentment flavored his palate, and he almost cursed its sharp taste. She was not to be admired. She was the problem which came between Mokuba and his fiancée.

Natsuki had never gotten over Mokuba's betrayal. It was a hurt which cut deep into her heart, and as the weeks followed, she grew unlovely in her despair. Seto could no longer look at her. And after a long discussion with her parents, there was a mutual parting of ways.

Tapering his frustration, he approached her table, noting she had not yet perceived his arrival. The blond fellow across from her did. His green eyes lit with surprise, an eyebrow slanted in confusion.

"Pardon the intrusion," Seto said, keeping a coolly polite tone. "May I have a word with you, Ms. Mazaki?"

Her eyes jerked to his, the silver flecks in her gaze dissolving to become a dark, vivid blue. She tilted her body to an angle which emphasized her smooth curves, the cleavage perpetuated by her purple cocktail dress.

His jaw clenched. "I don't think your date with appreciate such open coquetry." He frowned. "A word, Ms. Mazaki. Alone."

She did something he didn't expect: she laughed. The effects of laughter was still on her face, in her eyes, as she addressed her companion.

"Liam, would you mind leaving us for a few minutes?" She shook her head. "You know what? This might take a bit longer. Why don't you return to your hotel. I'll call you later."

The man addressed as Liam did not look pleased at his lady's request. "Are you sure?" His green eyes were intensely trained on Seto.

She laughed again. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He stood with an air of condescension, nudged Seto out of the way, and bent to kiss her cheek. "I'll talk to you later."

Watching Liam go, Seto almost felt pity for the poor dolt. Had he any idea the temptress he was involved with was a pit viper in the guise of a woman?

"Why don't you have a seat, Mr. Kaiba? I don't suppose you want to remain standing, but if it is your preference…"

Seto eased his long frame into the vacant chair across hers. Her perfume designed to lure the opposite sex with its sensual aroma. He ignored it. And its smiling wearer.

"You know who I am? Mokuba must have mentioned me to you in the lulls of your—" He was about to say lovemaking, and almost choked on the word. Calling it that would defile its meaning.

"Mokuba?" she raised a quizzical brow.

A scowl darkened his lips. "Playing dumb, are we?" He kept his tone flat. "How about this to jog your memory?

"I discovered the letters you wrote to Mokuba—your lover of three months and my brother—and your ridiculous attempts at blackmail. Do you remember now? Or shall I continue?"

Her smile was tight. "By all means…"

"Can you tell me what type of woman threatens a man to tell his fiancée about the lascivious affair they conducted? You don't know?" he queried silkily. "It's a filthy tramp."

"And you think I'm this 'filthy tramp'?" She looked vaguely amused. "Mr. Kaiba, I am not who you think I am."

"Oh?" Now he was amused. "Who are you?"

He watched as her eyelashes fluttered down and back up. "Would you believe a completely innocent Londoner?" She smiled. "I was never your brother's mistress. How could I be when I had not stepped on Australian soil in almost two years?"

Seto glowered, considering her. "Are you telling me you're not Ayaka Mazaki?"

She tutted. "Someone didn't do their homework properly." Her smug expression was vexing. "No, I can't claim that I am Ayaka Mazaki."

"Then who are you?" he reiterated, skepticism lacing his voice.

Her smile was sweet, and oddly enough, innocent. "Why, Anzu Mazaki, of course! Ayaka's older sister!"