Forcibly Wedded: The Billionaire’s Convenient Wife

Seto had been sitting at the table for five minutes, nursing a glass of white wine, when he spotted Anzu floating towards him through the dim lights of the VIPs section.

She looked…stunning. Just as he'd envisaged.

The red halter-styled dress displayed her silky shoulders, two strips of ribbon tied behind her neck in a bow, and the ballooning hem which hung just above her knees.

If he pulled that bow, would her dress open for him? Would she be wearing plain cotton panties, or something picked out from a Victoria's Secret catalogue? And there was no way she was wearing a bra under there. His temperature spiked.

"Hello, again. I hope I didn't keep you waiting." She may have said the words indifferently, but the smoky quality of her voice sent his pulse soaring.

Angry at the reaction she'd created, he growled, "You're five minutes too late. When I extend an invitation, I expect my guest to be on time."

She glided into the chair across him with careful grace. "Then, perhaps, you should extend said invitation personally."

He grunted; her feminine scent, mixing with the air, was distracting. She smelled delicious—like spring flowers with a dash of vanilla. He wanted to lean in for a more definitive sniff.

The arrival of the waiter kicked him back to sanity.

"Care for an apéritif?" Seto asked.

She ordered herself a glass of ouzo and took a fortifying sip. "Why did you invite me to dinner?"

A smile flirted with the corners of his lips. "Would you believe me if I said I enjoyed your company a few nights ago and had to repeat the experience?"

"Not one bit." The lip of her glass bumped into her raspberry-stained mouth as she savored the drink, his mouth drying at the sight.

This was wrong. He wasn't supposed to find her attractive; she was the sister of the woman who ruined Mokuba's life. But damn it, he was a healthy, red-blooded male.

He would probably burn in hell for wanting her. But what did that matter? He was already on fire.

"Does your boyfriend know about our date?" he rasped.

A slightly teasing smile widened her lips. "A date, Mr. Kaiba? Should we really call it that?"

Seto frowned. "No." He lifted his glass to his mouth. "And you haven't answered my question."

The little smile grew. "Which was?"

"If your boyfriend knows of our…" He searched for an appropriate word to describe the situation. "Our meeting," he finished sensibly.

She shrugged one shoulder. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Of course," Seto replied derisively.

Raspberry-stained lips parted on a gasp. "Do you think I'm lying?" The fiery spark of anger flared in her blue eyes. "I can't believe you have the gall to accuse me of something like that."

"Can't you?" he queried silkily.

She pursed her mouth. "You're right. I can." She drew her arms over her chest, her gaze an azure menace. "Liam is not my boyfriend, Mr. Kaiba."

"Oh?" Seto asked, clearly not accepting her statement. "Who is he?"

"My step-brother," she explained heavily. "Mama married his father nine years ago. You can call your P.I if you still think I'm lying."

And just like that the atmosphere grew tense.

He stared quietly at the lamp in the corner of the room, moving his gaze slowly to the plasticized Anzu. A pang of regret echoed hollowly in his chest, a rueful smile working its way onto his lips.

"There isn't any need," Seto whispered across the table, catching the sharp jerk of her doubtful eyes. "I believe you."

"Thank you," she muttered, but looked ungratified by his response.

He changed the subject. "What would you like to eat?"

Anzu found herself relishing the perfectly prepared Chinook salmon, small buttered roasted potatoes, and green beans done in a delicious asparagus sauce.

Dessert tasted pretty good, of course—it was a generous slice of dark chocolate sachertorte, a thin layer of apricot jam in the middle and chocolate icing on the top and sides.

She took a spoonful and moaned.

"Is it that good?" an amused voice drawled.

Anzu's cheeks burned with a wicked blaze of heat. "The best I've ever had." The exhilarating effect of rich chocolate and crème prompted her to ask, "Would you like to try some?"

Lord, what was she saying?

She wanted the ground to open and swallow her up, but Anzu smiled sweetly, because she couldn't snatch back her words.

"Why not?"

Seto's voice was as silky as the whipped cream atop her sinful desert. She pushed the plate midway to him.

He shook his head. "No. I want you to feed it to me."

She should have turned tail and run. So why was she guiding a spoonful of dark chocolate to his mouth? Or, a better question—why couldn't she look away when his tongue snaked out to lick those full, sensuous lips?

"That was delicious." He caressed her with his eyes, sending a jolt of unbidden lust and awareness through her.

"I'm glad you liked it." Anzu managed, surprised her voice wasn't breathless and hot. "You still haven't told me why you invited me to dinner," she reminded.

"I haven't?" He was laughing at her. "I thought I did…"

A dark blush suffused her cheeks. "You didn't." As the last morsel of desert vanished from her plate, Anzu decided it was time for some answers.

"Does it involve my sister?"

The mischievous lights disappeared from his eyes as she knew they would. "Yes," he spoke tight-lipped. "It does." He lifted the flap of his dinner jacket, pulled out a rectangular envelope and slapped it in front of her.

"What is this?" she asked, picking it up.

Anzu watched the shadows chase across his face, the white lines appearing around his mouth.

Seto's lips curled in distaste. "It's one of the many letters your sister sent to Mokuba." Her blood ran cold as he continued, "One which she boldly states her demands and threats."