The Irredeemable Billionaire

By Lexxie Couper

The rules have never applied to film director Sebastian Hart. He’s always done what he wants, when he wants. But after one too many wild nights, Sebastian finds himself performing community service in the unlikely role of big brother to a ten-year-old boy in need of a father figure. It seems like fate is playing with him when the boy’s mother turns out to be the girl he grew up next door to, the one person he’s never been able to win over with his smile or charm.

After the death of her husband, Grace Wilder has her hands full working as a paramedic and being both mother and father to their son. The last thing she needs is for the bane of her teenage existence to show up, or for her son to contract a case of hero worship. Even worse is the fact that the boy who once made her life miserable has turned into a man who has the power to destroy her with his devastating smile and sexy eyes.

Each book in the The Muse series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order.

The Stubborn Billionaire
The Mistaken Billionaire
The Irredeemable Billionaire

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Nov 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640633957

Lexxie Couper

Lexxie Couper started writing when she was six and hasn't stopped since. She's not a deviant, but she does have a deviant's imagination and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get erotic romances that can make you laugh, cry, shake with fear or tremble with desire. Sometimes all at once. When she's not submerged in the worlds she creates, Lexxie's life revolves around her family: a husband who thinks she's insane, an indoor cat who likes to stalk shadows, and her daughters, who both utterly captured her heart and changed her life forever. Contact Lexxie at [e-mail], follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/lexxie_couper or visit her at www.lexxiecouper.com where she occasionally makes a fool of herself on her blog.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About the Author

Discover more category romance titles from Entangled Indulgence…

69 Million Things I Hate About You

His Convenient Husband

Catching the Player

The Billionaire’s Holiday Engagement

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Lexxie Couper. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 105, PMB 159

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Indulgence is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Heidi Shoham

Cover design by Fiona Jayde

Cover art from iStock

ISBN 978-1-64063-395-7

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition November 2017

For Tamara Yunker. Sometimes the little things mean more than the big things ever could.

Chapter One

Where the hell is my uniform?

Grace Wilder dragged her hands through her hair. It was here somewhere.

Damn it, she was going to be late.

Where the hell—

Okay. Calm. She needed to calm. Stop. Breathe.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to be still. One breath. Two breaths. Three.

Now, where was her uniform?

The pile of overdue ironing sat on the chair in her bedroom. Hid the chair. An accusation of multicolored fabrics and broken promises. Her uniform did not magically make itself visible.

Stupid bloody breathing. This was bad. She had an in-service meeting with the rest of her team in less than forty minutes. It would take her more than an hour to get there—even longer if she couldn’t get her fickle car to start and hit all the red traffic lights—and she was currently having a breakdown in her bedroom wearing nothing but her least frayed bra and a pair of ridiculously skimpy black undies she must have bought once upon a time, but who the hell knew when. Plus, she had to drop Cody off at Shelli’s before she got to work.

Overdue ironing. Overdue laundry. Overwrought mind. Grace Wilder, this is your life.

Cody?

Silence greeted her desperate shout.

Of course, Cody was next door washing Justin’s Great Dane. It’ll help pay the bills, he’d said.

Grace scrunched up her face. What ten-year-old was meant to worry about paying bills? Ten-year-olds were meant to be worried about what Pokémon cards they didn’t have yet, or if they were going to be running onto the field at the beginning of the match. Although in Cody’s case, it was more like if he would get to see the new Marvel movie or would Mum be working…again.

She let out a sigh. She was doing a bang-up job of failing at being a good mum lately, with all the double shifts and missed school events and…and…

She let out another sigh. Okay, getting worked up wasn’t going to find her uniform, and Cody was not likely to have done anything with it. She hoped.

So I go to work in my underwear, she grumbled, searching through the pile of ironing. My little effort to making paramedics sexier.

A wry snort tore at the back of her throat. God, imagine how her fellow paramedics would react? Not to mention those patients they were called out to. How would a suspected heart-attack victim deal with their paramedic arriving in just a bra and undies?

Well, it is summer, after all. She strode for her wardrobe and threw the doors open for what felt like the twentieth time. At least I’d be—

Her uniform. Hanging on its hanger. In the wardrobe.

Heat prickled her cheeks. "How the bloody hell did I miss… Argh!"

She yanked out the navy-blue pants and shirt and slid a glare at the photo of the smiling man pinned to the back of the wardrobe door. This is all your fault.

Gary smiled back at her.

He had always been the one to keep things on track in their lives, the organized one. What with her usually on night shifts, and Gary home most of the time when not on call at the station house, the ironing and laundry and groceries were always done.

He’d found ironing relaxing. A stark contrast, he’d said, to fighting fires. He’d set up the ironing board, press play on one of a number of footy games recorded over the week, and got to it, zoning out as he kept their small family in uncrumpled clothes.

Now…now, she was doing all the ironing and laundry, or rather not doing them. And when was the last time she’d watched a game of football? Two years ago? Maybe?

She looked at the photo, a lump in her throat. Still haven’t forgiven you for getting killed. Her whisper scraped against the room’s silence. Even after all these—

The doorbell rang.

Shit.

Tugging her uniform’s shirt over her head, she hurried for the door. One of these days Cody would remember his key.

The doorbell rang again. Coming, coming. Hell, her buttons weren’t lined up. We’re running late, so you need to get shoes on and brush your hair straight…

The word away died in her throat.

A man stood on her doorstep. Tall, lean, broad-shouldered, staggeringly good looking, with shaggy dark blond hair, golden stubble on his jaw and blacker-than-black Wayfarers covering his eyes.

A man. Sebastian Hart.

Her stomach dropped.

Grace? Confusion filled his voice. The voice of her most frustrating, irritating, annoying dreams. Grace Ford?

Grace gripped the doorknob. Was fate playing a joke on her?

A gust of hot wind from outside blasted through the open door, flaying at her legs. Her bare legs. Bare.

Yep, it seemed fate was. Crap.

Lifting her chin, she smiled at Hart. Screw him. So she answered the door in her underpants. He’d seen her in less.

Yeah. When you were three.

Sebastian. Damn it, even the feel of his name in her mouth unsettled her, just as it had all those years ago. It’s been a long time. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Hollywood?

Mistake Number One: letting him know you’ve followed his career.

Sliding his sunglasses up onto the top of his head, he ran a slow gaze over her, as if still trying to process what he was seeing.

Grace Ford?

Did he have to sound so stunned? And did his eyes still have to be so damn blue?

The braces are gone. Can’t call me Tinsel Teeth anymore.

Mistake Number Two: letting him know his name-calling got to you.

He shook his head, dragging a hand over his mouth as he took her all in.

Do you want me to turn around? Do a little pirouette?

His eyebrows shot up, and he met her direct stare. He dropped his hand and shook his head again. Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting a blast from my past when I rang the doorbell. Wow. You look good.

And I didn’t before? She shoved her hands onto her hips. Of course I didn’t. You told me that often.

Okay, okay, I know I was a wanker back then.

She narrowed her eyes. That was a wholly startling confession from the bane of her childhood existence.

He offered her a lopsided grin. Peace?

She did look good now. Her teeth were straight, she’d started wearing contacts in her midtwenties, and working double shifts had affected her time to eat. Sometimes, after collapsing into bed in the early hours of the morning, she’d remember she hadn’t had a chance to eat dinner. Or lunch. Hello less curves.

Damned if she was going to fidget under his gaze. Sure. Peace. But I’m running late, so whatever this unexpected reunion is about, can we rain check it?

For, perhaps, never?

Shit. I’m sorry. His expression grew apologetic. Apologetic? When had Sebastian Hart ever been apologetic? I’m actually… Y’know, I think I’m at the wrong house. He bent backward, flicking a look over the outside wall next to the door. A frown knotted his eyebrows. Hmm, right number. Fresh confusion filled his face, and he removed his sunglasses from the top of his head and dragged a hand through the artful mess of his hair.

It wasn’t right, a guy having such incredible hair. It wasn’t fair. Especially an arrogant prat of a guy who used to tease her about her hair.

Releasing a long sigh, she fought the urge to drag her fingers through the crazy mop of uncontrollable strawberry-blonde curls.

Frizz, you mean. You haven’t conditioned it in ages, remember.

I really have to go, Hart.

He nodded but didn’t move.

Typical Sebastian Hart, only doing what he wanted to do. Nothing had changed since they lived next door to each other, it seemed. Back when his mother treated him and his brother like overindulged emperors who always got their way, and her parents were busy struggling to cope with her dad’s MS.

Another sigh escaped her. She was tired, and late, and she didn’t have time for him. She tapped her foot. Sebastian?

Do you know a Cody Wilder?

A cold prickle crept over her. She frowned. Why?

For a split second, he looked sheepish. In all her years of knowing him, he’d never looked such a way before. Sebastian Hart had two emotional states—smugly happy and arrogantly self-absorbed. Sheepish didn’t fit his psyche, the one fostered by his doting mother, and further groomed by his phenomenal talent and success.

I’m meant to be meeting a Cody Wilder here. He let out a chuckle, one that said it couldn’t be him that had made the mistake. It had to be the world who’d stuffed up. Do you know him?

Oh boy.

Gripping the doorknob again, she swallowed. I can’t help you. I’m late for work, and I have to go. Unlike you, I need to follow a clock.

The sound of the back door slamming shut shot through her. She jumped.

Of course, this would be when Cody decides to come home.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Way back in the house but heading this way.

Bye, Hart. She closed the door. In his face. Just as the glimpse of someone lurking on her footpath with a camera in his hand caught her eye.

Who was that? Paparazzi? Reality show photographer? What was Hart’s game?

Didn’t matter. She had to get to work, and she had to drop Cody off at Shelli’s before she did.

Nice legs, by the way.

She jumped—again—at Sebastian’s muffled laugh from the other side of the door, and then ground her teeth. Leopard doesn’t change his freaking—

Mum! Cody barreled up to her, his young face etched in panic. Mum.

What’s up? A quick inspection confirmed the lack of gushing blood or broken bones…or both. Can you go brush your hair?

Mum, you’re going to be late.

Warmth swept through her. Damn, he was a good kid. Too quirky and introverted for his own good sometimes, but a good kid, despite all the missed movies and school events and—

And you’re not wearing pants.

Laughing, she turned to face him, continuing to her room in a backward jog. "True. But I am wearing my undies. And I’m wearing a smile, isn’t that enough?"

She gave him her best I’m-an-adorable-idiot smile, the one that always made him crack up.

Without fail, there were the giggles. Followed by a curious frown. Probably not.

She rolled. Where’s your sense of fun?

He shrugged.

Reversing her backward jog, she closed the small distance between them and attacked him with tickling fingers. Where is it? Is it here? Here?

He giggled, squirming and trying to tickle her back.

Heart swelling, guilt lashing through her—how many other times had she needed to cut short their fun together because of work—she snatched him into a rough hug. "C’mon, bug. We are late. Go brush your hair while I put my pants and shoes on, okay?"

Disappointment shone in his eyes for a heartbeat, and then he nodded and bolted for the bathroom.

She would make it up to him. On the weekend. There was a superhero movie exhibition on at the Museum of Contemporary Art, a collection of posters and storyboards and whatnot. He’d mentioned it to her more than once after seeing it advertised in the paper last month. She’d take him to that, and if she could swap out her night shift, they could catch the Manly Ferry and have ice cream for afternoon tea. An overdue mother-son outing.

Yeah, that’s what she’d do.

Once back in her bedroom, she finished getting dressed. And then the thought she’d been trying to ignore hit her. Cody?

Cody hurried in, brush in hand, as she was putting on her sensible black shoes.

Heart thumping faster than it should, she tugged on her laces. Do you know who Sebastian Hart is?

The movie director? Sure. Why?

Of course Cody would know who Hart was. The kid was a walking, talking movie-trivia machine.

Throat thick, she straightened and brushed out the creases in her work pants. "Do you know him?"

Cody laughed. Like, in person? No. How could I know him? He’s a famous celebrity.

How indeed. So why the hell was he turning up at their door asking for Cody?

Why?

She shook her head. No reason. I just wondered if you knew who he was.

Liar.

Yep. A smile filled Cody’s face. He’s the most famous Australian director in the world. I like his movies.

Excuse me? He makes horror movies, disturbing dramas, and action films, doesn’t he? When have you watched those kinds of movies, young man?

The smile turned to an impish grin. Shelli likes them. She says Sebastian Hart is a film genius.

Traitor, Shelli.

Rounding the end of the bed, Grace snagged the back of his neck in a playful grip and started hustling him from the room. In that case, I think I will be having words with my best friend. It’s the mum’s job to screw you up at a young age, not the honorary aunt.

Cody laughed, shrugged her off, and ran from her room. Race you to the car.

Warmth flooded through her as she followed him. Yeah, she really did need to see if she could swap her night shift. She owed Cody some serious mum time. But first, she needed to deal with Shelli.

Scooping up her handbag from the kitchen table, she dug out her mobile.

Hey. We need to talk. About what you’re doing with Cody, she typed, adding a smiley face at the end. Shelli was amazing, her best friend since they were eight. It would take a lot to really make her angry with Shelli. Although praising Sebastian Hart’s talent was getting close. Ish.

Her phone burst into life in her hand as she was shoving it back into her bag.

Shelli. Calling her.

She connected the call and pressed her phone to her ear, hurrying for the garage. Wow, woman, that was quick. She put her hand over the receiver and shouted, Cody? Where are you?

Just grabbing something to eat, came the call from the vicinity of the kitchen.

Because of course they had time for him to have a snack. Cody. Car!

I meant to tell you ages ago. Worry filled Shelli’s voice. When we first did it.

Hmmm. She pulled open the door leading to the garage, lips twisting. How long did she let Shelli stew?

Well, she did call Hart a genius, so…ten minutes at the least?

But then you had that shit run-in with that drunk woman who tried to stab her boyfriend in Kings Cross, and I thought it would be better to tell you when you weren’t so angry.

Oh man, that night, that woman… Grace had needed stitches just above her right eyebrow thanks to that woman.

Okay, I’ll forgive you. She smiled. Just tell me there wasn’t too much gore or sex or violence.

Silence.

Shelli? Surely Shelli wouldn’t have let Cody watch something like that? She wasn’t a mum herself, but she was intelligent. And responsible. She’d never let Grace down in all the years she’d been caring for Cody while Grace was at work during nonschool hours.

Errr. Was that guilt in Shelli’s voice? Or confusion? What are you talking about, Grace?

Grace’s pulse thumped. "What are you talking about, Shelli?"

Silence. Again.

Mum? Cody called from the kitchen. There’s a man in our front yard taking photos of our house.

Heat prickled over her.

Shelli? What are you talking about?

Okay, okay, don’t be mad. Yeah, definitely guilt in Shelli’s voice. Four weeks ago, when you were on the double night shift and Cody stayed over, he asked me about what I do at work. About the Big Brothers Big Sisters program.

Why would I be mad?

Why? Why indeed? And while we are asking the whys, why did Sebastian Hart suddenly turn up at your door asking about Cody?

The heat racing over her turned to a clammy chill.

Shelli cleared her throat. Umm…because he asked if I could get him a big brother.

A big… Oh no. No.

He didn’t want you to feel bad or upset, but he sounded so excited about the idea, Shelli went on quickly. So quickly the words almost tripped over one another. He begged me to put him in the program. She paused. Cleared her throat again. I meant to tell you before now, but I…I forgot.

Forgot. Holy hell, why did her chest feel like an elephant had sat on it?

"But then yesterday the organization got a call from Judge Yvonne Myers—she’s a huge supporter of the program, really nice woman—with