He is addicted to his phone and his new role as CEO. I’m addicted to getting some on my own honeymoon.

One of these things is not like the other.

I am pretty sure a serial killer’s lair is the only place in the world where I could stash my new husband so he can’t manage the acquisition of our new company.

And that seems a little drastic.

But only a little...

All I want is one week alone with him. Hours in bed, legs tangled together in ecstasy, room service and long walks on the beach in Hawaii.

Not vying for his kisses around a Bluetooth microphone. The Borg aren’t sexy in real life.

So I’m taking matters into my own hands and hitting “reboot” on our honeymoon.

We’re going to a place so remote that no one can find us.

Not even my mother.

* * *

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Honeymoon is a short novelette of approximately 100 pages. It is meant to be read after Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife and/or Shopping for a CEO’s Fiancée, but if you read it out of order, that’s fine. Shannon and Declan forgive you. ;)

 © 2016 by Julia Kent

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal  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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Chapter 1

Let’s do an inventory of this fine day. My day-after-I-got-married day. What is supposed be Day One of my honeymoon after marrying the billionaire of my dreams.

(Let’s not count the night before).

Woke up to the lovely sight of my husband’s tousled dark hair sliding down my torso so he could feast on me for breakfast.

Had actual breakfast in bed after room service delivered mixed berries, cream, bacon, and maple-soaked carrot-cake french toast, and the best damn coffee on the planet from the coffee shop I now own.

Made love with my delightful husband in the giant jetted bathtub in our suite. Turns out I’m as bendy as a Cirque du Soleil performer when I need to be. Maybe Mom’s insistence that I attend all those yoga classes has a silver lining after all.

Dressed and prepared to hop the corporate jet for Hawaii, kisses interspersed between readying ourselves for the trip. Undressed twice. Dressed twice. Declan insisted I not wear panties for the plane trip.

“But I’m already a member of the Mile High Club,” I’d protested.

“Not as a wife.”

He had a point.

Panties abandoned.

Found his brother, my best friend, a former colleague and an Anterdec chauffeur all married to each other.

Notice something a little different about that last one?

Yeah. Me too.

Day One of my honeymoon had promise, but now? Now it’s a little too real.

We’re on the plane, settling into our seats, and I’m doing my best not to think about my poor best friend and her chaotic mess back at the Anterdec resort where Declan and I just spent nearly a week trying to figure out our entire life.

Which we did, successfully, to my utter surprise. After fleeing our wedding in a helicopter and lying to my Momzilla mother, we managed to get to Las Vegas, ensconced in a resort on the Vegas Strip that Declan had designed himself as an intern in college. By the time my crazy family caught up to us, we’d steeled ourselves for the inevitable fallout.

And got so much more than we expected, in more ways than one. We’re married now. Husband and wife.

That’s really all that matters.

That, and honeymoon sex.

Lots and lots and lots of honeymoon sex. It’s my wifely right to walk funny for the next few days.

And his husbandly duty to make it so.

With every loose end waving in the breeze like a batch of Tibetan flags in a typhoon, we’re escaping again, leaving Dec’s brother and my best friend married to who knows whom, Amanda covered in orange Cheeto dust in places where you just don’t insert snack products, and a fainting goat wandering the resort.

What a colossal mess.

Worst of all? I am being ignored by my husband.

Ignored.

On my own honeymoon.

But that’s okay, because it’s temporary. The man has to do his job at Anterdec while finishing the acquisition of the new chain of coffee shops he just bought for me as a wedding present. I get it. I do.

If this goes on much longer, I’m turning all Fatal Attraction on him.

I will not be ignored.

Declan’s talking a mile a minute into his Bluetooth earpiece. Freshly shaved, his skin is smooth, mouth tight with tension. His green eyes glitter and dart, filled with intense intelligence as he thinks and strategizes, makes snap decisions, and gives his assistant, Grace, a laundry list of action items.

He looks like Christian Grey joined The Borg. Brows down, he’s talking about financing and leverage and acquisitions in a language that starts to sound like Russian after a while. It’s English, but business-speak is so full of jargon it might as well be its own language. I tune out.

The pilot cuts in to tell us we’re about to take off. I fasten my seat belt. Declan’s pacing, turned in profile, and I shoo him over to sit down. He’ll end the call shortly, and we’ll turn to each other for a sweet kiss, then a hotter one, and finally we’ll have legs tangled in the sheets, my fingers spidering through his hair, starting our new life together, with a week alone in each other’s arms at a secluded Hawaiian resort.

Life is finally in order.

Perfect.

Serene.

“No. The terms don’t work. I need to cash out the stocks I’ve had in the reserve....” Declan’s financial talk bores me to tears. He changes when he’s deep in the money weeds, going cold and analytical. I want him hot and untamed, in bed and raw.

Six-hour flight. Jet with a bedroom. I can wait a half hour.

That Mile High Club Wife badge is worth it.

Right?

We sniped the better jet. Declan knows now that his Anterdec corporate privileges are in jeopardy. No one’s said anything specific, but Grace has warned him that, knowing his father and brother, his days of using the company planes, limos, and credit cards for expenses are limited.