BILLIONAIRE Island: Idyllic Mischief Read Online Free PDF Page A

need to officially separate from Bradley, who was still using any ruse to beg her to come back to him and refusing to agree to divorce.
    Indie had to get to the show halls before the British Airways ticket office on Regent Street opened and was still out entertaining long after it had closed. It wasn't until the last day after the clients had returned home satiated from a week of parties, she found time to run around Knightsbridge, picking up the clothes and leather goods Sasha required for her dressage or equipage or whatever horsey activity was keeping her busy. It wasn't until check out that she zoomed up to the airline store and grabbed the ticket. And only in the taxicab on the way to Heathrow that she actually checked it to make sure the date was good for that day. Sasha could be easily distracted at times.
    “What??? Holy crap.” The cabbie's eyes darted to the rear view mirror, alert for signs of 'aggro' as the Brits called it. He looked as though he could quell any aggravation in a flash- his neck was wider than Indie's waistline. “Sorry, hi,” she stuttered. “My friend, she sent me tickets to come visit and two weeks has stretched to three months. Have you ever been to Mauritius?”
    “Nah, bit swank for me, Mree-Shus, 'tho I reckon the Mississ 'ould like it. Tenerife's our island, same resort every year. All-inclusive, drinks an' all.”
    Indie spent the twenty-hour flight riddled with nerves about immigration at the airport when they touched down. Would they allow entry to a lone woman without sufficient income to support her lifestyle on a high-priced luxury island designed for high-flying luxuriant couples in love? As the lights came down on the cabin and the geezer beside her began to snore loudly, mouth hanging open, she felt waves of sadness rush around her. What was she thinking going to the honeymooner's island? Being surrounded by happy loved-ups starting out on their together foreverness full of confidence would only point the cruel finger of failure straight at her. And when she wriggled onto her side, trying to get comfortable in the airline seat, the remnants of bone bruises from the bath tub served to remind her.
    She breezed through immigration without a single raised eyebrow, through customs despite being weighed down with a ton of gifts and virtually an entire cellar of Dom Perignon and through the deserted airport out into the paparazzi glare of the sun. A solid wall of Indians pressed at the fence holding them back from the arrivals building- no wonder the airport had been empty inside- and began shouting at her, waving signs. Indie scanned the crowd, through the crushed humanity craning at the fence as though for the last spot on a plane leaving a war zone, looking for her friend who had promised to meet the plane. Nowhere. She couldn't have picked out her own mother in that mess of faces. Now what? She hadn't made a back-up plan of what to do if Sash didn't show and didn't have an address for her. She looked at the crowd hoping for a face with a clue, a sign for a decent hotel.
    “Indie, over here, hey girlfriend.” There she was, head and shoulders taller than anyone else as she arrived at the back of the throng, semaphoring her arms above her head.
    They fell into each others arms, laughing and excited to see each other after way too long. No phones or net could make up for actually being face to face with your bestie.
    “Jesus, it's hot,” Indie said, feeling like an Amish in her fall city clothes beside Sasha who wore a tight black tank top and a tiny short skirt that was barely a swathe of bright printed silk clinging around her tiny hips like a sarong and exposing her dark brown legs as lithe and long as the palm tree trunks all around.
    “What do you expect in the tropics? Why the hell are you wearing boots?” She laughed. “No don't tell me, lets get you in the car out of this damn rabble and get some of those clothes off. Did you bring the champagne?”
    “Would I dare