Bound To Cobalt (Bound To The Billionaires Book 3) Read online

  Bound To Cobalt

  Bound To The Billionaires

  Coco Miller

  COCO MILLER ROMANCE

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  Copyright © 2020 Coco Miller

  All rights reserved.

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  License Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  Contents

  Books By Coco

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Also By Coco Miller

  Books By Coco

  Big City Billionaires

  Faking For Mr. Pope

  Virgin Escort For Mr. Vaughn

  Pretending for Mr. Parker

  Red Bratva Billionaires

  MAXIM

  SERGEI

  VIKTOR

  The Overwatch Division

  WYATT

  ASA

  CESAR

  Andolini Crime Family

  CARMINE

  GIOVANNI

  UMBERTO

  Bound To The Billionaires

  Bound To Steele

  Bound To Gold

  Bound To Cobalt

  Introduction

  I did something I shouldn’t have done.

  I owe people.

  I was desperate.

  We were sinking—no—drowning.

  And my life is in jeopardy.

  I’m not sure what to do. I’m lost. Living a life that I never thought I’d ever have to live.

  Until I meet him.

  His name is Rowan.

  He’s rich.

  He’s handsome.

  And he is a Prince.

  But what would a Prince want with a stripper?

  Secrets almost tear us apart, and that money I owe finally comes to bite me in the ass.

  Love is just not enough. Not this time.

  Because royalty doesn’t slide down poles.

  Prologue

  Ella

  Six months ago

  The clock against the wall ticks louder with every second that passes without a doctor coming to update me on what is going on with my mother. I haven’t been to school in a week and finals are in three days. There is no way I can make this up, which is okay, I tried to make it through school for my mom since that is what she wanted.

  She needs me more than ever now. Her illness got too severe, and now she is having a heart transplant. I’ve done research on it, and she is going to need someone with her for a while. I’m not the kind of daughter to leave my mom when she needs me most. School will be there when she is better.

  There is this niggling in the back of my head—fear—that her body will reject the heart. It scares the hell out of me. It wakes me up at night in a cold sweat, and I’m unable to go back to sleep. It’s just me and her and it has been for the last ten years. My dad died in a car accident and my mom has tried to support us. She works two jobs to make sure I can go to school and get a degree so I can have a good life.

  Well, she did have two jobs.

  It’s up to me to take care of her now, and I’m more than all right with that. Insurance only covers so much of the transplant costs, and we have thousands of dollars to pay−off.

  “Ms. Washington?” an older doctor with dyed black hair calls for me from the beige double doors in blue scrubs.

  I hold my breath as I get up and step forward. I see the bags under his eyes, wariness around his lips, the scruff on his face, he looks exhausted. He gives me a small smile and puts his hands on his hips, reminding me of a superhero stance. It makes sense. Doctors are superheroes. There’s no way I can be one. I never want to be responsible for someone’s life.

  “Is my mother, okay?” I ask, doing my best to keep my tears at bay.

  “Your mother is doing fine. The surgery went very smoothly. She’s in recovery right now.”

  The breath I’m holding releases on a big exhale and I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you. Can I see her? Please?”

  “Sure. She is going to look pale, and all the machines are going to be scary, but she is alive and doing good. So please don’t be afraid of all the machines and tubes.”

  I nod, my tears spilling down my cheeks from the force. Happy tears, not sad tears. “Okay. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.”

  “Just doing my job, Ms. Washington,” he says while opening the door for me.

  “Your job is amazing.”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s terrible because a lot of outcomes don’t turn out like your mother’s.”

  I hold my hand to my chest when I turn my head to him as we walk down the hall. “Oh my god, of course. I didn’t mean to—”

  He waves my concern away. “No, don’t worry about that. It’s just one of the downsides to this profession, but then we get good outcomes like this one.” He stops at a wooden door with a silver handle, peering into the small window in the door. “You can stay for as long as you like, okay? I’ll tell them to bring a cot.”

  “Thank you so much. I know I keep saying it, but I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”

  “It’s all right.” He pats my shoulder and gives me a tired half−grin before turning on his heel and leaving. His coat floats behind him like a cape, just like a superhero.

  I push the door open and the lights are turned down low, the machine beeps in sync with her heart, and just the sound of that, that beep, it breaks me. I sob. I rush over to the side of the bed and take her hand in mine. Her fingers are cold, but that’s not new, her hands are always a bit icy.

  “Hi, mom,” my voice breaks as I rub my thumb across her knuckles. “Doctor’s’ say you did great. I’m not surprised. It’s going to take more than switching hearts to get you down.”

  I lay my cheek against her hand at the same time one of those happy tears flows down my cheek and lands on her fingertips. “We are going to be okay, mom. I promise. I can take care of you. I can take care of us. You don’t have to worry.”

  I’ll figure it out. I always do.

  Chapter One

  Rowan

  “No, I don’t know how long I’ll be.” I swish the scotch around in my glass as I look out onto the rainy Vegas strip. My brother is talking my ear off about how I need to get back to England and perform my family duties. Being second in line for the throne, I never expected to actually have duties. I love my family, dearly. They are everything to me. They saved me from a life I thought would ruin me, kill me by the age of eighteen.

  For some reason, the royal family of England chose to adopt when they found out they most likely wouldn’t have a chance for any more kids. I don’t know why they settled on some Irish kid who bounced around foster home to foster home but I’m thankful. Being adopted is the reason why I
never thought I’d have a chance at the throne. I’m not blood.

  I scoff into the phone and take a sip of the scotch in my glass. It’s five o’clock somewhere, plus it’s Vegas. I can do what I want. “Do not talk to be about responsibility, aye? Last I checked, you are first in line and you are ignoring your duty. If you want to preach to someone, preach to someone else.” I press the end button on my cell phone and toss it on the couch and down the rest of my drink. I squeeze the glass and snarl, tossing the empty crystal across the room. It shatters into a million pieces, unable to be put back together.

  I’m fucking pissed, plus I need time to wrap my head around the fact that the only father I’ve ever known is dying of lung cancer. All those fancy cigars he loved to smoke with his mates every Saturday and Sunday and sometimes on Wednesday’s has finally caught up to him. He’s on bed rest and they are preparing for Gerald to take the throne next, only he did the exact same thing I did—we fled.

  To be fair, I fled first. My father, my mother, they are everything to me. They have given me a life that kids dream about. I have everything I could ever want. A big house, money, suits, looks, women, but what’s it all for if I don’t have a family at the end of the day? I needed time to wrap my head around the situation and when Easton called and told me to come to America, I immediately thought of Vegas.

  I’ve been here for two weeks and Easton left a week ago. It’s just me here in the city. No one knows where I’m at. I have no security detail, no meetings to go, no one to impress. It’s just me and while it is great, I know it is only temporary until I have to go back to England because if my brother doesn’t get his head out of his arse, it means I have to, and I will, for my father. I’m just not ready for the responsibility. Everything will change.

  I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

  My phone rings again from the couch and when I look at the name on the screen, I roll my eyes and check my silver Rolex for the time. It’s only three in the afternoon. My brother can wait a few hours to talk to me about how it’s up to me now to carry on the tradition. Both Gerald and I have been groomed for this position, but it doesn’t feel as real to me.

  Gerald is the rightful heir to the throne. What right do I have to it? What right do I have to follow in my father’s footsteps? I’ve only been in their lives for thirteen years. Something doesn’t feel right about it.

  Sighing, I walk into the bedroom of the penthouse suite and pull off my silk pajama bottoms and flip the switch on to the bathroom. I need to shower. I reek of bourbon and I think there is still glitter on me from the lap dance I got from a stripper last night. What I love about Vegas is that no one has recognized me and since I’ve grown a bit of a beard, the strippers have no idea that they are grinding their arse against me.

  I have to say, it’s nice being able to walk down the street without cameras in my face and then seeing the picture the next day on a front of a magazine with a fake story about how I’m reeling over a broken heart or how I’m hungover or runaway from a woman I’ve knocked up. Being in the public eye is exhausting and everyone knows I’m adopted, which the country is divided on. My parents didn’t lie when to the people when they took me under. They said they wanted a bigger family and to open their home to a child that needed love.

  But a lot of people feel the same way I do, that I can be apart of the family and have the family name, but I can’t have the throne.

  I reach for the gold handle of the shower and turn it to the left, pushing it to the hottest temperature possible. The mirror is fogged and before I step in, I wipe it with the palm of my hand and look at myself. I hardly recognize the man in the mirror. My beard is coming through thick and red and my eyes aren’t as bright as they used to be. I have circles under my eyes from lack of sleep and worry and guilt. I’m being a coward, shucking my family’s name in the damn mud.

  I’m ashamed.

  Unable to look at myself any longer, I give the mirror my back and step inside the shower. My muscles relax and the tension in my upper body sags forward, and I catch myself on the marble wall with my palm and run my fingers through my wet hair.

  It’s hard to get my head on straight with all these damn thoughts running through my mind. Something is keeping me here. I don’t know what it is. I can’t put my finger on it. I know eventually I will have to go back to England. Even if I don’t want to be a King, I will be, because that’s what is expected of me. At the end of the day, I’ll do what I have to do even if I don’t want to do it. So yeah, I guess I’m putting what’s expected of me on the back burner, but why am I still in Vegas? What is keeping me here?

  Turning around, I shut off the water and step out, grabbing a soft, plush towel and dry off. Wrapping it around my waist, my foot lands on the heated tile floor, and I ignore the mirror again. I need to figure myself out. I’m better than this. I’m Prince of England for fuck’s sake. I’ve been trained for this.

  Standing in front of the walk−in closet, I stare at dozens of tailored Italian suits. All of them look alike, beautiful hand-sewn material and leather loafers to match. I have silk ties in an array of different colors, handmade button−up shirts. It’s all exquisite. I remember being a kid and wearing raggedy shirts with holes in them and now I get to touch material that costs more than what most people make in a month.

  I’m lucky.

  I take the black button−up off the hanger and shrug it on, buttoning it until the last two near the neck and leave them loose. Next is a matching pair of slacks and a leather belt with a silver buckle. I roll the sleeves up to the elbow and then grab my shoes from the corner of the closet and a pair of dress socks. It’s the same routine that I’ve had for years.

  Maybe that’s what I need. Maybe I need a change in routine. Glancing down at my slacks, I push all the hangers across the rod and see the dark pair of Gucci jeans I bought the other day. It’s been a decade since I’ve felt denim.

  Screw it.

  I take off the trousers and slip on the slim fit jeans, tucking my dick to the left before I zip them up. Damn, it feels good to be in something causal. I spray some cologne on my neck and run some product through my hair, then grab my wallet off the dresser. The wallet that holds all the billions of dollars to the Cobalt family name.

  The money that I’ve gambled away and haven’t earned back. I could gamble for the rest of my life and not put a dent in the large sum that’s been past down to generation to generation. It’s irresponsible and it feels so good.

  I don’t have to worry about etiquette here, what people are watching, what I’m wearing, or who I am with. It’s freedom. I don’t have that when I’m home. My life is dedicated every day from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep. There is a schedule. And I’m tired of living my life from hour to hour. I just want to be.

  Acting responsibly is overrated.

  It’s time to remember what it’s like to feel human.

  Chapter Two

  Ella

  “How are you feeling, mom?” I ask her, placing a cup of tea on the nightstand before I head out for my shift at work. I’m dressed in blue nurse scrubs and even have a fake stethoscope around my neck so my mom doesn’t ask any questions. She thinks I’m a CNA, a certified nursing assistant, but what she doesn’t know is underneath the facade, is an outfit that allows us to live the life we live.

  Kind of.

  I pay rent, we have food, and clothes on our backs but the one thing that’s still hanging over my head is the thing I’m never going to be able to pay off. I did something really bad, something I may never be able to come back from, but it just may be worth it even if I have to live in fear.

  “Baby, I’m fine. I’m walking around quicker than I was yesterday. Stop worrying so much. You do this every day,” my mom scolds me. “Thank you for the tea. Now go or you’re going to be late for work.”

  “Okay, mom.” I lean down and give her a kiss on the cheek and hold her hand. Still as cold as ever. “Put a heated blanket on.”

 
; “Girl, you better go. You’re still young enough for me to go outside and get a switch.” She lifts her brow at me in a challenge and the fire makes my heart soar.

  “Yes, ma’am. I love you.”

  “I love you too, now go. Get,” she shoos.

  I lock up the door behind me and step out into the cool night. Las Vegas is so beautiful. People say it gets too hot or the nights are too cold or the desert is too dry and there is too much sand, but I find it peaceful. Sure, the strip is busy and it makes millions and it is how I pay my bills, but there’s nothing like stepping foot out my porch and seeing miles of cactus and desert hills. I can see the lights of the city from my porch and for a second, I debate on going.

  My mother would be so disappointed in me if she ever found out what I actually do for a living. Her new heart would actually stop beating if she found out that instead of going to the nursing home, I instead go to Little Darling’s Strip club to perform on a pole. I don’t take off all my clothes, just to my bra and panties, and some days I wear a thong, but I never show all the goods and I still get great tips.

  The owner wants me to take off more, but I don’t have it in me. For some reason, I still care about what my future husband will think. I want him to be able to see what no other man has been able to see and touch, and hopefully he won’t care that I’ve had to do what I needed to do to make sure my mother stays alive. She has her appointments, medications, physical therapy, and only a month ago she had to have fluid drained from her lungs. They say it’s normal, but it scares the hell out of me.