The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

  The icy little smile slipped from his lips and she repressed a shudder. The prince would be a formidable enemy.

  “I don’t want money. I want a letter. A document that makes it clear you’re giving up all rights to the child in my womb.”

  He laughed. Laughed, damn him!

  “Thee mou, lady. Don’t you know when to quit?”

  “Sign it, date it and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

  His laughter stopped with the speed of a faucet turning off. “Enough,” he said through his teeth. “Get out of my home before I do something we’ll both regret.”

  “Just a letter,” she said. “A few lines—”

  He said something in what she assumed was Greek. She didn’t understand the words but she didn’t have to as he gripped her by the shoulders, spun her around, put a hand in the small of her back and shoved her forward.

  “And if you’re foolish enough to tell your ridiculous story to anyone—”

  The thing to do was hire a lawyer. Except, he’d hire a dozen for every one she could afford. He had power. Money. Status. Still, there had to be a way. There had to be!

  “And if you really are knocked up, if some man was stupid enough to let your face blind him to the scheming bitch you really are—”

  Ivy spun around, swung her fist and caught him in the jaw. He was big and strong and hard as nails but she caught him off guard. He blinked and staggered back. It took him all of a second to recover but it was enough to send a warm rush of pleasure through her blood.

  “You—you pompous ass,” she hissed. She marched forward, index finger aimed at his chest, and jabbed it right into the center of his starched white shirt, her fear gone, everything forgotten but his impossible arrogance. “This isn’t about you and who you are and how much money you have. It isn’t about you at all! I don’t want anything from you, Prince Damian. I never—”

  She gasped as he caught her by the elbows and lifted her to her toes.

  “You don’t want anything from me, huh?” Damian’s lips drew back from his teeth as he bent his head toward hers. “That’s why you came here? Because you don’t want anything from me?”

  “I came because I thought I owed it to you but I was wrong. I don’t. And I warn you, letter or no letter, if you should change your mind a month from now, a decade from now, and try and claim my baby—”

  “Damn you,” he roared, “there is no baby!”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “The truth at last!”

  “Truth?” Ivy laughed in his face. “You wouldn’t know it if it bit you in the tail!”

  “I know that I never took you to bed.”

  “Let go!”

  “How come you didn’t factor that into your little scheme?” Damian yanked her wrist, dragged it behind her back. She flinched but she’d sooner have eaten nails than let him know he was hurting her. “You made several mistakes, Miss Madison. One, I don’t drink to excess. Two, I never forget a woman I’ve been with.” His gaze swept over her with slow deliberation before returning to her face. “Believe me, lady, if I’d had you, I’d remember.”

  “I’m done talking about that.”

  “But I’m not.” He drew her closer, until they were a breath apart. “Why should I be? You said we were intimate. I said we weren’t. Why not settle the question?”

  “It isn’t worth settling. And I never said we’d been intimate.”

  His lips drew back from his teeth. “Ah, Ivy, Ivy, you disappoint me. Backing down already?” His smile vanished; his eyes turned cold. “Come on, glyka mou. Here’s your chance. Convince me we slept together. Remind me of what it was like.”

  “Stop it. Stop it! I’m warning you, let me—”

  She gasped as Damian slipped one hand lightly around her throat.

  “A woman can only taunt a man for so long before he retaliates. Surely someone with your skills should have learned that by now.”

  “You’re wrong! You know the truth, that we never—”

  Damian kissed her.

  Her mouth was cool and soft, and she made a little sound of terrified protest.

  That was how she made it sound, anyway.

  It was all part of the act. Part of a performance. Part of who she was and why she was here and…

  And she tasted sweet, sweeter than the first time he’d kissed her, maybe because he knew the shape of her mouth now. The fullness of it.

  The sexy silkiness.

  She cried out again, jammed her hand against his chest and Damian told himself it was time to let go of her.

  He’d accomplished what he wanted, met her challenge, showed her that she had no power over him…

  His arousal was swift. He put one hand at the base of her spine and pressed hard enough so she had no choice but to tilt her hips against his and feel it.

  God, he was on fire.

  Another little sound whispered from her mouth to his and then, same as before, he felt the change in her. Her mouth softened. Warmed. The stiffness went out of her body and she leaned toward him.

  He reminded himself that nothing she did was real. It was all part of her overall plan.

  And it didn’t matter.

  He knew only that he wanted this. The taste of her. The feel of her. He was entitled to that. Hell, he’d been accused of something he had not done.

  Why not do it now?

  Lift Ivy into his arms. Carry her up the stairs to his bedroom. Take everything she wanted him to believe he’d taken before, again and again and again…

  “Please,” she whispered, “please—”

  Her voice was soft. Dazed. It made him want her even more.

  Deliberately he slid his hand inside her jacket and cupped the delicate weight of one breast.

  “Please, what?” he growled. “Touch you? Take you?”

  His fingers swept over her breast, blood thundering in his ears when he felt the thrust of her nipple through the silk that covered it. She moaned against his mouth.

  A wave of lust rolled through him, shocking him with its intensity.

  She moaned again and he gathered her closer. Slid his hands under the waistband of her black jeans. Felt the coolness of her buttocks, the silk of her flesh.

  Primal desire flooded his senses. He wanted her, no matter what she was. And she wanted him. Wanted him. Wanted him…

  Panagia mou! Damian flung her from him and stepped back. Tears were streaming down her face. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have honestly thought she was weeping.

  “I can’t believe Kay loved you, that she wanted to give you a child!”

  “Your story’s getting old. And confused. You’re the one who’s pregnant. Who I took to bed, remember?”

  “That’s not true! Why do you keep saying it? You know we didn’t go to bed!”

  “Right,” he said, his voice cold with contempt and sarcasm. “I keep forgetting that. We didn’t. We did it standing up. Or sitting in a chair. Or on a sofa—”

  “There was no chair. No sofa. You know that. There was just—just your sperm. A syringe. And—and me.”

  “Yeah. Sure. You, my sperm, a syringe…” Damian jerked back. “What?”

  “You damned well know what! And you didn’t even have the—the decency to let Kay be artificially inseminated by a physician. Oh, no. You wanted to protect your precious privacy! So you—you used a—a condom to—to—” Her voice turned bitter. “I knew what you were when you didn’t ask to meet me in advance. When you didn’t care enough to come with Kay the day she—the day I—the day it took place.”

  Damian wanted to say something but he couldn’t. He felt as if his head were in a vise.

  Her story was fantastic. Far more interesting than the usual He made me pregnant tale.

  And the media loved fantasy.

  They’d fall on this like hyenas on a wounded antelope. By the time a different scandal knocked the story off the front pages, the damage would have been done. To his name, to Aristedes Shipping, the company h
e’d spent his adult life rebuilding.

  “Nothing to say, Your Highness?” Ivy put her hands on her hips and eyed him with derision. “Or have you finally figured out that denial will only take you so far?”

  Tossing this woman out on her backside was no longer a viable option. She was too clever for such easy dismissal.

  “You’re right about that,” he said calmly. “Denial only goes so far and then it’s time to take appropriate action.” He closed the distance between them, relishing the way she stumbled back. “You will take a pregnancy test. Then, if you’re really pregnant, a paternity test.”

  Ivy stared at him. She couldn’t think of a reason he’d want her to take such tests…Unless he was telling the truth. Unless he really hadn’t known about the baby.

  And if he hadn’t…What would happen once he did?

  “I don’t want to take any tests,” she said quickly. “You said you didn’t want the baby. That’s fine. You only have to give me a document—”

  “No, glyka mou. It is you who will provide me with a document that legally establishes that you and I and a syringe never met, except inside your scheming little brain.”

  “But—”

  Damian took her arm, marched her to the elevator and pushed her inside it. Seconds later, the doors slid shut in her face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT TROUBLED her all the way back to her apartment.

  If Kay’s lover had known about the baby, if he’d orchestrated it as Kay claimed, why would the details of the baby’s conception have shaken him?

  And he had been shaken.

  He’d recovered fast but not fast enough to hide his initial shock.

  And why would he want these tests? Unless, Ivy thought as she unlocked the door to her apartment, unless he’d just been getting rid of her…

  But the light on her telephone was blinking. A man identifying himself as the prince’s attorney had left a message on her voice mail.

  She was to be at one of the city’s most prestigious hospitals at eight the next morning.

  Someone would meet her in the reception area.

  Ivy sank into a chair. The day had finally caught up to her. She was worn-out and close to tears, wondering why she’d ever thought that seeking out Damian Aristedes was the right thing to do…

  But she’d done it.

  Now, she could only put one foot ahead of the other and see where this path led.

  A tall, dark-haired man, his back to her, was standing in the main lobby of the hospital when she arrived there the next day.

  Her heart leaped. Was it Damian?

  The man turned. He was balding and he wore glasses. It wasn’t the prince. Of course not. Why would she want him here? And why would he be here when he hadn’t shown up with Kay for the procedure he’d demanded?

  The procedure that had taken a drastic turn at the last minute.

  The memory struck hard. Ivy wrapped her arms around herself. She should never have agreed to it.

  Or to this.

  This was another mistake.

  But it was too late to run. The tall man had seen her. He came toward her, her name a question on his lips. From the look on his face, he was as uncomfortable with this whole thing as she was.

  He introduced himself. He was, he said, holding out his hand, the prince’s attorney, here to offer whatever assistance she might require.

  “You mean,” Ivy said, deliberately ignoring his outstretched hand, “you’re here to make sure I don’t try to phony-up the test results.”

  He had the good grace not to try to contradict her as he escorted her to a small office where a briskly efficient technician took over.

  “Come with me, please, Miss Madison. The gentleman can wait outside.”

  “Oh, he’s not a gentleman,” Ivy said politely. “He’s a lawyer.”

  Even the attorney laughed.

  Then Ivy blanked her mind to everything but what had to be done.

  The results, they said, would take up to two weeks.

  She said that was fine, though two centuries would have been more to her liking.

  They told her to take it easy for a couple of days and she did, even though it gave her more time to think than she wanted.

  Day three, she organized the drawers and closets of her apartment. They didn’t need it: she’d always been neat, something you learned quickly when you spent part of your growing-up years in foster care, but straightening things was a good way to kill time.

  Day four, her agent called with a job. The cover of La Belle magazine. It was a plum but Ivy turned it down. She was tired all the time, her back ached and besides, she’d never much liked modeling. But she needed the money. She’d given most of what she’d saved to Kay.

  Kay, who had come to her in tears.

  She lived, she’d said, with Damian Aristedes. Ivy had heard of him before. You couldn’t read People or Vanity Fair without seeing his name. The magazines said he was incredibly good-looking and incredibly wealthy. Kay said yes, he was both, but he was tight with a dollar and he’d refused to pay the money she still owed on her condo even though he demanded she not work.

  He wanted her available to him at all times.

  Ivy had given her the money. It was an enormous amount, but how could she have said no? She owed Kay so much…Money could never begin to repay that debt.

  A few weeks later, Kay came to her again and confided the rest of her story. How she’d miscarried. How Damian now demanded proof she could give him an heir before he’d marry her.

  Ivy thought the man sounded like a brute but Kay adored him. She’d wept, talked about how much she wanted his baby, how much she wished she could give him such a gift.

  She’d reminded Ivy of the years they’d shared as teenagers, of memories Ivy was still doing her best to forget.

  “Do you remember how desperate you were then?” Kay had said through her tears. “That’s how desperate I am now! Please, please, you have to help me.”

  In the end, Ivy had agreed to something she’d convinced herself was good even if it might prove emotionally difficult, but she’d never expected it to go as far as it had. To turn into something she’d regretted almost immediately, something she wept over night after night—

  Something she might well end up fighting in court, and how would she pay those legal fees?

  Ivy picked up the phone, called her agent and told him she’d do the La Belle cover after all.

  It was excellent money and it was a head shot; nobody would see that she was pregnant.

  Still, head shot or not, the photographer insisted she be styled right down to her toes. She spent the day in heavy makeup and endless outfits matched by spectacular sky-high Manolos on her feet.

  When she finally reached her Chelsea brownstone, it was after five. She was exhausted and headachy, her face felt like a mask under all the expensive makeup she hadn’t taken time to remove and her feet…

  Her feet were two blobs of pain.

  She was still wearing the last pair of Manolos from the final set of photos. Actually she was swollen into them.

  “Poor darling,” the stylist cooed. “Keep them as a gift.”

  So she’d limped into a taxi, limped out of it. Now, if she could just get up the three flights of steps to her apartment…

  Three flights of steps. They never even made her breathe hard. Now, they loomed ahead like Mount McKinley.

  Ivy took a deep breath and started climbing.

  She was shaking with fatigue when she finally reached her landing, and wincing at the pain in her feet. She waited a minute, then took out her key and fumbled it into the lock.

  Soon. Oh, yes, soon. Off with the shoes. Into the shower, then into a loose T-shirt and an even looser pair of fleece sweatpants. After that, she’d put together a peanut butter and honey sandwich on the kind of soft, yummy white bread that the health gurus hated…

  Ivy shut the door behind her, automatically slid home the chain lock, turned around…

>   And screamed.

  A man—dark hair, broad shoulders, long legs, leather jacket and pale blue jeans—was seated in a chair in her living room.

  “Easy,” he said, rising quickly to his feet, but it was too late. The floor had already rushed up to meet her.

  “Thee mou,” a voice said gruffly.

  Strong arms closed around her.

  After that, there was only darkness.

  Damian had never moved faster in his life.

  A damned good thing he had, he thought grimly, though the woman he held in his arms was as limp as the proverbial dishrag.

  A man might joke about wanting a woman to fall at his feet, but this was surely not the way it should happen.

  Especially if the woman was pregnant.

  He cursed ripely in his native tongue and shoved that thought aside. He had come here to deal with that fact and he would. Right now, what mattered was that Ivy had passed out cold.

  She felt warm and soft in his arms, but her face was frighteningly pale. Her breathing seemed shallow. What was he supposed to do now? Call 9-1-1? Wait until she stirred? Did he search her apartment for spirits of ammonia?

  Ivy solved the problem by raising her lashes. She looked at him and he saw confusion in her deep green eyes.

  “Damian?”

  It was the first time she’d called him that.

  “Damian, what—what happened?”

  “You fainted, glyka mou. My fault. I apologize.”

  She closed her eyes, then opened them again. This time, the confusion was gone.

  Anger had taken its place.

  “I remember now. I unlocked the door and—”

  “You saw me.”

  “How did you get in here? I never leave the door unlocked!”

  “The super let me in.” His mouth twisted. “A story about being your long-lost brother and a hundred-dollar bill melted his heart.”

  “You had no right—”

  “Unfortunately you don’t have a back entrance and a flight of service steps,” he said dryly.

  “It’s hardly the same thing.”

  “It’s exactly the same thing.”

  Ivy stiffened in his arms. “Please put me down.”

  “Would you prefer the bedroom or the sofa?”