The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

Lucas’s body reacted, enraging him even more. To be damned near ridden down, then laughed at by an adult female, and now to have an atavistic reaction to that female…

  He heard the harsh rasp of her indrawn breath. Instantly he cupped her jaw and silenced her scream before it started.

  “Do not,” he said grimly, “do anything you’ll regret.”

  She stared at him through wild eyes. He let it go on for a long moment, relishing every instant before he finally spoke.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me, amada.” He smiled thinly. “I’d hate to think our meeting was not as memorable for you as it was for me.”

  Something flashed in the depths of those amazingly blue eyes. She remembered him, all right.

  Except, this time he was the one laughing, she was the one in danger. And she knew it. What he’d seen in her eyes was fear.

  Good. A woman might well show fear when confronted by a man her horse had almost trampled.

  The big stallion snorted and shifted his formidable weight with surprising delicacy on hooves the size of dessert plates. Lucas moved his grasp to the woman’s arm and dragged her toward him.

  She didn’t make it easy. Her lean, feminine body was surprisingly well-muscled, especially when she dug in her boot heels, but she was no match for him. Not in size or weight or tight-lipped anger. A couple of seconds and he had her trapped between him and the wall.

  “It was an accident.”

  “Ah. You do remember me after all.”

  “You were standing in the middle of the road—”

  “Is standing in the road against the law in Texas?”

  She was trying to control her fear or, at least, trying to mask it. And she was doing a fairly good job. The steadiness in her voice might have fooled him if he hadn’t seen the race of her pulse in the hollow of her throat.

  “Trespassing on private property is.”

  “That road isn’t private property. Besides, whatever happened to southwestern hospitality? I’m visiting. Surely that’s permitted in Texas.”

  “All right. You made your point. Now do yourself a favor and go away before I—”

  “Before you what?” Lucas jerked his head toward the stallion. “Before you get on the back of that beast and try to run me down again?”

  “I did not try to run you down,” she said coldly. “If I had, you wouldn’t be here making an ass of yourself.”

  “Such bravado,” he said softly.

  “What do you want?”

  “Why, what could I possibly want?” He reached out, ran a lazy hand down her throat; she jerked like a skittish mare under his touch. “Just a little chat.”

  That put the balance of power back where it belonged. Fear blossomed in her eyes again.

  “If you think I’m alone here—”

  “Of course you’re not alone.” His voice was deliberately soft, his tone just this side of condescending. “There’s an old man up at the house who could surely help you—if he were thirty years younger. And there’s a boy. Well, there was a boy.”

  Her face paled. “What have you done with Davey?”

  Lucas gave a negligent shrug. “I took care of him.”

  Her pupils widened, the darkness all but swallowing the blue fire of her eyes.

  “Tell me what you’ve done with Davey.”

  “Davey’s welfare is not your problem.”

  Her chin lifted. She was defiant, despite her fear. He had to give her grudging credit for that.

  “I sent him on an errand.”

  “To where?”

  “Damn it,” he growled, “the boy is fine! I’m not interested in discussing him.” He tightened his grasp on her wrist. “I’m talking about you, señorita. You could have killed me.”

  “But I didn’t. That’s what matters. Bebé and I didn’t harm a hair on your head.”

  “Bebé,” he scoffed. “A charming name for a behemoth.”

  “If you hadn’t been standing in the middle of the road—”

  “If you’d been in control of that monster—”

  “Standing in the middle of the road, fooling around with a gadget anyone with half a brain would know couldn’t possibly work out here—”

  “Nothing works out here,” Lucas snapped, “not even human courtesy. I was not, as you so generously put it, ‘fooling around’ with my phone. My car broke down, or didn’t you notice it by the side of the road?”

  “Of course I noticed! I sent Davey back to get you.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Is that what you call that silly excuse for transportation?” she said sweetly. “A car?”

  “Please,” Lucas said coldly, “don’t hold back. There’s no need to watch what you say on my account.”

  “Well, you set yourself up for it, didn’t you? Expecting a mobile phone to work out here, driving a thing like that on back roads…”

  Dios, this was the stupidest quarrel he’d had since he was eight and in a nose-to-nose battle over whether Real Madrid or Futbol Club Barcelona fielded the better soccer team.

  What was wrong with this woman? Arguing with him, angering him when for all she knew, he was a madman come to do her harm. And when in hell, how in hell, had she managed to turn the tables?

  He was the injured party here, not she.

  “Anyway,” she said, “this is all beside the point. I didn’t hurt you. Except…well, maybe your pride. I mean, we both know you ended up in a ditch…”

  Lucas saw her lips twitch. Could a man’s blood pressure rise to the point where he exploded?

  “And,” he said silkily, “you found it amusing.”

  “No,” she said, but there was that twitch again.

  “You know,” he said softly, “a smart woman might consider a simple apology appropriate just about now.”

  That gave her pause. He could almost see her weighing her options. She was alone with a stranger, nobody to turn to for help.

  On the other hand, he had a strong suspicion the word “apology” was not a normal part of her vocabulary.

  A long moment passed. Then she huffed out a breath that lifted the silky, jet-black curls from her forehead.

  “Yes. Okay. I shouldn’t have laughed.”

  “Or tried to run me down.”

  “I told you, I did not try to run you down.” She hesitated. “But I guess it was impolite to find the situation amusing.”

  “The understatement of the century.”

  “It’s just that…it was—it was interesting. You, dressed as if you might actually know one end of a horse from another—”

  “Which,” he said coldly, “is surely an impossibility.”

  “And your lady friend…Was that get-up left over from Halloween or what?”

  If this was her idea of an apology, he could only imagine what she would consider an insult.

  “My lady friend,” he said, lying through his teeth in a last desperate attempt at maintaining the upper hand, “was simply wearing what any attractive woman would wear.”

  “To a masquerade party, maybe.”

  She was right, but he’d be damned if he’d let her know it.

  “To ride a horse in Central Park,” Lucas said, lying again and fervently hoping all the horses who called Manhattan home would forgive him. He took a step back, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, and gave her a long, slow look. “But then, what would you know about being a woman in a place like New York?” He took another long, lazy look at her, from her toes to the top of her head. “You are a woman, aren’t you, amada? Under all that ridiculous clothing?”

  Dios, he thought, hearing himself, picturing himself, what was he doing? The leer, the line—it was all such bull.

  And yet, to his surprise, it had its effect.

  The rider blinked. One blink, that was all, but enough to tell him she’d suddenly remembered she was in a situation she didn’t control.

  “Okay.” Her tone was cool but, yes, there was an underlying tremor. “I’ve apologized. Now you can let go of my wrist, say adi
os and get out of here.”

  “Tomorrow,” Lucas said softly.

  “Tomorrow, what?”

  “I’ll leave tomorrow, when the rental agency sends a replacement for my car.”

  “You are not spending the night on this ranch!”

  “Somehow, I doubt that is your decision to make.”

  The stallion snorted and stamped a powerful hoof.

  “Bebé’s upset,” the woman said.

  “So am I.”

  “He can be dangerous, especially if he thinks I need protection.”

  “I assure you, amada, I can be far more dangerous than the horse.”

  He let the softly spoken words hang in the air, watching with grim satisfaction as they had their desired effect.

  At last, she took a deep breath.

  “Whatever you’re thinking—”

  “I suspect I’m thinking the same thing you are,” Lucas said with a thin smile.

  He could almost see her in frantic debate with herself. Part of her wanted to spit in his eye but another part—the wiser part—was reminding her that this was not a good situation.

  “Look,” she finally said, “I didn’t try to ride you down on purpose. Bebé is fast. And I was bent over his head, talking to him—”

  “What?”

  “He’s high-strung. Listening to me soothes him. Horses respond to a person’s voice.”

  “They respond better to riders who can control them.”

  “What could you possibly know about horses?”

  Lucas grinned. “Perhaps a little something.”

  “Really?” She stood glaring at him, one booted foot tapping the wide-boarded floor, and he knew the wiser part of her had lost the argument. “For instance? What ‘little something’ do you know?”

  “I know that this so-called ranch is on its last legs.”

  Color swept into her face. “Really.”

  “I know that you have no stock, aside from that creature you call Bebé.”

  Her chin jerked up. “So?”

  “So,” Lucas said coldly, “that is the reason I was asked to come here.”

  Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, you were asked to come here? By whom?”

  “By the owner. I was told there was a mare for sale.”

  “A mare?”

  “Si. Breeding stock for me.”

  She was looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. For once, he could hardly blame her.

  “For my stallions,” he amended. “My Andalusians. Pura Raza Espanola.” Lucas’s gaze hardened. “But there is no mare here. No PRE stock at all—not even that ugly thing you call a stallion. Or would you like to pretend I am wrong about that, too?”

  The woman wet her lips with a quick sweep of her tongue. He found himself following the simple action with hungry concentration, though why he would was beyond him.

  She had spirit and fire but she was not the kind of woman who would ever interest him.

  He’d seen females like her all his life. They hung around ranches. Around horse shows. Their passion was horses. They dressed like men, rode like men. As far as Lucas was concerned, they might as well have been men.

  He knew exactly how he liked his women.

  Sweet-smelling, with perfume in their hair, not hay. Smiling and soft-spoken, not glowering and acid-tongued. He liked to see them use feminine wiles, not pseudomasculine bravado.

  He supposed some might think this woman had a pretty face, if you overlooked the smudges and smears. And, yes, her hair was an extraordinary shade of black, the color of a raven’s wing. He suspected it would be heavy as raw silk, if she ever let it out of that unflattering braid and brushed it into smooth, shiny waves.

  He could even admit that the rest of her had promise, too. The high, full breasts. The slender waist and curved hips. The long, long legs that could draw a man deep inside her heat…

  “Who are you?”

  Her voice pulled him back to reality. “What?”

  “I said, what’s your name?”

  The tone of command was back. It made him angry enough to draw himself up to his full six foot two and respond with the icy hauteur of a man who was never questioned.

  “I am Lucas Reyes.”

  To his surprise, her face turned white. She had heard of him, then. He found himself taking some satisfaction in that.

  “No! You can’t be!”

  “I assure you, señorita, I am.”

  “Lucas Reyes? Prince Lucas Reyes? Of the Reyes Ranch in Spain?”

  Was his hot-tempered hoyden going to throw herself at his feet? Women sometimes did, if not literally.

  For some insane reason, the possibility that she would turn out to be such a woman made him even angrier, angry enough to respond with disdain.

  “Not of the Reyes Ranch,” he said, lifting his hand from her wrist. “To all intents and purposes, I am the Reyes Ranch.”

  The woman shook her head. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Really?” he purred, folding his arms.

  “I sent a letter—”

  “You sent a letter?”

  “I mean—I mailed a letter. To Prince Felix Reyes. Your father.”

  “My grandfather. And what did this letter say?”

  “It—it told you not to come.”

  “If there was a letter,” Lucas said sharply, “neither my grandfather nor I ever saw it.” He flashed a cold smile. “So, I am here, as planned. Perhaps we can agree that it is even possible I might—what was your charming phrase? I might know one end of a horse from the other.”

  The woman drew herself up. “Your visit is pointless. You’ll have to leave.”

  “Are you giving me orders, señorita?”

  “Just go, that’s all.”

  His gaze swept over her. “What do you do here? Are you the cook? The maid? Do you muck out the stalls?”

  “I do all those things.”

  His mouth twisted. “And warm McDonough’s bed as well?”

  Her hand was a blur in the rapidly fading light. Lucas caught it before she could slap him and twisted it behind her, forced her to her toes. She looked up at him through eyes gone so dark they were almost black.

  “What’s the matter, amada? Did I strike too close to home?”

  “You can’t talk to me that way! Not in America, you can’t. We don’t give a damn for stupid titles. For princes who’ve never sweated for a day’s wages. For—for men who wouldn’t know how to be men if their lives depended on it.”

  “Watch yourself,” he said quietly.

  He could almost see her struggling between defiance and caution. He knew which she’d choose before she did.

  “Or you’ll do what, almighty prince? Subject me to the bastinado?”

  Maybe it was the flippant tone. The insulting words. The mention of an ancient punishment.

  Or maybe it was her easy dismissal of him as a man, a dismissal made by a woman who knew nothing about being a woman.

  “Why would I do that,” he growled, “when there are much better things to do with a woman?”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Kissed that sullen, angry mouth.

  She fought him. Hands, teeth, the attempted thrust of a knee. She fought hard but Lucas threaded his hands into her hair, tipped back her head and kissed her again, harder this time, parting her lips with his so that she had no choice but to accept the swift thrust of his tongue.

  Her hands came up between them, palms slapping against his shoulders, thumbs scrabbling for his eyes. He shifted his weight, pushed her back against the stable partition and went on kissing her.

  She tasted of heat.

  Of rage.

  Of the untamed land she rode.

  And, impossibly, of wildflowers that would come to life from barren soil after a summer rain.

  She smelled of them, too. Not of horse, as he’d expected, or leather, but of flowers. Sweet. Exciting. And yet, somehow, tender and innocent as well.

  Even struggl
ing against him, she was soft in his arms. Incredibly soft.

  Her mouth, her skin were like silk. The feel of her breasts against his chest. Her belly against his…

  He swept one hand down the long length of her back. Stroked her as he would a mare afraid of a stallion’s possession. Drew her toward him. Against him. Softened the pressure of his mouth on hers.

  And heard the choked cry of her surrender.

  She rose toward him. Her hands slid up his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered, but her mouth, that sweet mouth, was opening to his.

  “Béseme,” Lucas said thickly. “Kiss me, amada. Like that. Yes. Just like—”

  The stable door banged open. The woman stiffened in his arms.

  “Hello? Somebody in here?”

  It was the foreman. Lucas tried to draw the woman deeper into the shadows but she shook her head, made a whimper of distress against his lips.

  “Don’t listen,” Lucas whispered. “Don’t answer.”

  “Hey!” The faint scuff of boots, then the foreman called out again. “Who’s there?”

  Her hands came up, slammed against Lucas’s chest. “Let go,” she whispered.

  “That isn’t what you wanted a minute ago.”

  “It was. Of course it—”

  Lucas kissed her again. Her mouth softened, clung to his for a second before her sharp little teeth sank into his bottom lip.

  He thrust her from him, dug in his pocket for a handkerchief that he pressed to his mouth. He looked at the scarlet drops of blood that stained the fine white linen, then at her.

  “Reckless with men as well as with horses,” he said coldly. “Dangerous behavior for a woman, amada.”

  Her eyes blazed into his. “You were right when you said there was nothing you would want here. Do yourself a favor, Your Highness. Go back to a world you understand.”

  “With pleasure—as soon as I’ve met with your employer.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Whatever I wish to happen will happen,” Lucas said harshly. “The sooner you get that through your head, the better.”

  He thought she was going to answer but maybe she’d finally figured out that arguing with him was pointless because, instead, she dug a key from her pocket and flipped it at him.

  “There’s a station wagon parked in back. It’s old and it’s not all gussied up so you won’t like it very much, but it’ll get you to Dallas.”