The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

  “Welcome home, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you, Paolo.”

  Lucas bit back a grin.

  Paolo, normally the most unflappable of souls, was having a difficult time trying not to stare but then, the sight of his employer with a woman in his arms was not an everyday occurrence.

  It was not an occurrence that had taken place here at all.

  Lucas had never brought a woman to the finca. It was his by birthright but it was also Felix’s home, and he always exercised discretion where his grandfather was concerned…

  Dios. Another problem, one he had not considered. Paolo would not be the only one of the household staff to be shocked at the sight of Alyssa. All of them would undoubtedly leap to the same conclusion, that he had finally decided to bring a mistress home with him.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  This was Spain. Princes still did not have to explain themselves to anyone but that rule didn’t apply to young women, not in the world in which old bloodlines and older conventions still ruled.

  “Paolo,” he said gently.

  The chauffeur blinked. “Sorry, sir. I, ah, I, ah—”

  He swung open the rear door of the Rolls-Royce and Lucas slipped into the seat, Alyssa still in his arms. She struggled a little; his arms tightened around her and he put his lips to her temple.

  “Sit still, amada,” he whispered.

  “Your driver will think—”

  “Worry about what I will think, if you keep shifting against me that way.”

  The soft taunt had the effect he’d anticipated. Alyssa blushed and went very still just as Paolo got behind the wheel.

  “This is Señorita McDonough,” Lucas said.

  “Señorita,” Paolo said, smiling at her in his mirror.

  “She will be visiting with us for a while.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lucas frowned. He’d have to come up with something better than that but for now…

  For now, his thoughts returned to what mattered most. Felix.

  “Has there been any change in my grandfather, Paolo?”

  “None I have heard of, sir.”

  No. There wouldn’t have been. Lucas had phoned endless times, spoken with doctors and nurses, with something called a patient liaison, and each had told him the same thing.

  No change. Felix was still in a coma.

  “Do you wish to go to the hospital, sir?”

  “Take us to the house first. I’ll get the señorita settled in and then I’ll go to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need settling in,” Alyssa hissed. “And I wish you’d let go of me! What will the chauffeur think?”

  Lucas looked at the firebrand in his arms. Her face was flushed, her hair had long ago come loose of its demure knot and whatever lipstick she’d had on was worn away by the endless hours since they’d left Texas…

  Kissed away by his mouth on hers.

  “You cannot just—just march around carrying me as if I were—as if I were—”

  Bending his head, he kissed her, felt her initial struggle fade and become acquiescence, felt her lips soften, felt the sweetness of her sigh.

  When he looked up, he caught Paolo openly gaping at them in the mirror.

  “Paolo,” he said gently, “I forgot to mention…”

  “Sir?”

  “Señorita McDonough has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  They were the first words Alyssa had spoken since Lucas’s impossible announcement.

  He’d carried her from the car, up a set of steps and through the massive doors of what could only be called a mansion, past a butler, a housekeeper, a maid, past half a dozen people who stared at her, at him, then beamed when he made the same announcement to each.

  This is Señorita McDonough. Mi novia.

  His fiancée. His fiancée, when in reality she was a woman who wanted to claw his eyes out.

  But she’d kept quiet, knowing anything she said would be pointless, that the arrogant Spanish prince would shut her up by kissing her.

  Once they were alone, she’d tell him what an idiot he was.

  And they were alone now.

  He’d carried her up an elegant, curving staircase, down a wide hall, shouldered open a door, kicked it shut behind him and, at last, dropped her on her feet. Then he’d folded his arms and looked at her in a way that said he knew what was coming next.

  “All right, amada,” he’d growled, “let’s have it.”

  And she’d given it to him. A look of rage, of disbelief, and then the question that was really a statement.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  He had to be. Why else say they were engaged? Why further complicate something that was quickly becoming impossible?

  He scowled. Glared. Ran his hands through his dark hair until it stood up in little ruffles. He paced across the room, swung around, faced her and said, “I had no choice.”

  “You had no choice?”

  “That’s correct. I had no—”

  “You told everyone—everyone!—that I’m your fiancée because you had no choice?”

  “Chica. If you would calm down—”

  “We both agreed that contract, that inane stipulation, is a joke. It’s why I said I’d come here with you, because we agreed. Because you said you’d find a way to make your grandfather see it was wrong.”

  “Unenforceable.”

  “Unenforceable, wrong, what’s the difference?” Alyssa slapped her hands on her hips. “I knew I shouldn’t have believed you!”

  His face darkened. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “You just told your staff that we’re engaged. What would you like me to call you? Creative? Inventive?” Alyssa blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I did a lot of thinking today. Tonight. Whatever you call it when you fly through umpteen time zones.”

  “Three time zones,” Lucas said coolly. “I know it’s difficult but try to be accurate.”

  “Four, counting this one, and that’s not the point!” She strode toward him, eyes hot. “And now, here you are, telling your staff, telling the entire world that I am something I most definitely am not.”

  Lucas folded his arms. “Are you finished?”

  “No, I am not finished. If you think, if you for one second think I would ever agree to the terms of that—that stipulation—”

  “Amazing, how you make that into a dirty word.”

  “I wouldn’t marry you if—if—”

  “If I were the last man on earth. A cliché, amada, but why worry about such things when you’re in the middle of a tirade?”

  He was right. She was ranting and what was the point? Hadn’t she spent hours coming up with a plan? Well, with parameters for his plan, the one that involved making his grandfather see the light?

  Alyssa took a deep breath.

  “The point is—”

  “The point,” Lucas said grimly, stalking toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, hoisting her unceremoniously to her toes, “the point, my charming novia, is that you have nothing to worry about. I would not marry you, either, not if you were the last female in the universe!”

  “Then why—”

  “Because,” he growled, lowering his head so their eyes met, “because I am a fool who suddenly realized that bringing you here could ruin your reputation.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her reputation? This man had insulted her, threatened her, bullied her, accused her of lying about being a virgin, and now he was worried about her reputation?

  He had to be joking.

  “I admit, I should have thought of it sooner.”

  “Thought about my reputation,” Alyssa said slowly.

  “Yes. This is a small place. A world unto itself.”

  “What small place? What world?”

  “This one,” he said with impatience. “Andalusia. Those who live here. Those who breed these horses.”

  “I
don’t live here. And, as you surely know, I don’t breed horses, Andalusians or otherwise.” Her mouth thinned. “Not anymore.”

  “But you did.”

  “Once, a very long time ago, my mother bred them.”

  “And so will you, once I find a way to break the contract and return the land to you.”

  Her heart lifted. That was what he’d said he wanted to do, to his grandfather during their phone call and then to her. Did he actually mean it?

  “Trust me, amada. It is a small world we live in. You don’t want people talking about you. I have no right to permit people to assume I need you here for—for the wrong reasons.”

  “You mean,” she said coolly, “a man like you needs women for only one reason.”

  “Yes. No! Damn it, Lyssa—”

  “You called me that before. It isn’t my name.”

  “What in hell does what I call you have to do with what we’re discussing?”

  Alyssa blinked. What were they discussing, exactly? She wasn’t sure anymore. Lucas was standing too close. His hands on her shoulders were too warm. His eyes were too dark.

  “I like the name Lyssa,” he said, his voice softening. “It suits you. Does it bother you that I call you by it?”

  Bother her? Why would it? The way he said it, Lyssa, as if he were whispering it to her. As if it belonged only to them. As if they were alone together, their mouths fused, their bodies on fire…

  Oh God!

  “No,” she said coolly, “no, it doesn’t bother me at all. Anyway, you’re right. It has nothing to do with what we were talking about.”

  “Reputations.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, the point is…” Lucas cleared his throat. “The point is, the sight of you disconcerted my people.”

  “You mean,” she said sweetly, “they’re not accustomed to seeing you carry home the spoils of war?”

  “They’re not accustomed to seeing me bring a woman into this house,” he said, refusing to be sidetracked. “I’ve never done it before.”

  Why did that make her want to smile? “You haven’t?”

  “That’s what I just said, amada. No, I have not. And I suddenly realized my people would—well, they would see you and come to the wrong conclusion.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want them to think I brought you here for sex.”

  “So, I was right. You’re concerned about your own rep—”

  “Damn it,” Lucas growled, “that’s not it! You’ve been through enough. Why should anyone pin a label on you because of me?”

  Alyssa blinked. Maybe there was a heart buried under all that macho muscle.

  “That’s—that’s very kind, but—”

  “Let everyone think you’re my novia. It will protect you from gossip.” His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Trust me, amada. Gossip travels, even from one side of the Atlantic to the other.”

  “Well—well, as I said, that’s kind of you. But—”

  “At the end of all this, I’ll simply say we decided our engagement was a mistake.”

  She nodded. “Of course,” she said, and wondered why what he’d said should make her feel a little sad.

  Lucas nodded, too. “I’ll tell Dolores to come up and see you. Let her know what you need.”

  “Everything,” Alyssa said, with a little laugh. “Clothes. A toothbrush. A comb. A shower—”

  “I can take care of that.”

  His voice was suddenly low and husky. She looked up and caught her breath at what she saw in his eyes.

  “The clothes, I mean,” he said softly. “I’ll take you with me tomorrow. You can buy whatever you wish.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “Of course you could.” He smiled; one hand cupped her chin and he traced her lips with his thumb. “I carried you off, amada. I owe you much more than a shopping trip.”

  “Lucas—”

  “You see? My name is not so difficult to say after all.”

  “Lucas.” God, her head was swimming. She’d been furious at him just a little while ago. Now, all she could think of was how dark his eyes were. How the brush of his thumb felt on the curve of her lip. “Lucas. On the plane…I was thinking—”

  Slowly he drew her to him. “Si. So was I.”

  “About—about our situation.”

  “I, too, amada.” He smiled. “I was thinking how very glad I am that the contract stipulation did not involve a woman like the one my cousin Enrique found himself betrothed to.”

  “We’re not betrothed,” Alyssa said, and wondered at how breathless she sounded.

  “No. Certainly not. But Enrique was.” His smile became a grin. “His novia outweighed him.”

  Alyssa laughed softly. “You’re making that up.”

  “Cross my heart,” Lucas said, trying to look serious. “And she had only one eyebrow.” He put his finger to his temple and drew a line straight across his forehead. “One thick, black eyebrow. Can you imagine?” Slowly, inexorably, he drew her into his embrace. “Only a very fortunate man finds himself in a marriage contract with a woman as beautiful as you, chica.”

  “It isn’t a real contract,” Alyssa said quickly.

  “Of course not. But if it were—”

  “It isn’t,” she said again and this time it was she who rose on her toes, who offered her mouth for Lucas’s kiss.

  He kissed her gently at first. Tenderly. Gathered her in his arms as if she were fragile as glass…but it wasn’t enough.

  Not for him.

  Not for her.

  “Lucas,” she whispered, and he groaned and enveloped her in his arms, his kiss deepening, heating, and she responded to it, pressed herself against him, touched the tip of her tongue to his.

  His hands slid down her spine.

  He cupped her bottom. Lifted her into him. Into his erection. And when she gasped, he said something against her mouth and suddenly he was holding her as if she were a woman, not a delicate bit of crystal.

  His hands swept under her skirt, up her legs, and she moaned and thrust her hands into his hair, lifting herself to him, telling him with every beat of her heart, every whisper of her breath, that she wanted him.

  “Amada,” he said thickly, and he slid a hand between her thighs, cupping her, feeling her heat, hearing her sharp little cry of pleasure, feeling her dampness against his palm. Then she was in his arms again and he was carrying her quickly through the gathering shadows of late afternoon, through another door, to a bed, a four-poster bed hung with ivory lace…

  Someone pounded on the sitting room door.

  Lucas lifted his head. Lyssa was still in his arms, her eyes blurred with desire, her lips rosy and swollen from his.

  The fist hit the door again.

  “Sir! Your Highness! The hospital called. Your grandfather…He’s conscious.”

  It took a moment to register. He had forgotten everything but the woman in his arms. The sorceress who had the power to dazzle him even though he still didn’t know if she was a good witch or an evil one.

  He lay her on the bed. Then he bent over her and kissed her again, hard enough to make her gasp, hard enough to nip her flesh…

  Hard enough to leave his brand on her body as well as her soul.

  Alyssa rolled onto her belly as he hurried from the room. She wrapped her arms around the pillow, her breathing quick, her pulse roaring in her ears. Her mouth still tasted of Lucas’s; his scent was on her skin.

  Another minute and she’d have given herself to him.

  She moaned softly, shut her eyes and buried her face in the pillow.

  She’d been wrong to let him bring her here but that could be remedied. She would leave him. Leave this place…

  Except, she had no money. No passport. She had nothing but her anger and it stayed with her, made her leave the bed, shower, put on the same clothes she’d been wearing for what seemed forever, speak curtly to Dolores when the housekeeper knocked an hour later to see if she was all right.

  “I�
�m fine,” she snapped, and Dolores stammered out an apology for interrupting and left.

  Alyssa felt as if she were coming apart. What she’d almost done, what she’d almost let Lucas do, proved it. Surely she’d never have melted into him if she were functioning normally.

  She had not slept in hours. In days, or so it felt. She was beyond exhaustion; she knew that, but she couldn’t seem to stop pacing while she planned what she would say to Lucas when he returned.

  She remembered the night Aloysius had died. How she’d stood beside his still form and felt nothing. How, hours later, the tears had finally come, tears for what might have been.

  This was different. She knew that.

  And, as late afternoon became evening, she began wondering what Lucas was facing in a hospital room at the side of an old man he so obviously loved.

  Night fell over the Reyes mansion. Stars blazed in new constellations of fierce fire against the pitch-black sky. The adrenaline that had kept her going suddenly drained away, leaving her spent and weary.

  She stripped off her clothes, leaving them where they fell, wrapped herself in a soft white cotton robe she found in the closet and stumbled to the bed.

  Long hours later, a whisper roused her from the depths of sleep.

  “Lyssa?”

  Alyssa forced her eyes open. Lucas was sitting on the bed beside her, limned by moonlight, weariness and despair etched in every line of his proud, beautiful face.

  He stroked his hand over her hair.

  “Forgive me for being gone so long, chica. But my grandfather—”

  “Is he—?”

  “He’s alive,” he said in a low voice, “but—”

  He shook his head. Without thinking, she reached up and touched his cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Lucas.”

  “Si. Thank you for that.”

  Alyssa looked up at him in silence. Then, slowly, she reached for him. On a soft groan, he gathered her close and stretched out beside her.

  “Go to sleep, amada,” he whispered, and she sighed, put her head on the shoulder of the arrogant, hard-hearted Spanish prince and took him with her deep, deep into sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN THE deepest hours of darkness, a night-creature called from the jasmine-scented gardens below the bedroom window. Its cry was soft, but it was enough to draw Lucas from his sleep.