The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

  “Not at all, sir. The contract lays out terms agreed upon by your grandfather and Aloysius McDonough. Legal? Absolutely. Unenforceable? Si. I apprised Felix of that fact at the time.”

  Lucas felt a muscle flicker in his jaw.

  “What,” he said carefully, “does that double-talk mean?”

  “It means, Your Highness, that this is well-crafted document.”

  The muscle in Lucas’s jaw flickered again. “Undoubtedly, but as we have already agreed, you wrote it.”

  “Yes. But your grandfather had a hand in drafting some of the more unusual clauses.”

  “Let’s get to the point.” The men looked at Alyssa. Of course, she thought coldly. They had all but forgotten she was there. “You said this thing isn’t illegal but it is. Selling women into slavery has actually been illegal for centuries.” She paused for emphasis. “In my part of the world, anyway.”

  “No one sold you into anything,” Lucas said sharply.

  The attorney nodded. “Certainly not.”

  “Ms. McDonough is right, Madeira. Let’s get to the point. I own El Rancho Grande.”

  “No.”

  “Well, of course, I meant I will own it should I choose to pay the balance of the selling price.”

  “And marry the lovely señorita.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  Lucas and Alyssa spoke with one voice. Madeira folded his hands over his little belly and sighed.

  “That’s exactly what I tried to tell your grandfather.”

  “Well, then? What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that legally, a contract is a contract. It’s the meeting of the minds that’s important.”

  “More double-talk,” Lucas snapped.

  Madeira shook his head. “What I’m saying, Your Highness, is that enforceable or not, contracts of this sort stand as written unless voided by the signatories.” The lawyer peered at Alyssa. “One of those parties is deceased.” He looked at Lucas. “And the other is incapacitated.” His expression turned solemn. “Did I tell you how sorry we were to hear about your grandfather?”

  “You did, yes.” Lucas cleared his throat. “So, what are you telling me, Madeira? That there might be reasons an unenforceable contract can be enforced?” He flashed a chilly smile. “That’s a bit too much bullshit even for a lawyer.”

  “Let me ask you something, Prince Lucas. Your grandfather and I discussed his giving you his power of attorney but there doesn’t appear to be any such paperwork in his file.”

  “What does it matter? I represent the Reyes Corporation, not my grandfather.”

  “Ah, but Prince Felix signed this agreement in his own name, not that of the corporation.” Madeira paused. “Of course, you can simply renege on the contract.”

  “Not pay the balance of the money?”

  Alyssa made a muffled sound. Both men looked at her.

  “Without that money,” she said carefully, “the bank will take the ranch.”

  “Unfortunately,” the lawyer said, “that is not Prince Lucas’s problem.”

  “No,” Lucas said coldly, “it is not.”

  Alyssa rose to her feet. “Despite everything, I know there’s a decent human being somewhere inside you.”

  The lawyer blanched. “Señorita McDonough!”

  “I know that because I know you love your grandfather. Surely there must be a way—”

  “For you to get my money and my title? Sorry, amada. There isn’t. Nice try, though.”

  Alyssa looked at him for a long minute. Her eyes glittered; was it with anger or frustration or maybe even despair?

  Without another word, she stalked from the office.

  Lucas watched her go. Then he cursed, shot from his chair and went after her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LUCAS ran down the steps, out the door and into the courtyard.

  There was no sign of Alyssa, which was impossible. How could a woman vanish in the blink of an eye?

  “Sir?”

  She’d had, what, a second’s lead? Not even that. He’d been right on her heels.

  “Prince Lucas! Your Highness!”

  His driver hissed the words but they carried easily on the warm, still air. A woman walking an obese poodle stopped and stared as Paolo, gesticulating wildly, hurried up to Lucas.

  “I called out to Ms. McDonough, sir, but she went right past me.”

  “Are you Prince Lucas?” the woman with the fat poodle said. “Oh, you are! Can I have your autograph?”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere! On my hand. No, my shirt. No, on Frou Frou’s collar—”

  “Where did she go?” Lucas demanded, turning his back to the woman and the poodle.

  “That way, sir. She went toward the corner.”

  “Oh my,” the woman said. “This is so exciting!”

  Lucas shot the woman and dog a look that silenced her and started the little dog yapping. Wonderful, he thought coldly. Soon, all of Marbella would know a woman had run from the Prince of Andalusia.

  Well, let Alyssa run. He’d be damned if he’d make a fool of himself by chasing after her. No way would he—no way would he—

  “Mierda,” he snarled, and set off running.

  He saw her as soon as he turned the corner.

  At this hour on a weekend morning, the streets were already busy. Tourists were window-shopping; people were searching for just the right table at just the right café al aire libre.

  Still, Alyssa stood out in the crowd.

  Everyone was strolling but she was moving fast. Added to that, she was the only woman on this expensive stretch of real estate wearing a leather jacket, black trousers and boots. Shorts, navel-skimming T-shirts, bright summer dresses and sandals were the order of the day.

  She really did need new clothes, Lucas thought, and grimaced at the irrelevancy of the idea. She was running away from him. What did he care about her clothes?

  He slowed to a brisk walk. He’d drawn enough curious glances. Better to move at a slightly faster pace than she. He’d catch up to her in a minute or two.

  A workable plan, except Alyssa picked that moment to look back. Their eyes met; she spun away and began to run.

  “Damn it,” Lucas growled.

  He shouted her name. It didn’t stop her but it drew the attention of other people. Dios, he was the new spectator sport of Marbella.

  “Alyssa!” he yelled again.

  Then he cursed and took off after her.

  His stride was much longer than hers; it gave him a distinct advantage. Within seconds, he was only a couple of feet behind her. By the time they reached an intersection, he was only an arm’s length away.

  And then, everything blurred.

  Alyssa stepped off the curb.

  A horn blared. A red truck was barreling down the road toward her. Lucas shouted her name and leaped off the curb.

  He hit her, hard. They fell, rolled and the truck shot by them, horn still blaring, so close he could smell the rubber of its skidding tires and feel the dust from the cobblestones blow into his face.

  For an instant, the world stood still. Lucas could hear nothing but its hush and the drumbeat of his heart.

  “Alyssa,” he whispered, and she turned in his arms and sobbed his name.

  He shut his eyes. Gathered her to him. “Amada,” he said thickly. “Madre de Dios, amada!”

  The truck had stopped. The driver ran back and squatted beside them. “Are you okay?”

  Lucas nodded. He cupped Alyssa’s head, brought her face to the crook of his neck.

  “The lady just stepped out in front of me. I couldn’t—”

  “Si. I know. It was not your fault.”

  “You want an ambulance? A doctor?”

  “No,” Alyssa whispered, her tears hot on Lucas’s throat. “Please. No ambulance. No doctor.”

  Lucas nodded again. It seemed all he was capable of doing. “We’re fine,” he said.

  Then he rose to his feet with Alyssa
in his arms. A crowd had gathered; he ignored it. The only thing that mattered was his Lyssa. She was safe and he had her back. What could be more important?

  The Rolls-Royce came to a stop beside them. Paolo, white-faced, peered out the window.

  “Sir. I—I followed you with the car. I don’t know if that was what you wanted but—”

  “Paolo,” Lucas said softly, “you just doubled your pay.”

  Gently he put Alyssa into the wide back seat, then climbed in after her.

  “Take us home, Paolo.”

  When he reached for Alyssa, she went straight into his arms.

  He carried her into the house, just as he had only a day ago.

  Then, she’d been rigid in his embrace. Now, her arms were looped around his neck. Her face was buried against his chest, and Lucas thought of how wonderful it would be to hold her like this forever.

  Dolores threw up her hands and let fly a stream of saints’ names when she saw them. Lucas could hardly blame her. His trousers were torn; so were Alyssa’s. He could see the long, bloody scrape on her knee. Her jacket was ripped as was her blouse, and a bruise was already forming on her forehead.

  “Señor! Oh, what has happened? The poor lady—”

  “Phone for the doctor, please, Dolores.”

  “No! Lucas, I don’t need—”

  Lucas stopped the whispered protest with a kiss. “For my sake, amada, si? I need to hear the médico say that you are all right.”

  While Dolores hurried to make the call, Lucas carried Alyssa up the stairs, to his rooms, and placed her carefully in the center of an enormous canopied bed. He kissed her again before disappearing inside the master bathroom and emerged a moment later carrying a small basin of warm water, a soft cloth and a linen hand towel.

  “Can you sit up, amada?”

  “Lucas. I can do this for myself.”

  “Of course you can. I know that. You are a strong, brave woman. You can do anything you set your mind to.” Gently he lifted her against the pillows. Then he dampened the cloth and cleaned the smudges and dirt from her face with a gentleness belied by his big, powerful hands. “But I want to do this, si?” His tone, still gentle, assumed an edge of authority. “And you will let me. Now, close your eyes. Good. There is a tiny cut right here…”

  Alyssa gave herself up to the touch of her Spanish prince. How predictable he was! First he seemed to ask her permission. Then he made it clear he would do exactly as he wanted no matter what she said.

  His fingers skimmed over her face as delicately as the whisper of butterfly wings.

  How arrogant her prince was.

  How wonderful.

  She had thought him ruled by ego but she was wrong. In a world of “me-firsters,” Lucas believed in putting the needs of others before his own. His grandfather’s, now hers.

  Her prince was an amazing man. Complex. Generous. Exciting. If only they’d met some other way. If she could go back, undo the damned contract and meet her prince as a woman, not an obligation…

  Alyssa caught her breath. Lucas’s hand stilled.

  “Am I hurting you, amada?”

  She shook her head to tell him he wasn’t. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  When had he become her prince? Because that was who he was, in her heart, and wasn’t that a joke? They’d met because his grandfather and her father had come up with an arrangement that would have made the devil laugh; he’d brought her here because he was as desperate to find a way out of it as she was…

  Except, she wasn’t. Not anymore.

  Lucas’s dark head was bent over her a scrape on her hand, baring his nape. Was it only last night she’d buried her fingers in the silky hair that grew there? Kissed his throat? Sighed his name and, God, welcomed him deep, deep inside her…

  “Lucas.”

  His name whispered from her lips. He looked up, his eyes going dark.

  “Lyssa,” he said softly, wrapping a hand around the back of her head, bringing her mouth to his, her breath to his…

  “Your Highness? The doctor is here.”

  Lucas brushed his lips over Alyssa’s. Then he rose to his feet, introduced her to the doctor, frowned when the doctor suggested he leave the room…and left only after Alyssa touched his hand and said she’d be fine.

  The doctor poked, delicately prodded, heard the entire story—well, not the entire story but enough of it to tell her she was a very fortunate young woman. Then he prescribed a salve for her cuts and tablets to take should the rapidly-rising lump on her forehead or the cut on her knee cause undue discomfort.

  “Other than that, Your Highness,” he said, when Lucas rejoined them, “the señorita needs only a relaxing bath and a long siesta.”

  Once he was gone, Lucas shut the door, then sat down on the bed next to her.

  “Does your knee hurt, amada?”

  “It’s only a little cut.”

  “Your head?”

  “Honestly, Lucas—”

  “Honestly, amada,” he said gruffly, “you could have been killed! Is that only a little thing, too? Were you so desperate to get away from me that you would risk your life to do it?”

  “No! I wasn’t—” She took a long breath. “It wasn’t you. It was everything. So much has happened and—and I didn’t want to think about any of it anymore.”

  Lucas took her face in his hands. “And what happened last night?” he said softly. “Did you want to stop thinking about that, too?”

  How simple it would be to say yes. To tell him last night had been a terrible mistake. She’d as much as said that this morning. All she had to do now was look into his eyes and say—and say—

  “No!” The word burst from her throat on a shaky breath. “I’ll always think about last night, Lucas. All of it. Your kisses. Your caresses. Your—”

  He stopped her words with a kiss. “Last night was wonderful, amada. And then I ruined it.”

  “Not you. Me. I said things—”

  He gathered her into his arms and kissed her again and again, until she was clinging to him.

  “I accused you of things you would never do. And, Dios, such a gift you gave me. Your innocence…”

  “You gave me a gift, too.” Her cheeks colored. “I never knew—I never imagined—”

  Another kiss. Then Lucas leaned his forehead against hers.

  “The médico suggested a warm bath.”

  “Mmm.” Lazily she stroked her hand along his jaw.

  “I will run it for you.”

  There it was again, that mixture of tenderness and command. Alyssa smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “But I am not comfortable with the idea of you bathing alone, chica.” He took her hand from his face, turned the palm up and pressed a kiss to the tender flesh. “You are hurt.”

  “Really, I’m fine. You heard what the doctor said.”

  “The doctor did not see that truck coming at you. He did not hear the sound of its horn.” Lucas drew her into his arms. “Dolores or one of the maids could stay with you.”

  “Honestly, Lucas—”

  “There’s that word again.”

  “Lucas. I don’t want Dolores or one of the maids in the bathroom with me.”

  “Did you know more accidents happen in bathrooms than any other place in a house?”

  She had to smile. “That’s desperate.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I don’t care what statistics you quote me. I am not taking a bath with an audience.”

  “I knew you would say that, chica.” He held her at arm’s length. “So here is what I will do. I will take a bath with you. At great personal sacrifice, of course.” The low flame in his eyes made the words a lie. “How does that sound?” he added in a husky whisper.

  There was only one possible answer to the question, and she gave it to him on a long, deep kiss.

  He undressed her as the tub filled, cursed ripely when he saw the cut on her knee and the other scrapes and bruises on her flesh.
/>   “I’m fine,” she said lightly.

  He shook his head.

  “Dios, when I think of what might have happened—”

  Alyssa touched his face. “But it didn’t, thanks to you.”

  Lucas looked up. All at once, a fist seemed to close around his heart. He felt something, an emotion, a joy. He had no name for it. No word for it unless—unless—

  “The bath,” he said, shooting to his feet. “Let me check.”

  Alone in the bathroom, he clutched the rim of the marble sink and peered into the mirror, half-afraid he’d see the face of a stranger instead of his own.

  Too many things were going on at once, that was the problem. He was worried about Felix; the foolish, impossible contract was not yet dealt with; this accident had been a close call…

  Too many things. That was all.

  The black marble tub was full. He shut off the water, turned on the circulators, went back to the bedroom and lifted Alyssa in his arms, but there was no fooling her.

  “Lucas?” she asked quietly. “What’s the matter?”

  He looked down at the face that had once belonged to a stranger and that fist around his heart gave another knowing squeeze.

  “Nothing,” he said. “It is just that you are so beautiful…”

  He kissed her and tried to ignore the feel of her naked flesh against him. She’d been in a terrible accident. This was no time to think about making love.

  But it was the right time to tend to her bruises.

  He kissed her forehead. Her bruised cheek. Her mouth. She sighed with pleasure.

  Slowly he put her on her feet. Then he sat on the edge of the tub, drew her forward so she stood, naked, between his parted thighs.

  Was that a bruise on her breast? No. It was only a shadow…but he kissed it just the same, kissed the soft flesh, circled the nipple with his tongue until she moaned.

  “Does this hurt, amada?” he whispered.

  “No. God, no, it feels—it feels—”

  Lucas sucked the nipple into his mouth. Alyssa swayed, clasped his shoulders, murmured his name.

  The bruise on her knee. That deserved his attention, too. He pressed his lips to it gently, then kissed his way up her leg, inhaling her scent, Dios, drunk on her scent, on the little cries she was making.