“What laws?” His mouth thinned. “I am Prince Damian Aristedes. Do you think your laws have any meaning to me?”
Ivy couldn’t speak. There was no word to describe what she felt for this man. Hatred didn’t even come close—but he was a prince. He could trace his lineage back through the centuries. She was nobody. She could trace her lineage back to a foster home where—where—
No. She wasn’t going there.
Damian’s hands tightened. He raised her face until their eyes met.
“Do you understand what I’ve told you? Or are you going to be foolish enough to try to fight me?”
“I despise you!”
“Ah, glyka mou, you’re breaking my heart.”
“You’re a monster. I can’t stand having you touch me.”
“A decision, Ivy. And quickly.”
Tears spilled down her face. “You know my decision! You haven’t left me a choice.”
Damian felt a swell of triumph but it was poisoned by the hatred in Ivy’s eyes. With a growl of rage, he captured her mouth, kissing her without mercy, without tenderness, nipping her bottom lip when she refused the thrust of his tongue.
“A reminder,” he said coldly. “Until my son is born, you belong to me.”
Even in his anger, he knew a good line when he heard it.
He turned around and walked out.
CHAPTER FIVE
DAMIAN went down the stairs with fury clouding his eyes, went out the door to the street the same way.
His driver had brought him to Ivy’s apartment. The Mercedes was at the curb and Damian started toward it. Charles must have been watching for him; he sprang from behind the wheel, rushed around to the rear door and swung it open.
Charles had only been with him a couple of months but surely Damian had told him he was capable of opening a car door himself a hundred times.
A thousand times, he thought, as his temper superheated.
Then he saw the way Charles was looking at him.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I keep forgetting. It’s just that you are the first employer I’ve had who doesn’t want me getting out to open or close the door. I promise, it won’t—”
“No, that’s all right,” Damian said. “Don’t worry about it.” He paused beside the car. He had a meeting later in the day. There was just time for him to go to his office and do some work.
But work wasn’t what he needed right now. What he needed was a drink.
“I won’t be needing the car,” he said briskly, and slapped the top of the Mercedes.
“Very well, sir. I’ll wait until you—”
“I won’t need the car at all.” He forced a smile. After all, none of this was his driver’s fault. “Take it back to the garage and call it a day.”
Charles looked surprised but he was too well-trained to ask questions. A good thing, Damian thought as he walked away, because he sure as hell didn’t have any answers. Not logical ones, anyway.
Logic had nothing to do with the mess he was in.
At the corner, he took out his cell phone, called his assistant and told her to cancel his appointment. Then he called Lucas.
“Are you busy?”
He tried to make the question sound casual but his old friend’s response told him he hadn’t succeeded.
“What’s wrong?” Lucas said sharply.
“Nothing. Why should anything be…” Damian cleared his throat. “I don’t want to discuss it over the phone, but if you’re busy—”
“I am not busy,” Lucas said.
A lie, Damian was certain, but one he readily accepted.
Forty minutes later, the two men were pounding along the running track at the Eastside Club. At this hour of the day, they pretty much had the place to themselves.
Despite the privacy, they hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words. Damian knew Lucas was giving him the chance to start the conversation but he’d been content just to work up a sweat, first with the weights, then on the track.
There was nothing like a hard workout for getting rid of anger.
He’d learned that in the days when he’d been rebuilding Aristedes Shipping. There’d been times back then he’d deliberately gone from a meeting with the money men who held his destiny in their greedy hands to unloading cargo from a barge on the Aristedes docks.
Right now, he thought grimly, right now, he could use a ton of cargo.
“Damian.”
More than that. Two tons of—
“Damian! Man, what’re we doing? Working out, or trying for heart attacks?”
Damian blinked, slowed, looked around and saw Lucas standing in the middle of the track, head bent, hands on his thighs, dripping with sweat and panting.
And, Thee mou, so was he. How many miles had they run? How fast? Neither of them got like this doing their usual six-minute mile.
He stepped off the track, grabbed a couple of towels from a cart and tossed one to Lucas.
“Sorry, man.”
“You should be,” Lucas said, rubbing his face with the towel. He grinned. “Actually I didn’t think an old man like you could move that fast.”
Damian grinned back at him. “I’m two months older than you are, Reyes.”
“Every day counts when you’re pushing thirty-two.”
Damian smiled. He draped the towel around his shoulders and he and Lucas strolled toward the locker room.
“Thank you,” he said, after a minute.
Lucas shot his friend a look, thought about pretending he didn’t know what he meant and decided honesty was the best policy.
“Para nada,” he said softly. “The way you sounded, I’d have canceled a meeting with the president.” He pushed open the locker room door, then followed Damian inside. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Damian hesitated. “Let’s shower, change and stop for a drink.”
“Here?”
He laughed at the horror in Lucas’s voice. The Eastside Club had a bar. A juice bar.
“No. Not here. I’m old but not that old.”
Lucas grinned. “I’m relieved to hear it. How about that place a couple of blocks over? The one with the mahogany booths?”
“Sounds good.”
It was good.
The bar was dark, the way bars should be. The booths were deep and comfortable. The bartender was efficient and the Gray Goose on the rocks both men ordered was crisp and cold.
They were mostly quiet at first, Lucas talking about some land he was thinking of adding to his enormous ranch in Spain, Damian listening, nodding every now and then, saying “yes” and “really” when it seemed appropriate.
Then they fell silent.
Lucas finally cleared his throat. “So,” he said quietly, “you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Because, you know, you didn’t sound—”
“Kay’s sister turned up.”
Lucas lifted his eyebrows. “I didn’t know she had a—”
“Neither did I.”
“Well. Her sister, huh? What’s she want?”
“I think they were actually stepsisters. That’s what Ivy—”
“The sister.”
“Yes. That’s what she said.”
“Same mother?”
“Same father. I think. Same last name, anyway. Maybe he adopted one of them…” Damian huffed out a breath. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What does?”
“The rest of what this woman—Ivy—told me.”
Damian lifted his glass and took a long swallow of vodka. Lucas waited a while before he spoke again.
“You want to explain what that means?”
“The rest?” Damian shrugged. He took another mouthful of vodka. Took a handful of cashews from the dish on the table. Looked around the room, then at Lucas. “The rest is that she’s pregnant with my child.”
If Lucas’s jaw dropped any further, Damian figured it would have hit the table.
“Excuse me?”
&
nbsp; “Yeah.” Damian gave a choked laugh. “Impossible, right?”
Lucas snorted. “How about, insane?”
“I told her that. And—”
“And?”
“And, you’re right. I’m right. It’s impossible. Insane. There’s just one problem.” Damian took a deep breath and expelled it as his eyes met Lucas’s. “She’s telling the truth.”
Damian explained everything.
Then, at Lucas’s request, he explained it all over again, starting with Ivy’s unexpected visit to his apartment and finishing with his impossible dilemma.
Lucas listened, made an occasional comment in Spanish. Damian didn’t always understand the words but he didn’t have to.
The other man’s reaction was just what his had been.
Finally Damian fell silent. Lucas started to speak, took a drink of vodka instead, then cleared his throat.
“I don’t understand. Your mistress convinced Ivy to have a baby for her but didn’t tell you about it. What was she going to do when the child was born? Bundle him up, carry him through the door and say, ‘Damian, this is our son’?”
Damian nodded. “I don’t get it, either, but Kay wasn’t big on logic. For all I know, she never got that far in laying out her plan.”
“And Ivy…” Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of woman is she?”
A beautiful woman, Damian thought, tall and lithe as a tigress with eyes as green as new spring grass, hair shot with gold…
“She’s attractive.”
“I didn’t mean that. What I’m asking is, what kind of woman would agree to be part of a scheme like that?”
Damian lifted his glass to his lips. “Another excellent question.”
“A model, you say. So she must be good-looking.”
“You could say that.”
“A model’s body is her bread and butter. Why would she put herself through a pregnancy?”
“I don’t—”
“I do. For money, Damian. You’re worth a fortune. She wants to tap into that.”
“I offered her ten million dollars to have the baby and give up all rights to it. She said no.”
“Ten million,” Lucas said impatiently. “That’s a fraction of what you’re worth and I’d bet you anything the lady researched your worth to the nearest penny.” He lifted his glass, found it empty and signaled for another round. “She’s good-looking, and she’s smart.”
“So?”
“So, my friend, if she’s smart, good-looking and devious as the devil, give some thought to the entire idea having been hers in the first place.”
“No. It was Kay.”
“Think about it, Damian. She knew your lover could not carry a child and so she planted this idea in your lover’s head—”
“Don’t keep calling Kay my lover,” Damian said, more sharply than he’d intended. “I mean, technically, she was. But the fact is, we had an affair. A brief one. I was going to end it but she lied and said she was—”
“Yes. I know.” Lucas paused until the barman had delivered their fresh drinks. Then he leaned over the table. “Ivy observed it all. She watched you do the right thing when her sister pretended to be pregnant.” He sat back, looking grimly certain of his next words. “Absolutely, the more I think about it, the more certain I am that this plan was her idea.”
“Ivy’s?”
“Si. Who else am I talking about? She saw the way to get her hands on a lot of money. She would carry a child. You would not know about it but once it was born, you would once again do the right thing. You would accept it into your life, and you would pay her anything she asked. Billions, not a paltry few million, and she and Kay would be on easy street.”
Damian ran the tip of his finger along the chill edge of the glass.
“It sounds,” he said, “like it could almost work. The perfect plan.” He looked up, his eyes as cold as his voice. “I didn’t buy into Ivy’s crap about doing this out of love for her sister but I couldn’t come up with anything better, especially after she turned down the ten million.”
“And so now, what will you do? What did you tell this woman?”
Damian shrugged. “What could I tell her?”
“That you would support her until the child is born. That you would support the child. Pay for his care. Send him to the best boarding schools…” Lucas frowned. “Why are you shaking your head?”
“Is that what you would do with a child of your own blood? Pay to keep him out of your life?”
“Yes, of course…” Lucas sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “No,” he said softly. “I would not. His arrival in the world would be a gift, no matter how it happened.”
“Exactly.” Damian reached for the fresh drink, changed his mind and signaled for their check. “So,” he said, carefully avoiding eye contact, “I did the only thing I could. I told her I’d take her to Greece.”
Lucas almost leaped across the table. “You told her what?”
“I can’t stay in New York the next six months, Lucas. You know that.”
“Yes, but—”
“I need to keep an eye on her. I don’t know what she’s like. How she’s treating this pregnancy. If she’s anything like her sister…”
The barman handed him the leather folder that held the check; Damian opened it, took a quick look and handed the man a bill, indicated he should keep the change and began rising to his feet.
Lucas grabbed his arm.
“Wait a minute! I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”
“Believe me, I have.”
“Damian. Listen. You take her to Greece, she’s in your life. Right in the middle of your life, man! And you don’t want that.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But what choice do I have? She needs watching.”
“You’re playing into her hands.”
“No way! She fought me, tooth and nail. I’m forcing her to do something she absolutely doesn’t want to do.”
“Aristedes, you’re not thinking straight. Of course she wants to do it! A model who sold her body for another woman’s use? Why would she do such a thing, huh?” Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you why. For money. And now, with her sister out of the picture, the stakes are even higher.”
Damian wanted to argue but how could he when he held those same convictions? And since that was the case, why did he feel his muscles knotting at Lucas’s cold words?
“She’s playing you like a Stradivarius, Damian.”
“Perhaps,” Damian said carefully. “But that doesn’t change the facts. She’s carrying my—”
“She can carry him here as well as in Greece. You want her watched? Hire a private investigator but for God’s sake, don’t play into her hands. She’s no good, Damian. The woman is an avaricious, scheming bitch.”
“Don’t call her that,” Damian snapped.
Lucas looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Hell, maybe he had. Lucas had just given a perfect description of Ivy…
Except for those brief moments she’d softened in his arms, let his mouth taste the sweetness of hers. Those moments when she’d responded to him…
Pretended to respond, he thought coldly, and forced a laugh.
“I’m joking,” he said lightly. “You know that American expression? Apple pie, the flag, motherhood? You’re supposed to show respect for all three.”
Lucas didn’t look convinced. “Just as long as it’s a joke,” he finally said.
Damian nodded. “It was. Thank you for worrying about me but trust me, Lucas. I know what I’m doing.”
I know what I’m doing.
The words haunted him the rest of the day. At midnight, after tossing and turning, Damian rose from his bed, made a pot of coffee and took a cup out onto the terrace that wrapped around his apartment.
Did he really know what he was doing? He’d had mistresses and lovers but he’d never taken a woman to live with him.
Not that he proposed to do that with Ivy.
Moving her into one of the suites in his palace was hardly taking her to live with him. Still, was it necessary? He could hire someone to watch her, as Lucas suggested. He could hire a companion to live with her.
He almost laughed.
He could imagine Ivy’s reaction to that. She’d confront the private detective, order the companion out the door. She had the beauty of Diana and the courage of Athena. It was one hell of a combination.
Wind tousled his hair. Damian shivered. The night was cold and he was wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. It was time to go inside. Or put on a sweatshirt.
Not just yet, though.
He loved New York, especially at night.
People said the city never slept but at this hour, especially on a weekday night, Central Park West grew quiet. Only a few vehicles moved along the street far below.
Was Lucas right? Had he handled this all wrong?
He could warn Ivy that any tendency she had to behave like her sister would result in severe penalties. A cut in allowance, for a start.
As for the child…Plenty of kids grew up without their fathers. He certainly had. Hell, he’d grown up without either parent, when you thought about it. His mother had been too busy jet-setting to one party after another to pay attention to him; his father had done exactly what his father had done, ignored him until he was old enough to send to boarding school.
He had survived, hadn’t he?
Damian sipped at his coffee, gone cold and bitter.
As cold and bitter as Ivy Madison’s heart?
It was a definite possibility. She might well have plotted and schemed, as Lucas insisted. For all he knew, she was out celebrating, knowing she was on her way to collecting the big prize, that he had demanded she go to Greece with him.
Out celebrating with whom?
Not that he gave a damn. It was just that the mother of his unborn child should not be out drinking or dancing or being with a man.
With a man. A faceless stranger, holding her. Kissing her. Taking her into his bed…
The cup fell from Damian’s hand and shattered on the flagstone. He cursed, bent down, started scooping up the pieces…
“Son of a bitch,” he snarled, and he opened the French doors and marched to his bedroom.
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