The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

  Ivy jerked back. “Don’t you ever get tired of giving orders?”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of ignoring good advice?” He shifted his weight. The little distance she’d put between them disappeared. “We have hours left before we land.”

  “So?”

  “So, you’re exhausted.”

  “And you know this, how? You read cards? Palms? Crystal balls?”

  His smile tilted. “Unless I’m mistaken, you slept as little as I did last night.”

  She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t slept. Was it because he was sorry he’d demanded she go with him? Or was it—was it because he’d lain in the dark, imagining what it would be like if they had made love? If, together, they’d made the baby growing inside her?

  Did what she’d just thought show on her face? Was that why his eyes had suddenly darkened?

  “And,” he said, very softly, “you’re pregnant.”

  Amazing. They had discussed her pregnancy in excruciating—if not entirely accurate—detail. Still, the way he said the word now, his husky whisper intimate and sexy, made her heartbeat stumble.

  “I see. Now you’re an expert on pregnant women.” She spoke quickly, saying the first thing that came into her head in a desperate effort to defuse the situation, and knew in an instant she’d made a mistake.

  A mask seemed to drop over his face.

  “What little I know about pregnancy,” he said, drawing away from her, “comes courtesy of Kay. Your sister used endless ploys to convince me she was carrying my child.”

  “Kay wasn’t my real sister,” Ivy said, and wondered why it suddenly seemed important he understand that.

  “Yes. You said you were stepsisters. The same last name…Then, your mother married her father and he adopted you?”

  Why had she brought this up? “Yes.”

  “How old were you?”

  “It’s not important.”

  She turned away from him but he cupped her jaw, his touch firm but light.

  “I have the right to know these things.”

  She supposed he did. And he could learn them easily enough. Anything more than that, she had no intention of sharing.

  “I was ten. Kay was fourteen.”

  “She told me her father died when she was sixteen. Another lie?”

  “No.” Ivy laced her hands in her lap. “He died two years after my mother married him. They both died, he and my mother. It was a freak accident, a helicopter crash in Hawaii. They were on vacation, on a tour.”

  “I am sorry, glyka mou. That must have been hard for you.”

  She nodded.

  “So, who took care of you then? What happened?”

  Everything, Ivy thought, oh God, everything…

  “Nothing,” she said airily. “Well, Kay and I went into foster care. When she turned eighteen, she got a job and a place of her own.”

  “And you went with her?”

  “No.” Ivy bit her lip. “I stayed in foster care.”

  “And?”

  And my world changed, forever.

  But she didn’t say that. Her life was none of his business, and that was exactly what she told him.

  “The only part of my life that concerns you,” she said sharply, “is my pregnancy.”

  Ivy expected one of those cold commands that were his specialty or, at least, an argument. Instead, to her surprise, Damian gave her a long, questioning look. Then he turned away and pressed the call button.

  The steward appeared as quickly as if he were conjured up from Aladdin’s lamp.

  “We would like dinner now, Thomas,” Damian said. “Broiled salmon. Green salad with oil and vinegar. Baked potatoes.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  He was doing it again. Thinking for her. Speaking about her as if she were incapable of speaking for herself. It made her angry and that was good.

  Anger was a safer emotion than whatever Damian had made her feel a little while ago.

  “I’m not hungry,” Ivy said sharply.

  Nobody answered. Nobody even looked at her.

  “I’ll have a glass of Riesling first, Thomas. And please bring Ms. Madison some Perrier and lemon.”

  “I do not want—”

  “No lemon in the Perrier? Of course. No lemon, Thomas. Neh?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Ivy smoldered but kept silent until they were alone. Then she swung angrily toward Damian, who was calmly putting the documents he’d been reading into a leather briefcase.

  “Do you have a hearing problem? I said I wasn’t hungry!”

  “You are eating for two.”

  “That’s outmoded nonsense!”

  “If you are vain enough to wish to starve yourself—”

  “I am not starving myself!”

  “hi,” Damian said evenly. “That is correct. You are not. I will not permit it.”

  “Damn it,” Ivy snarled, letting her anger rise, embracing it, reminding herself that she hated this man, that it would be dangerous to let any other emotion come into play where he was concerned, “I don’t even understand what you’re saying. Since when does ‘no’ mean ‘yes’ and ‘okay’ mean ‘no’?”

  He looked blank. Then he chuckled. “It’s not ‘no,’ it’s ‘neh.’ It means ‘yes.’ And I didn’t say ‘okay,’ I said hi, which means ‘no.’”

  Yes was no. No was yes. Would a white rabbit pop out of the carpet next?

  “I shall arrange for a tutor to teach you your new language, glyka mou.”

  “My language is English,” she said, despising the petulance in her own voice.

  “Your new home is Greece.”

  “No. It isn’t. My home is the place you took me from. That will always be my home, and I’ll never let you forget it.” She glared at him, her breath coming quickly, furious at him, at herself, at what was happening, what she had brought down on herself. “And if you really think I’d starve myself and hurt my baby—”

  “My baby,” he said coldly, all the ease of the last moments gone. “Not yours.”

  The true answer, the one she longed to give him, feared to give him, danced on the tip of her tongue. He claimed he hadn’t loved Kay, but Kay had sworn he had. There were too many lies, too many layers of them to risk the one truth that might tear the whole web asunder.

  Far too much risk.

  So Ivy bit back what she’d come close to saying. Damian filled the silence with yet another order.

  “You will eat properly. And you will not contradict me in front of my people. Is that clear?”

  “Do I have to genuflect in your presence, too?”

  No telltale twitch of his lips this time, only a cold glare.

  “If you feel you must, by all means, do so.”

  He turned away. So did she. There seemed nothing more to say.

  They ate in silence.

  Ivy tried to pretend disinterest in her food but she was ravenous. Had she eaten anything since her first confrontation with Damian? She couldn’t remember.

  The steward cleared their tables and brought dessert. Two crystal flutes filled with fresh strawberries, topped with a dollop of cream. She could, at least, make a stand here.

  “I never eat whipped cream,” she said with lofty determination.

  “I’m happy to hear it because this is crème fraîche.”

  Hadn’t she promised herself she wouldn’t try to fight him on little things? Crème fraîche was absolutely a little thing, wasn’t it?

  Little, and delicious. She ate every berry, every bit of the cream…

  And felt Damian’s gaze on her.

  His eyes—hot, intense, almost black with passion—were riveted to her mouth as she licked the last bit from the spoon.

  A wave of heat engulfed her; a choked sound broke from her throat. He heard it, lifted his gaze to hers…

  The cabin door slid open. Thomas appeared, looked quickly from his master to Ivy…

  Ivy sprang to her feet. “Where’s the—wher
e is the lavatory, please?”

  “In the back, miss. I can show you…”

  “I can find it myself, thank you,” she said.

  And fled.

  They were flying through a black sky lit by a sliver of ivory moon.

  Damian had the light on. There were papers in his lap but he wasn’t looking at them. Ivy had a magazine in hers but she wasn’t looking at it, either.

  She was trying to stay awake. Trying to stay awake…

  To her horror, she gave a jaw-creaking yawn.

  “If you were tired,” Damian said coolly, “which, of course, you are not, you could recline your seat and close your eyes.”

  She went on ignoring him. And yawned. Yawned again…

  Her eyelids drooped. A minute, that was all she needed. Just a minute with her eyes shut…

  She jerked upright. Her head was on Damian’s shoulder. Flustered, she pulled away.

  “You are the most stubborn woman in the world. Damn it, what will you prove by not sleeping?”

  “I told you, I’m not—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake…” His arm closed around her shoulders. She protested; he ignored her and drew her to his side. “Close your eyes.”

  “You can’t order someone to—”

  “Yes,” he said firmly, “I can.” His arm tightened around her. “Go to sleep.” His tone softened. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe.”

  Safe? How could she feel safe in the embrace of this imperious stranger?

  And yet—and yet, she did. Feel safe. Warm. Content to lean her head against his hard shoulder. To feel the soft brush of his lips on her temple.

  Strong arms closed around her. Lifted her, carried her through the dark cabin. Lay her down gently on a wide, soft bed.

  Was she dreaming?

  “Yes,” a husky voice whispered, “you are dreaming. Why not give yourself up to the dream?”

  It wasn’t a dream. The bed was real. The voice was Damian’s. And she was in Damian’s arms, her body pressed to the length of his.

  “I won’t sleep with you,” she heard herself whisper.

  He gave a soft laugh. “You are sleeping with me right now, glyka mou,” he whispered back, though that term he used for her, whatever it meant, sounded somehow different. Softer. Sweeter…

  Sweet as the whisper of his mouth over hers, again and again until she sighed and let her lips cling to his for one quick, transcendent moment.

  “You are killing me, glyka mou,” he said thickly. “But sleep is all we’ll share tonight.” Another kiss, another gruff whisper. “I want you wide-awake when we make love.”

  “Never,” Ivy heard herself whisper.

  She felt his lips curve against hers in a smile.

  “Go to sleep,” he said.

  After that, there was only darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IN THE earliest hours of the morning, Damian’s plane landed on his private airstrip on Minos.

  The intercom light blinked on; the machine gave a soft beep. “We have arrived, Your Highness,” the steward’s voice said politely.

  “Efharisto, Thomas.”

  Ivy didn’t stir. She’d been asleep in Damian’s arms for almost two hours, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.

  By now, his shoulder ached but he wouldn’t have moved her for anything in the world.

  How could sleeping with a woman, sleeping with her in the most literal sense of the word, feel so wonderful?

  Damian turned his head, breathing in Ivy’s scent. Silky strands of her hair brushed against his lips. He closed his eyes and thought about staying here with her, just like this, until she awakened.

  Impossible, of course.

  They had to return to reality eventually. It might as well be now.

  But he could wake her quietly. Show her that every moment they were together didn’t have to be a battle.

  Gently he rolled her onto her back, bent to her and kissed her.

  “Kalimera,” said softly.

  Ivy sighed and he kissed her again.

  “Ivy,” he whispered. “Wake up. We’re home.”

  Her lashes fluttered open to reveal eyes were dark, still clouded with sleep.

  “Damian?”

  His name was soft on her lips. She’d never spoken it that way before, as if he and she were alone in the universe.

  “Yes, it’s me, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

  “I don’t—I don’t remember. How did we…?”

  Her eyes widened and he knew she’d realized she was not only in his arms but in his bed. He’d watched Lucas taming a mare once; that same wild look had come into the animal’s eyes.

  “Easy,” he said.

  “What am I doing in this bed?”

  “Sleeping. Nothing more than that.”

  “But—how did I get here? I don’t remember…”

  “I carried you. You were exhausted.”

  She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were cool. “Let me up.”

  “In a minute.”

  “Damian—”

  “Do you see what sleeping in my arms has accomplished?” He smiled. “You’ve begun calling me Damian.”

  She started to answer. He kissed her instead. She didn’t respond. But he went on kissing her, his mouth moving lightly over hers, and just when he thought it would never happen, she sighed and parted her lips to his.

  The joining of their mouths was tender.

  The need that swept through him was not.

  His erection was instantaneous and he groaned and shifted his weight to accommodate the ache of his hardened flesh. Ivy shifted, too…and he found himself cradled between her parted thighs.

  She gasped into his mouth.

  His blood thundered.

  Now, it said, take her now…

  Beep. “Sir? Will you be deplaning, or shall I tell the pilot to leave the electrical system on?”

  That was all it took to destroy the fragile moment. Ivy tore her mouth from Damian’s. Her face was flushed, her lips full and heated from his kisses. He wanted to cup her face, kiss her into submission…

  Instead he rolled away and rose from the bed. She did, too, but as she got to her feet, he scooped her into his arms.

  “I can walk.”

  “It’s dark outside.”

  “I can see.”

  “I know the terrain. You don’t.”

  A Jeep and driver waited on the side of the runway. His driver was well-trained. Either that, or the arrival of his employer with a woman in his arms was not an unusual event.

  Ivy was not as casual. She saw the driver and buried her face in Damian’s throat.

  The feel of her mouth on his skin, the warmth of her breath…He loved it almost as much as the feel of her in his arms during the short drive to his palace, perched on the ancient, long-dormant volcanic summit of Minos.

  The palace was lit softly in anticipation of his arrival. He wondered what Ivy would think of his home when she saw it tomorrow by daylight. He’d learned that most people envisioned a palace as an imposing edifice of stone.

  His home, if you could call a palace a home, was built of marble. The oldest part of it dated to the fourth century, another wing to the sixth, and the balance to the early 1600s. It was an enormous, sprawling, overblown place…

  But he loved it.

  Would Ivy? Not that it mattered, of course, but if she lived here with him, if, after his son’s birth, she became his—she became his—

  The huge bronze doors swung open, revealing his houseman, Esias. Despite the hour, Esias was formally dressed.

  Damian had given up trying to break him of the habit. Esias had served his grandfather, his father and now him. How could you argue with an icon—an icon who was as determined as the Jeep’s driver not to show surprise at seeing his master with a woman in his arms.

  “Welcome home, Your Highness.”

  “Esias.”

  “May I, ah, may I help you with—”
r />   “I am fine, thank you.”

  “Damian,” Ivy snapped. “My God, put me—”

  “Soon.”

  Trailed by Esias, he carried her up a wide, curving marble staircase to the second floor, then down the corridor that led to his rooms.

  Esias stepped forward and opened the door.

  “Efharisto,” Damian said. “That is all, Esias. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The houseman inclined his head and moved back. Damian carried Ivy through the door and shouldered it shut, and the silence of the room closed around them.

  “Who was that?”

  He was alone with his mistress and the first words out of her mouth were not the ones a man ached to hear…

  But then, Ivy wasn’t his mistress.

  Not yet.

  “Damian. Who was—”

  He answered by kissing her. She tried to turn her face away but he was persistent. He kept kissing her, nipped gently at her bottom lip and, at last, she made a little sound and opened her mouth to his.

  He slipped the tip of his tongue between her parted lips. She jerked back. Then she made that sweet little whisper again and accepted the intimate caress. Accepted and returned it as he carried her through the sitting room, through the bedroom, to his bed.

  Pleasure coursed through him.

  What had happened in the darkness of the plane had changed everything. Had she realized she couldn’t fight him or herself? That she wanted him as much as he wanted her?

  God knew, he wanted her. From the minute she’d turned up at his door, despite everything, his anger, hell, his rage…

  No woman had ever stirred such hunger in him.

  Gently he lay her down in the silk-covered bed. Moonlight, streaming through the French doors behind it, touched her hair with silver. Her eyes, brighter than the stars, glittered as she looked up at him.

  “Ivy,” he said softly. He bent to her. Kissed her temples. Her mouth. Her throat. Whispered in Greek what he would do to her, with her…

  What she would feel as he made her his.

  “Damian?”

  Her whisper was soft. Uncertain. It had an innocence to it that he knew was a lie but it suited the way she was looking at him, the way her hands had come up to press lightly against his chest.

  A little game could be exciting, though she excited him enough just as she was. He was almost painfully hard. It would not be easy to go as slowly as he wanted, this first time, but he would try.