The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

  Lucas let the key fall at his feet.

  “Shall I tell you what you need, señorita? Better still, shall I show you?”

  “Okay,” the foreman growled. “Whoever’s in here, you better show yourself.”

  The woman’s eyes blazed into Lucas’s one last time. Then she swiveled on her heel and walked away.

  “George,” he heard her say brightly, “why don’t we go to the office and look at that catalog you mentioned yesterday?”

  Her voice faded. Lucas’s anger didn’t.

  Did she really think he would tuck his tail between his legs and run? It would have taken a Texas twister to move him now.

  He had come here to meet with Aloysius McDonough and that was what he would do. He owed that to his grandfather.

  As for what he owed the woman…A muscle bunched in his jaw.

  He would deal with her, too.

  She didn’t know how to handle a horse or a potential client, if there had actually been a mare worth buying in this desolate place.

  She sure as hell didn’t know how to handle a man.

  Perhaps McDonough liked being toyed with. Lucas didn’t.

  McDonough needed to know what had happened here today. The woman’s incompetence. Her rudeness.

  Her provocative sexual games.

  Lucas strode from the stable.

  If anyone was going to be ordered off this sorry bit of real estate, it sure as hell would not be him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BY LATE afternoon, the clouds that had hung over the horizon most of the day finally began moving.

  Better still, as far as Lucas was concerned, they were building, turning into impressive thunderheads as they drew closer. Unless he was reading the signs wrong, the oppressive heat that held the valley in an iron grasp was about to break.

  He threw open the guest room window in hopes of catching a breeze. There was none but the scent of rain was definitely in the air.

  It couldn’t come soon enough.

  The guest room was boxy and hot. An ancient electric fan stood on an oak dresser but there was no way to coax more than a flutter from it. Under normal circumstances, he’d have been out the door hours ago but these were not normal circumstances.

  He was as good as trapped here, thanks to a promise he’d foolishly made to his grandfather.

  At least he hadn’t seen the woman again. He’d gone straight through the front door, up the stairs to this room without seeing a soul. As far as he could tell, he was alone in the house.

  Just where in hell was Aloysius McDonough?

  Lucas looked impatiently at his watch. Five-thirty. If McDonough didn’t show up soon…

  If he didn’t, what?

  No matter what happened, he was stuck here until tomorrow, when the car rental agency delivered a replacement vehicle.

  Maybe it hadn’t been so smart to ignore the car key the woman had tossed him in the stable. Maybe he should go back and search for it.

  Or maybe he should search for her.

  Lucas snorted. He wouldn’t do, either. He’d wait this out, go home and tell his grandfather that McDonough had been too ashamed to show up and admit there was no mare for sale.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance and a spiked streak of lightning sizzled from the almost-black sky. The storm was coming on quickly now, turning day into night.

  Hard to believe that only yesterday he’d been in Manhattan at about this same hour, having drinks with his two oldest friends, Nicolo and Damian. Drinks, some laughter…and then dinner.

  Lucas’s belly growled.

  He hadn’t eaten since early morning. There seemed to be an entirely different meaning to hospitality on El Rancho Grande. First, you damn near rode a man down, then you didn’t show up for an appointment and if neither of those things got rid of an apparently unwanted guest, you tried starving him out.

  Lucas folded his arms and glowered at his reflection in the age-speckled mirror over the dresser.

  The possibility of that key still lying on the stable floor was growing more and more appealing. Why, when you came down to it, should he feel obligated to stay here? Hell, he’d kept his promise to come to this—this alien outpost.

  It was Aloysius McDonough who hadn’t kept his.

  Was that enough reason to disappoint Felix? Lucas sighed at the obvious answer and began to pace.

  He had to calm down. Otherwise, by the time McDonough deigned to show up—assuming that ever happened—he’d say or do something rash. And he didn’t want that.

  Who was he kidding?

  He wanted exactly that. More to the point, he wanted to tell McDonough what a fool he was to run a ranch straight into the ground, to employ a woman who dressed like a man, had the surliness of a man…

  And could turn hot and female despite all of that.

  Was it an act? The way she’d responded when he’d kissed her? She’d inferred that it was, but Lucas was not a fool.

  Women could give award-winning performances at the drop of a hat.

  They could weep, if they thought tears could get them what they wanted. They could smile, if they believed that was the better choice. They could pretend that whatever interested you interested them, that they wanted nothing but you, not your title or your wealth or your power.

  Oh, yes.

  He knew all that and more. A man couldn’t reach the age of thirty-two, couldn’t have the wealth he had been born to, the even greater wealth he’d accumulated by expanding the Reyes empire, without meeting more than his share of women who were experts at plotting and planning and lying.

  A thin smile crossed his mouth.

  The one thing they couldn’t lie about was sex.

  Not that an occasional woman didn’t try.

  “Ohhh, Lucas,” one had whispered the first time they’d made love.

  The moans, the whispers, had all sounded right, but she’d been faking it. He’d known it instantly.

  A woman’s eyes blurred with desire when what she felt was real. Her pulse increased with the heavy beat of her blood. She trembled like a willow in her lover’s arms.

  The woman in his bed that time had been lying, but that hadn’t angered him.

  It had challenged him.

  Slowly, deliberately, he’d set out to turn that carefully spoken “ohhh” into a whisper of true passion, and he had done it.

  Of course he had.

  He knew what tender female flesh begged for a man’s touch, what hidden place would heat under a man’s lips.

  Without question, he knew that the woman he’d kissed a couple of hours ago had not been acting. Like it or not, she’d been as turned on by that kiss as he’d been.

  Lucas frowned.

  As he was now.

  Dios, he truly was in desperate shape! He needed a drink, a meal, an evening back in the real world. That the memory of a woman who’d done nothing but provoke him should have such an effect on him was ridiculous.

  Perhaps he’d been too hasty, sending Delia away. An hour with her in the old-fashioned bed in this room and—

  And what?

  Who was he kidding?

  An hour with Delia, with any of the women who’d passed through his life, and he’d still want the woman from the stable in his arms, her mouth opened to the thrust of his tongue, her breasts naked and hot against his chest. There’d been something about the feel of her skin, the shock of her surrender…

  Hell.

  Aloysius McDonough could take this excuse of a ranch, this forgotten appointment and stuff them. It was one thing to pay a visit out of respect for Felix but another to be made a fool of.

  Lucas strode to the door, flung it open—and found the laconic foreman just about to knock.

  “There you are, mister.”

  “But not for long,” Lucas said flatly. “I’m done waiting.”

  “That’s what I come to tell you. You don’t have to wait no more.”

  “Damned right, I don’t. A while ago, the woman who works here�
��”

  “Ain’t no woman works here.”

  For some reason, the confirmation of what Lucas had already figured made him even angrier.

  “Your boss’s woman, then,” he snapped. “She gave me the key to an old car she said was parked behind the stable but I didn’t…” Why was he explaining himself? “I want that key now.”

  “You just said—”

  “I know what I said,” Lucas growled. “Surely there’s a second key. I want it.”

  “I come to tell you what I been told to tell you. You can come on down to Mr. McDonough’s office now.”

  “You mean, he’s finally here?”

  But he was talking to himself. The foreman was already shuffling down the hall.

  He was half-tempted to go after the man, grab him by the collar and pin him against the wall—which only proved how out of control he’d let things get.

  Instead he took a steadying breath.

  What was that American saying about killing two birds with one stone? He could see McDonough, then demand the damned key to the damned car and say goodbye to this damned place.

  He could hardly wait.

  The office was tucked behind what Lucas assumed would be known as the front parlor in a house the age of this. It was a big room furnished in oak and leather, but what caught his attention were the prints and photographs framed and hung on the walls.

  Horses. Colts. Paddocks and barns and stables. It took a minute to realize the pictures were of the ranch as it must have once been. Handsome, well-tended and prosperous.

  McDonough had lied about the mare he claimed to have for sale. He’d somehow let this place tumble into ruin. But he had once run it properly and understood what it meant to be a horseman.

  “Depressing as all get-out, isn’t it? Kind of a sad chronicle of what used to be, could have been…well, you get my drift.”

  Lucas swung around. A man stood in the doorway, mouth curved in a smile that could only be categorized as nervous.

  He damned well should have been nervous, Lucas thought coldly, taking in the figure of his host.

  Aloysius McDonough was not at all what he’d expected.

  He’d envisioned a tall man, whipcord thin and weather-hardened, wearing a dark suit, bolo tie and polished boots, maybe even a Stetson.

  Obviously, he thought wryly, he’d seen one too many Hollywood Westerns on late-night TV during his days at Yale.

  McDonough was short and pear-shaped, dressed in a pale gray suit and shiny wing-tips. His hair was arranged in an elaborate comb-over that emphasized his balding scalp. His face was florid and damp with sweat.

  Lucas disliked him on sight.

  And thought, immediately, of the obscenity of the black-haired rider warming the man’s bed.

  Everything inside him tensed, so much so that when McDonough held out his hand, he could only stare at it. The man’s wary smile dipped and Lucas took a breath and forced himself to accept the extended hand, which was as soft and clammy as he’d known it would be.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

  “Please,” Lucas said, smiling thinly. “I’m hardly anyone’s majesty.”

  He withdrew his hand, fought back the desire to wipe it on his jeans. He had gotten this far; he’d see the meeting through but to hell with being polite.

  Nobody had been polite to him.

  The best he could offer, in honor of his grandfather’s name, was to be direct.

  “Mr. McDonough—”

  “Please. Before we start, let me apologize Your—Your Highness. Is that correct? Is it the way to address you, I mean?”

  “Just call me Reyes.”

  “I’m sorry for the delay, Mr. Reyes.”

  “Yes. So am I. We were supposed to meet hours ago.”

  “I know. It’s just…May I get you something to drink, Prince?”

  “The name is Reyes.”

  “Sorry. Of course. I’m not accustomed to meeting with—Well, then. What will it be? Something to eat, perhaps?”

  Lucas had lost his appetite.

  “Nothing, thank you. Let’s just get down to business, Mr. McDonough. That’s why I’m here.”

  McDonough’s face grew shinier. “I can see that you’re annoyed, Your Lordship.”

  Lucas thought of correcting him again but changed his mind. He had little patience for phonies and fools and from what he’d observed thus far, McDonough was both. The man could genuflect, for all he gave a damn.

  “I apologize, sir. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.”

  “So am I.”

  “I assure you, it was unavoidable. I am no happier about it than you are.”

  McDonough wasn’t kneeling but he sure as hell was shaking in his shoes. Lucas gave an inward sigh, counted silently to ten and then forced what he hoped was a convincing smile.

  “Things happen,” he said. “As a businessman, as a rancher, I understand that. So…” He cleared his throat. “So, let’s begin again, yes? I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. McDonough. My grandfather sends warm greetings.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. But—but I must tell you, I am not Aloysius McDonough.”

  Lucas’s attempted smile failed. “Then who are you?”

  “My name is Thaddeus Norton. I’m an attorney.”

  So much for new beginnings.

  “Mr. Norton,” Lucas said brusquely, “this is a waste of time. I came here to meet with Aloysius McDonough. Where is he?”

  “I’ll explain everything, sir, if you’ll just be patient.”

  “I’m tired of being patient. Where is McDonough? And where is the mare?”

  The attorney’s face was a study in confusion. “What mare, Your Excellency?”

  “The nonexistent paragon of horseflesh I came to buy.”

  “But—but there is no mare, sir.”

  “Didn’t I just say that?” Lucas replied. Dios, now he was playing straight man in a bad comedy act. “Let me clarify things, Norton. My grandfather said he had contracted to purchase a mare. You and I both know there is no mare, so either he made a mistake or your client misrepresented the situation.” Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “I must tell you, my grandfather is not in the habit of making mistakes.”

  Norton swallowed audibly. “I don’t know how to explain it, sir, but you’re right, there is no mare.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed again. “But there is all the rest. The land. The buildings. I know things are in some disrepair but—”

  And, with those words, it began to fall into place.

  Felix had been duped.

  McDonough didn’t hope to sell a mare that would infuse the Reyes bloodlines with new intelligence, beauty and heart, he hoped to get rid of a failing property by unloading it on an old friend.

  Lucas struggled to keep calm when what he wanted to do was cross the room, grab the lawyer by the collar and shake him.

  “You and McDonough insult me and my grandfather,” he said through his teeth. “Did you actually think I would come here to see a mare and, instead, agree to buy this—this run-down corner of purgatory?”

  “Please, Your Lordship. I beg you to compose yourself.”

  “I am composed,” Lucas roared. “I am perfectly composed! Now get Aloysius McDonough in here so I can tell him what I think of him to his face!”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

  Lucas knotted his hands into fists. It was either that or plow them into the soft gut of the man in front of him.

  “So is continuing this discussion,” he snarled, and strode toward the door.

  “Prince Lucas! You don’t understand. Aloysius McDonough is dead.”

  Lucas turned and stared at Thaddeus Norton. “He can’t be dead. My grandfather spoke to him last week, when they agreed to this appointment.”

  “You must have that wrong. Aloysius passed away almost six months ago.”

  “I have it right, Norton. I was with my grandfather when he made the phone call.” />
  Lucas had an excellent grasp of the English language. Still, some idioms had always eluded him. One was the phrase, “sweating bullets.” He’d never understood it until now as big drops of sweat popped out on Norton’s brow.

  “I, ah, I don’t suppose you know the exact date of that call, sir?”

  It was an easy question to answer. Lucas met with Felix on Mondays. It was a courtesy to keep his grandfather up-to-date about the Reyes Corporation and its holdings.

  “Last Monday, in late afternoon. It would have been morning here.”

  The attorney swallowed hard. “That call would have been between your grandfather and me, sir.”

  “You spoke with Felix?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting my grandfather sent me here, knowing McDonough was dead? That he lied to me?”

  “No,” Norton said quickly. “I’m sure he didn’t. I—I suspect he—he just left out a couple of facts.”

  “A polite way of saying yes, you are suggesting my grandfather lied,” Lucas said in a soft voice many had learned to fear.

  “Sir. Please understand, I am only representing my client. As for my conversation with your grandfather…” Norton swallowed. “He said it was time to implement the plan he and my client agreed upon a year ago.”

  “What plan?”

  Norton twisted his hands together. “I just assumed—I assumed your grandfather and you discussed it. That you knew—”

  “Damn it, get to it! What plan?”

  “Well—well, a year ago, Aloysius and your grandfather talked. About El Rancho Grande. And—”

  “And,” Lucas growled, “your client saw a chance to presume upon an old friendship.”

  “No, sir! That isn’t what happened.”

  A muscle jumped in Lucas’s jaw. The details didn’t matter. McDonough had been desperate for money and he’d come up with a scheme designed to scam an old friend. Dead or not, the man was a lying, deceitful son of a bitch.

  Still, why had Felix lied about the mare? About McDonough? If his grandfather knew there was no horse, knew that McDonough was dead…

  Lucas would have trusted Felix with his life. To learn that trust might be misplaced…

  Was Felix—was he becoming senile?