The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

  He frowned into the darkness.

  What bed was this? Not his. Neither was the room. For a second, he thought he was in New York, in his penthouse on Central Park West…

  Until he felt the delicate weight of the woman in his arms.

  Alyssa.

  She was sprawled half-over his body, her thigh across his, her arm lying over his chest. Her head was on his shoulder; silky strands of her hair drifted across his lips.

  Lucas closed his eyes.

  She felt wonderful. Warm. Soft.

  Perfect.

  But what was he doing here, in her bed? He remembered returning from the hospital, anguished and exhausted. It had been late; the servants were all asleep, even Dolores. When he was a boy, she’d often waited up to see if he needed anything, though she’d never admitted to it.

  Tonight, he’d been relieved to find she hadn’t gone back to those old habits, as she still sometimes did. He was too tired, too distressed to talk to anyone.

  He’d gone slowly up the stairs to his rooms, pausing on the landing to look down the hall toward the guest suite. Was Alyssa still awake? Was she thinking about what had almost happened before he’d been called to the hospital?

  He’d surely thought about it. Even sitting beside his grandfather’s bed, the old man’s icy hand in his, memories of those unplanned moments had come to him.

  They had been unplanned, hadn’t they? Or had Alyssa sensed it was the right time to draw him deeper into her net?

  Lucas closed his eyes.

  She insisted she didn’t want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her. What was the truth? He was too weary to think about it. A hot shower. A night’s sleep. He’d known those were what he’d needed.

  He would sort things out in the morning.

  He’d gone to his suite. Undressed in the dark. Showered, let the water beat down on his neck and shoulders while he stood with his head bowed and his hands flat against the glass wall of the stall.

  Restored in body if not in spirit, he’d pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and fallen into bed, but sleep had been as elusive as peace of mind.

  He’d thought about Felix. It was a good sign, wasn’t it, that he was conscious? The dazed expression, the silence, would pass…wouldn’t they?

  And, inevitably, he’d thought about Alyssa. How it had felt to hold her. How she’d returned his kisses. How close he’d come to slaking his thirst for her, a thirst that had gripped him from those first minutes in the stable at El Rancho Grande.

  He’d tossed and turned until his blankets looked as if a demented Boy Scout had tied them in giant granny knots. Disgusted, he’d finally decided to go down to the library for a book.

  Instead he’d bypassed the stairs and walked down the hall.

  Where the hell do you think you’re going, Reyes? he’d asked himself.

  The answer was simple.

  He’d gone straight to the guest suite, paused outside its closed door. He listened for a sound, checked to see if light shone under the door and found neither.

  Why would Alyssa be awake at this hour? And what would it matter if she were?

  Just walk away, he’d told himself sternly.

  Even as he thought it, he’d turned the knob, opened the door, made his way quietly through the sitting room to the bedroom.

  Alyssa lay sleeping in the canopied bed, her face gently lit by starlight. By exhaustion.

  His fault.

  He’d put her through hell the past day. Two days. He’d lost track. And yet, even now, she was beautiful.

  His heart turned over. He wanted to wake her. Tell her he was sorry for everything, that he’d gone out of his way to frighten her in the stable, that he’d forced her to come here with him because who was he kidding? He had forced her. He’d given her about as much choice as a mouse trapped by a posse of cats.

  The only thing he wasn’t sorry for was what had happened in this room a few hours ago.

  He’d wanted her. She’d wanted him. Her honest passion, her fire, had damn near stolen his breath.

  The lady could be gentle as a kitten, tough as a tigress. He knew little else about her but he surely knew that.

  Was that why Felix had pledged him to her?

  There were a dozen other women would have been logical choices. More logical, really. Europe was filled with princesses and countesses whose families would have jumped at the chance to add Lucas’s impeccable list of titles to theirs.

  You could broaden the field, too. The Americas were home to heiresses whose fathers were eager for titles that would give old-world luster to their fortunes.

  He’d met many of those women. American, European…they were all pretty and prettily spoiled, and every last one of them knew how to smile and flirt and please a man.

  Tired as he was, Lucas had smiled.

  Alyssa didn’t seem to know how to do either. She was too strong, too independent. He couldn’t think of another woman who’d have stood up to him the way she did.

  Was that what Felix had thought would entice him? Her strength? Her independence?

  Her virginity?

  Felix had mentioned it but Lucas didn’t believe it. Virgins were about as common as hen’s teeth. Besides, virginity was overrated.

  He wasn’t from the old school. If men weren’t held to standards of innocence, why should women be?

  And, Lucas had suddenly asked himself, what in hell was he doing here, an intruder in Alyssa’s bedroom? It was just that he was so damned tired. His room had seemed filled with shadows but this one—

  This one seemed filled with Lyssa.

  That was when he’d whispered her name. She’d awakened instantly and it was only then he’d realized she might scream or, at least, tell him to get the hell out…

  Instead she’d asked about Felix in a soft, caring voice. And when she opened her arms, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to lie down beside her, gather her close, hold her to his heart and let her bring him the blessed comfort of sleep.

  Lucas shifted his weight.

  But he was awake now. Wide-awake, as far from sleep as a man could be, and he was incredibly aware of the woman in the bed with him, warm and sweet-smelling and all but sleeping on top of him.

  He felt the stirrings of desire.

  Bastard that he was, what he wanted from her now had nothing to do with comfort. In a heartbeat, he had an erection so hard and full it was almost painful.

  How simple it would be to ease that discomfort.

  A soft kiss, while she slept. A purposeful caress. By the time she was completely awake, he’d be inside her…

  Madre de Dios. What kind of man would even contemplate such a thing?

  Carefully Lucas slid his arm from beneath her shoulders.

  “Lucas?”

  Her whisper stilled him but the swift hiss of her breath as she realized how intimately they were entwined only gave him more reason to want her.

  “Lucas. How did we…What are you…?”

  He rolled over, lay next to her with his head raised just enough so he could see her face.

  “It’s all right, amada,” he said softly. “We took a siesta. Nothing more.”

  He could see her trying to reconstruct what had led to this just as he had done a few minutes ago. Finally she nodded.

  “I remember.”

  “Gracias, Lyssa.”

  “For what?”

  Gently he ran the tip of his index finger over her soft mouth.

  “For giving me these hours of sleep. I don’t know why but I could not have had them on my own.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “When Aloysius was—when he was very sick, there were times I was so tired I could hardly hold my head up. Still, I’d get into bed and lie there, wide-awake.” She took a breath, then let it out in a soft sigh that flowed over his fingers like silk. “I didn’t love him the way you love your grandfather but it’s hard to watch when someone who’s been part
of your life is suffering.”

  Lucas smiled. “Does my love for Felix show?”

  “Like a badge of honor.” She smiled, too. “He must love you the same way.”

  Lucas’s smile tilted. “Amazing,” he said softly, “but I have never before lain with a woman and discussed my feelings for my grandfather.”

  Color rose to her face. “You haven’t exactly lain with me, Lucas.”

  “No.” His voice grew husky. “I have not.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted to her eyes. “All the more reason for me to leave your bed, amada. But first, a kiss good night.”

  Her breathing quickened. “I don’t think that’s—”

  “One kiss,” he whispered, and took her mouth. Gently. No force. No coercion. If she tried to stop him, he would stop.

  He would die…but he would stop.

  But she didn’t stop him.

  Instead the sound she made against his lips was so delicate it made his heart pound.

  “Lucas,” she said against his mouth. “Lucas…”

  He answered by cupping her face with his hands.

  She answered by parting her lips to his.

  The taste of her made his head swim. She was honey. She was the richest Spanish sherry made from the ripest fruit, sweet and warm from the sun.

  Her hands rose. Threaded into his hair. He groaned and slipped his tongue between her lips, felt her momentary hesitation and then she made another of those little sounds that drove him half out of his mind and sucked delicately on the tip.

  A rush of heat sizzled through his body.

  Leave her bed now, Lucas.

  He could hear the voice inside him, hear its tone of command but he could no more obey that order than he could stop the tide of desire rising within him.

  He couldn’t leave her. She didn’t want him to leave her. Not if she was looping her arms around his neck and drawing him even closer.

  So close that he stopped thinking.

  Touch. Taste. Smell. Sound. Those were the only things that mattered. The taste of her skin, there. Right there, in the hollow of her throat. At the juncture of throat and shoulder. At the elegant angle of her collarbone…

  Alyssa trembled in his arms.

  “Lucas,” she whispered, “ohmygod, Lucas…”

  “Yes,” he said, “si, amada.”

  He whispered to her. In English. In Spanish. Words of need. Of desire. Words that made her gasp with shock.

  With pleasure.

  “Amada. Let me. Let me—”

  “Yes,” she said, “please, yes,” when she felt his hands at the sash of her robe but his fingers were uncharacteristically clumsy and an eternity seemed to drag by until he finally fumbled the knot open.

  The halves of the robe fell apart, revealing her to him.

  Alyssa, his Lyssa, was more than beautiful. She was exquisite, everything he’d ever imagined, everything he’d ever dreamed.

  And so feminine, so delicate, it made his heart leap.

  He bent his head to worship her.

  He cupped one rounded breast. Brought it to his mouth. Kissed the silken slope, then touched his finger to the softly pink nipple and she cried out in shock.

  He knew what she was feeling because he felt it, too. The excitement. The hunger. He’d felt it before, the hot demand of sexual craving, but never like this.

  Never like this.

  He looked at her face. Her eyes were clouded, unseeing with passion.

  Slowly he drew the nipple into his mouth, sucking, gently biting, laving her flesh. A cry broke from her throat, so wild and raw that he groaned.

  He kissed his way down her torso, touched the tip of his tongue to her navel, kissed her belly and finally reached the soft curls that guarded her feminine delta.

  She dug her hands into his hair.

  “No,” she said brokenly, “Lucas, you can’t—”

  He caught her wrists, brought her hands to her sides. Nuzzled against the dark curls, found her center and kissed her.

  She cried out again and arched against him.

  “Lyssa,” he said hoarsely, and he let go of her wrists, slipped his hands beneath her and lifted her to him. Her hands were in his hair again but, this time, she wasn’t trying to stop him.

  She held him to her, sobbing as he put his mouth to her, found that sweetest of flowers and kissed it, sucked on it, nipped it until she screamed into the night, a scream of release, of the ultimate completion.

  He could feel her orgasm rip through her body, feel it consume her and as it did, he sat back, tugged down his sweats, kicked them off and came back to her.

  “Lyssa,” he said.

  Her eyes cleared and he felt his heart expand when she looked up at him.

  “Lyssa,” he said again, “amada…”

  He held her gaze as he parted her thighs. As he guided his rigid length to her.

  “Lucas,” she whispered.

  Later he would play that one word over and over in his head and hear in it what his fevered brain had not been willing to let him hear this first time.

  He bent to her and kissed her mouth and, as he did, he entered her, sank into her, groaned as she sobbed his name against his lips.

  She rose to meet him, her hands around his biceps, her fingers digging into his muscles as her silken heat closed around him.

  “Lyssa,” he said, “oh God, Lyssa…”

  And then he stopped moving. Damned near stopped breathing.

  Alyssa was a virgin.

  For a heartbeat, he held still above her, his life, his breath seeming to hang suspended on the brink of eternity.

  “Yes,” she said, “please, yes.”

  Slowly, so slowly he thought it might kill him with pleasure, he sank into her. Her eyes closed. His name sighed from her mouth.

  He could feel his own release rushing toward him. He wasn’t ready for it. Physically, yes, but in every other way he wanted this moment to go on and on.

  He was poised on the very edge of a cliff with all the world spread out beneath him. It would take a god to stay still.

  But he was only human. And when Alyssa moved, when her body arched, when her womb began tightening around him, Lucas knew he was lost.

  She sobbed his name. She reached her hand to him. He caught it, caught the other hand as well, brought them to his mouth, then entwined his fingers with hers against the cool ivory sheets.

  “Lucas,” she said again.

  Her voice broke. She was afraid, he thought in wonder, and he bent and kissed her mouth.

  “I’m here, amada,” he said thickly. “I’ll be with you this time. Just let go and fly with me. Fly with me…”

  Alyssa sobbed his name. Lucas flung back his head. And, just as he had promised, they flew together into the inky blackness of the endless night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WAS this really what it meant, to lie with a man?

  Alyssa tightened her arms around Lucas, stunned by the transcendent passion of his lovemaking.

  I’ll be with you this time, he’d whispered, and he’d kept his promise. The power of his climax had driven her higher, higher, higher…

  Was this what sex was? Pure, white-hot magic?

  Yes, she was a virgin but even virgins knew something about sex. That girls whispered about it and giggled. That some women rolled their eyes and said, in bored voices, it wasn’t all what it was supposed to be.

  Alyssa had never had anyone she could ask. In private school, the girls moved in tight little cliques and she, shy and leggy and more comfortable around horses than people, was always on the outside looking in. By college, it was too late to ask. Feeling naive was bad enough. She didn’t want to feel stupid, too.

  Once, right after her first period, she’d started to ask questions of her mother. Elena Montero McDonough had blushed, waved her hand at the horses that ran on the ranch back then and said Alyssa had all of nature for a classroom.

  Maybe. But a stallion mounting a mare had nothing to do wi
th what had happened in this bed.

  Sex, it turned out, was not all about the stallion’s domination and the mare’s submission.

  It was about giving yourself to a man. The feel of his body possessing yours. The heat of his kiss. The touch of his hand, the knowledge that he could make you want him, want him, want him…

  Want the enemy. Want a stranger.

  Alyssa’s throat constricted. She wanted to weep, not for what she had done but for what it should have meant. What it had meant, those wondrous transcendent moments as Lucas made love to her.

  Except it hadn’t been love. It had been lust. Calculated lust, for all she knew. It was the stallion and the mare all over again.

  The mare Lucas had crossed the ocean to buy.

  How could she have forgotten that?

  “Lyssa?”

  His voice was husky. He was still lying on top of her, his weight bearing her down into the softness of the bed. She wanted to hit him with her fists. Wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him—tell him—

  “Amada, are you all right?”

  She swallowed dryly. He lifted his head, his hazel eyes questioning. What did he think she would say? That what had just happened changed everything? That she would do whatever he wanted? Go home, accept that nothing she could do would save her mother’s land?

  The truth was, she had no idea what he wanted her to do…

  Except bend to his will.

  In the short time she’d known the Spanish prince, she had lost everything to him. Her home. Her future and now, her virginity. The only thing she had left was her pride, and she would never let him take that.

  “Would you get off me, please? You’re heavy.”

  He blinked. Apparently he was accustomed to a different kind of pillow talk. She was probably supposed to be telling him how wonderful he was, how exciting…

  He was. He was all that and more.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize…” He rolled off her. Her body was damp; the air felt cold on her flesh. The robe lay crushed beneath her and she grabbed the edges of it and pulled them together.

  Lucas leaned over her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”