Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  Something flashed in his features; an emotion she didn’t comprehend. “What will I tell him?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand …”

  “I barely knew them. Not as you did.” He sat up in the bed, so that the sheet dropped around his waist. She followed its progress, enjoying the rippling of his tanned muscles even in her overwrought state.

  “She was your sister. And Dave …”

  “Yes, yes. She was my sister, and I had met your brother. I spent time with them when they were here. But you knew them. You dined with them. Cooked for them. Sabra told me once that she never tasted better marisha than the ones you baked.”

  Evie’s laugh was uneven; the memory was bittersweet. “That’s because I made them exactly how she liked them.”

  “They are a difficult delicacy to master.”

  “Speaking from experience?” She couldn’t resist teasing, trying – and failing – to imagine him in an apron, rolling the pastries.

  He grinned. “From eating experience. They are my favourites as well. As children, Sabra and I used to quarrel over who got to have the most.”

  I’ll make them for you. She swallowed the offer. It was over-friendly. God, they were lying in bed together and she was worried about being over-friendly? It was ridiculous, but instinctively she knew that to give too much of herself to this man would be a terrible crime.

  He stood, uncaring of his nakedness.

  “So, Evelyn? Are you to stay?”

  Her expression showed her torment. “Why do you want me to?”

  He brought his hands down onto the bed, pinning her on either side. “Are you asking for reassurance? I will not give it. I want you in my bed, but that is not why you will stay. Nor is it why you should stay. What I offer is not enough for you. So stay for our nephew. He needs you.”

  She swallowed, plunging back into hellish despair yet again. “And if I say I don’t want to be your harem girl du jour?”

  He didn’t smile now. “Our deal stands,” he shrugged finally, pushing off the bed and lifting his robe from the back of the chair. “If you are in Ishala, your place is in my bed.”

  Evie collapsed back against the pillows, her eyes heavy. “I need to think about it.”

  “No, you don’t. We both know what you’ll decide. I’ll have a servant move your things to my apartment.”

  “What?” She sat bolt upright, her eyes showing consternation. “Why can’t I stay here?”

  His laugh sent arrows of awareness shooting through her body.

  “What?” She asked with a shake of her head. “Why is that funny?”

  He sobered, his eyes pinning her with the gravity of his needs. “Ask me again in a week.”

  “What? That’s not an answer.”

  “It will be.” He shook his head, laughing again as he straightened his clothes. “Are you on birth control?”

  Stricken, she shook her head. “No. I mean, why would I be?”

  His eyes glowed with something unusual. “I’ll have a doctor visit you.”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  He crossed back to the bed, almost as an after-thought. “I have meetings with my parliament today.” He kissed her brusquely on the forehead. “I expect they’ll run into the night. Sleep this afternoon so that you have energy for my return. I will want you.”

  He straightened, and he was so completely the archetypal, alpha-male sex-symbol that she found herself nodding, wide-eyed. How did he get so ripped? She hadn’t seen him exercise. Well, apart from what they’d just done. But he boasted the body of a professional athlete. That couldn’t just be genetics.

  “And Evelyn?”

  “Hmmm?” She dragged her gaze away from his chiseled abs with effort.

  “I was careful with you today. But I meant what I said last night. I am not a gentle lover. It is not my speed.”

  Desire slicked inside of her, heating her from the inside out. Was there something wrong with her that she wanted that? That she wanted him to storm all of her systems as he had the night before?

  “Malakhi?” He was at the door, one hand on the knob. “I meant what I said this morning. I will not share you. Not with Leilani or any other woman.” His lips twitched in a smile but she wasn’t finished. “If I find out you have another woman in your bed I’ll be gone before you have a chance to make up an excuse.”

  “I don’t lie,” he said with a shake of his head. “If I were to have another woman in my bed, you’d be the first to know about it. And Evie? You’ll go when I say. Not before.”

  * * *

  He woke her with a kiss. His lips dropped to hers, and in her slumberous state, they were a call to action. She responded as her body had been programmed to do: she wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her legs, catching him between her, holding him tight.

  Her eyes blinked open and she smiled slowly, before she could remember that he was basically a ruthless bastard who’d maneuvered her into his bed.

  “You’re wearing clothes. And you’re asleep.”

  She pushed up, dragging a hand through her hair. Her eyes shifted to the golden clock that hung on the wall beside the bed. “It’s almost midnight.”

  His hands on her body were insistent. He pushed at her pajamas – a rather utilitarian pant-suit – until she was almost naked. Her underwear was similarly unexciting: simple black cotton knickers that sat low around the waist. He pulled them off and tossed them across the room.

  When she was naked, he rocked back on his haunches to study her. “Are you ready to be made love to now, as I have dreamed of doing?”

  A shiver ran down her spine. “You didn’t enjoy …”

  The words came out too quickly. She wished she’d had the fortitude to silence them.

  “I enjoyed,” he assured her, his voice husky. “But there is so much for you to learn. So much I want to experience with you.”

  “Such as?”

  His smile was loaded with secrets of the most sensual variety. “Come here.” He stood; she followed.

  “Another time, you will undress me. Tonight, I am impatient to join my body to yours.”

  His powerful hands gripped her hips as he spun her around. He guided her with a hand on her back to a large mirror across the room.

  He moved with the assurance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. His fingers gripped her wrists and he placed her hands against the glass, at around her hip height, so she had no choice but to bend forward from the waist.

  A small nod of approval signaled that he was happy with that. He came to stand behind her and separated her thighs with demanding insistence.

  His arousal was enormous; she could feel it already – his tip hungrily pressing to her soft femininity. “This is who I am,” he said, and a tingle ran the length of her body, from her curled toes, through her skin, to her nipples and all the way to the back of her neck. “But I don’t want to hurt you. That is not my aim. If you are in pain, you must always, always say.”

  She nodded, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

  “You might not enjoy sex as I do …”

  “Just shut up and take me,” she snapped, her eyes challenging his in the mirror.

  “That’s the first time in my life I have been told to shut up.”

  She bit down on her first response: that Sabra had thought it often. The stories she’d told, rolling her eyes, laughing at her brother’s domineering ways.

  “I’ll say it again unless you just bloody do this.”

  His fingers gripped her buttocks, digging into the flesh there. He teased her gently, running his hands down her crease, wondering how far she would let him go in their sensual exploration, before thrusting into her without warning. She bucked, hard and he reached a hand up to tangle his fingers in her long hair. He pulled sharply, just enough to hold her head straight so that she was angled to watch their lovemaking – not so much, he hoped, that she would feel pain.

  She moaned, her eyes fevered in the m
irror. A smile curved his lips. She liked it. She liked the desperation he felt as much as he did. He pulled her hair again and she cried out, a moan of desire.

  His other hand held her hips as he continued to drive into her, deep into her muscular tightness, deep into her soul. She was burning up, but he didn’t want her to come just yet. That was too easy. He wanted her to beg and beg and beg for the release that he would eventually offer.

  He was throbbing though, desire coursing through him.

  “Please,” she cried out, dipping her head forward.

  “Soon,” he promised bending forward so he could press his teeth into her shoulder.

  He released his grip on her hair so that he could hold both of her hips and pull her backwards against him as he thrust forward. He moved in her until she was calling into the room and then slowed, gently guiding her over the edge. Her body shook with pleasure and he held her still, comforting her, rewarding her.

  Evie slowly began to breathe normally again, but everything was different. The whole world had shifted. Knowing such pleasure existed had forever changed her.

  “Turn around,” he murmured, and from his tone it was impossible for Evie to tell what mood he was in. He lifted her quickly, pressing her back against the cold mirror and driving into her.

  Immediately she felt another orgasm building and he rode the wave with her, thrusting deep and crying out as he exploded with release.

  She held him tight, her legs, arms and core wrapped around him. It was the most intense pleasure she’d ever known. Evie would have sworn, later, that she’d actually seen stars. Her body seemed to be singing and vibrating.

  Gently, he eased her to the ground. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “I promise I’ll tell you if … I don’t like … anything.” She dropped her eyes, mortified.

  “Good.” He lifted her chin so that her eyes were level with his. “Why don’t you shower before we eat.”

  “Eat?” She stared at him in surprise. “It’s so late. Aren’t you tired?”

  “No.” He flashed a smile at her; even white teeth shone in his symmetrical mouth. “I’m not tired.”

  And Evie realized she wasn’t either. He was waking her up, cell by cell, so that gradually she was remembering what happiness and pleasure were like. And she was becoming addicted to those feelings, and overarchingly, to him.

  Six

  Her dream was filled with him, and the past. That afternoon when first they’d met.

  “Stop immediately.” The voice had come from nowhere, like a beacon in the dusk sky. It was deep and commanding, as though empowered with the force of a megaphone. But it wasn’t. Evie turned, the smile on her face quite natural. What a day she’d had! From her suitcase being misplaced to the kitchen hand who had spilled a dozen whipped eggs all over her borrowed dress, which had resulted in her wearing a standard issue palace uniform that was far too big, and a faint smell of breakfast in her long red hair.

  If only David and Sabra had arrived! Sabra would have been able to help. But Evie had come two days before the wedding in order to bake the cake and oversee its decoration. She was alone in this beautiful, strange land and now the most stunning man she’d ever seen was addressing her in spicy, accented words.

  She began to walk towards him, but he held up a hand and glanced towards the sky.

  Evie followed his gaze, squinting through the spindly branches that covered this side of the palace garden. They were not large gardens: Evie had explored most of them already and had decided this spot, with its wild, untamed beauty, was her favourite. Beyond it there was rugged terrain that led all the way to the palace walls.

  She turned back to the man and shrugged. “What is it?”

  He narrowed his gaze, his manner imposing as he studied her. He was dressed casually, in a pair of beige pants and a loose, flowing beige top. His hair was jet-black and thick; his chin was covered with stubble but beneath it she could discern a squared jaw and the hint of a cleft. His eyes were dark like onyx, and they burned with an intensity that almost made her want to flinch.

  “Do you not understand the word ‘stop’?” He muttered impatiently.

  Evie couldn’t get a grasp on the reason for such hostility. “What? What’s the matter?” She took several more steps towards him and with a guttural sound of frustration he echoed her movements, closing the distance between them and putting a strong, muscled arm around her shoulders. He pulled her to his chest and then lifted an arm at the same time he made a low-pitched song that was both magical and mysterious.

  But Evie could hardly breathe. Tucked tight in the crook of this man’s arm, her chest against his warm, musty chest, a slick of awareness was tormenting her insides. She stepped aside a little but he hissed angrily, “You must stay near me.”

  Gladly, she thought with a small grin, but her stomach was in knots. What if someone from the palace saw the way she was cuddled up to this strange man? Ishala was a conservative country and she was a special guest of its princess.

  “Why?” When she spoke she inhaled and the spicy, wild heat of the man curled her toes.

  He spoke now in his own language, and there was a flapping of wind, accompanied by much noise and movement. She angled her head to look but caught only a brief glimpse of the most enormous bird she’d ever seen, its talons like nails, its beak like a dagger, its body shimmering blue black, before the man tightened his grip around Evie and tucked her head into his chest.

  Still he made the song, and she heard it rumble from his heart. A melody that was eerie and haunted, deep and intriguing. Finally, the flapping seemed to slow; he kept singing. Something brushed her cheek, and she would realise later that it was the eagle’s wing.

  Evie dared to squint up at it. The bird sat proud on the man’s shoulder, as dark as its master, its head tilted towards her with an unmistakably menacing glint in its beautiful eyes. Yet she was not afraid.

  In the protection of this man’s body she felt like no harm would ever befall her.

  Except perhaps from him. He spoke in his own language first and she gathered he was releasing an assortment of curse words. “What were you thinking, to come to this garden?”

  Evie startled, but he strengthened his grip around her shoulder. “I didn’t … should I … is that a problem?”

  He ground his teeth together, causing his powerful jaw to shift in a way that she found fascinating. Her fingers tingled with a desire to lift up and trace the hard lines of his face; he looked to have been cast from granite and steel when the earth was being formed. The fault lines of his face were no less dramatic than the most famous mountainous ranges in the world.

  He spoke in his own language, a harsh word that Evie could only surmise was a curse.

  “I didn’t know.” It was a terse declaration in spite of her obvious wrong-doing. “You should have a sign up or something.”

  He might have laughed were he not still burdened by mental images of what could have become of the pretty woman. “Palace staff are expected to know the family’s areas of the palace and remain out of them.”

  “Well, you’re here,” she pointed out with surprising acerbity for someone who probably now owed her life to this man. “How come you get to come into the family’s area and I don’t?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say something to clear up the misunderstanding but he spoke again, this time with a sense of grudging inevitability. “I come here to exercise the bird.” He released his grip just enough for her to look up at his face and once again see the sharp lines and honeyed tones of his flesh. “This is Khadir. He would not have hesitated to peck the flesh from your body.”

  She shivered involuntarily. “Don’t say that.” Her eyes drifted to the bird; it was still watching her with an air of grievance.

  “It is only that you are now close to me that he is giving you a reprieve. If I let you walk away he would fly after you.”

  “Why would such a hideous vulture be kept in the palace?” />
  “He is an eagle, not a vulture,” Malakhi said with a tight smile. “And there has been one at the palace for as long as it has been walled. In the past they used to be sent out to attack pirates who tormented our traders.”

  “And now?” She asked, moving back towards his chest in a gesture that wasn’t entirely motivated by fear so much as fascination.

  “Khadir accompanies … The Sheikh … when he travels into the deserts to the south. There is no fiercer bodyguard.”

  “Yes, well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t express admiration for an animal that wants to kill me.”

  “Not to kill you, necessarily,” he said, a grin changing his face completely into one of intense beauty and interest. “Come. I will take you inside.”

  “Thank you.” Pleasure throbbed through her. She was an engaged woman and yet everything about this guy was sending her into a total tailspin.

  The three of them made an odd picture as they walked towards the Southern side of the palace. He with his long, powerful stride and Evie having to almost run to keep up, and the bird, surely almost a metre tall, perched at the top of his arm and pinning her with his assessing gaze. Once safely framed by the wide door to the palace, the man put a hand out and the bird transferred to it. He said something in his own language and the bird lifted up, its enormous wings flapping as it did a circle to shoot one last look at Evie and then moved closer towards the trees where it had originally sat.

  “You must be more careful.” The man turned back to the woman who, now that danger had passed, was as white as a sheet and trembling visibly. Without an imminent threat, he had the luxury of time and looked at her properly. He hadn’t seen her before, but that wasn’t saying much: his palace boasted hundreds of staff and he knew only a handful personally.

  “I didn’t know,” she said with a shake of her head.

  Malakhi narrowed his gaze. “You are not from Ishala.”

  “No.”

  “And did no one tell you where you may and may not go in the palace?”