The truth was, she thought about it but stubbornness and pride kept her moving up the steps and into the plane.
Backing down now would have been a sign of weakness.
In New York, they boarded his own plane. She’d expected something like the jet they’d flown from Texas, a small, handsome craft with a handful of seats.
She should have known better.
Lucas’s plane was enormous, a sleek silver bird outfitted in glove-soft black and beige leather.
Though she’d lived in New York long enough to know that men who headed up international corporations often traveled in corporate jets and saw them not simply as perks but as necessities, she refused to think that of Lucas.
The way he treated her, his easy assumption that he could walk into her life and take it over and now the luxurious plane, even the presence of a steward, seemed proof that the Spanish prince saw himself as better than the rest of the world.
She didn’t like this man. Didn’t trust him. That she’d been susceptible to his advances didn’t just embarrass her, it angered her.
He’d sensed how naive she was and made the most of it.
Not anymore, she thought as the steward served dinner on fine china that bore a royal crest.
Now, she had a plan.
Eating the meal set before her was part of it. Maybe the steak and salad, the coffee and brie and water biscuits were the equivalent of breaking bread with the enemy but she had to maintain her strength.
Lucas would be a formidable opponent in what she increasingly saw as a complex chess game.
He had made the first move and he thought he had command of the board.
He didn’t.
As soon as they reached Spain, she’d tell him he had three days to settle this thing. That was more than enough time to convince an old man that he stood to lose more than he’d gain by interfering in two lives.
Playing God was never a good idea, and Prince Felix Reyes had to understand that.
Three days. Then she was going home.
One year of law school hadn’t turned her into a legal hotshot but even a novice could see that this contract had holes big enough to swallow a truck.
She’d go to New York, see her former professors. Surely one would give her the advice she needed.
Already, she could see the bare bones outline of how to fight the sale of the ranch.
Aloysius’s body had wasted away. Toward the end, so had his mind. Who knew how long that had been going on? Had he been mentally capable when he’d sold the ranch? When he’d agreed to an unenforceable stipulation?
Maybe Felix Reyes had lied to him about what he was signing. Maybe Thaddeus had gone along with it, or maybe he’d simply been bowled over by a high-powered international law firm.
The bottom line was that the contract didn’t make sense. Why would Felix Reyes have wanted such played-out land? Why would he have wanted her for his grandson?
Lucas could surely have all the women he wanted.
Alyssa finished her coffee, put down the delicate cup and saucer and glanced over at him, seated in a leather armchair across the aisle. His meal lay untouched on the table in front of him. His hands were wrapped around a heavy crystal glass that held an inch of amber liquid; his face was to the window.
Despite what she knew of him, what she thought of him, her pulse gave an unwelcome little kick.
He was so incredibly beautiful.
Tall. Dark. Masculine. And, ever since they’d changed planes in New York, quiet and brooding.
In fact, to her relief, he’d ignored her. He spent most of the time on the plane’s satellite phone, speaking sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish, his voice never loud enough for her to pick up more than a couple of words but enough so she knew his conversations were about his grandfather.
She almost found herself feeling sorry for him. She’d even come close to leaning over and—and what? Telling him everything would be okay? Offering her compassion?
What compassion had he offered her? He was a coldhearted, manipulative tyrant, clearly accustomed to having his own way.
Lucas turned and looked at her. His eyes were very dark; the bones in his cheeks seemed more pronounced than usual. She could see that he was hurting…
Alyssa broke eye contact.
Three days. A second more was to court disaster.
In midafternoon, the jet began a smooth descent through a bright blue sky, touched down on a long ribbon of concrete and finally braked to a gentle stop.
Green meadows bracketed the landing strip; on a distant rise, a herd of horses stood silhouetted against a lush backdrop of leafy trees.
A black Rolls-Royce sped along a parallel road and stopped; two men in coveralls began wheeling a mobile staircase to the plane as the steward entered the cabin and opened the outside door.
“Welcome home, Your Highness,” he said pleasantly.
Alyssa rose to her feet. So did Lucas, who clasped her shoulder as she started past him.
“Wait.”
An imperial command. Did he think she was one of his subjects? She shrugged off his hand, brushed past the steward…
And almost tumbled into the yawning gap between the plane and the mobile stairs.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back.
“Madre de Dios,” Lucas said sharply, “what in hell were you doing?”
“I thought—the door—I thought—”
She was shaking like a leaf. So was he. Another step and…
Lucas cursed, turned Alyssa to him and gathered her tightly in his arms. He half expected her to resist but she collapsed against him, heart pounding against his, breath quick and shallow.
“Lyssa.” He shut his eyes, buried his face in her hair. “It’s my fault. The stairs—”
Alyssa shuddered. “There were no stairs.”
“Si. I know.”
“It was my fault entirely, sir,” the steward said in a shaken whisper. “If I hadn’t opened the door—”
“No, it’s not your doing, Emilio.” Lucas cupped Alyssa’s face and lifted it so he could look into her eyes. “Emilio knows I always want the door opened as soon as possible. I like the smell of home. The grass. The sea beyond the hills. The horses.” Dios, her face was so pale! “Now you will think I am a crazy man, admitting I love the smell of horses.”
His attempt at calming her seemed to work. A hint of color rose in her cheeks and she gave a choked laugh.
“The only crazy person here is me, trying to walk on air.”
The steps locked into place with a metallic thud.
“We can toss a coin to decide the winner later.” Lucas’s smile faded. “Are you all right, chica?”
“Yes. I’m—I’m fine.”
Not true. He could feel her heart doing the paso doble and she was still trembling. Letting go of her was out of the question, and he swung her up into his arms.
“Lucas. Really. I can walk.”
“Si. So can I. Humor me, amada. Put your arms around my neck and let me carry you to the car.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he crossed the grassy ribbon between the landing strip and the shiny black Rolls-Royce waiting on the blacktop. The driver saluted.
“Welcome home, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Paolo.”
Lucas bit back a grin.
Paolo, normally the most unflappable of souls, was having a difficult time trying not to stare but then, the sight of his employer with a woman in his arms was not an everyday occurrence.
It was not an occurrence that had taken place here at all.
Lucas had never brought a woman to the finca. It was his by birthright but it was also Felix’s home, and he always exercised discretion where his grandfather was concerned…
Dios. Another problem, one he had not considered. Paolo would not be the only one of the household staff to be shocked at the sight of Alyssa. All of them would undoubtedly leap to the same conclusion, that he had
finally decided to bring a mistress home with him.
He couldn’t let that happen.
This was Spain. Princes still did not have to explain themselves to anyone but that rule didn’t apply to young women, not in the world in which old bloodlines and older conventions still ruled.
“Paolo,” he said gently.
The chauffeur blinked. “Sorry, sir. I, ah, I, ah—”
He swung open the rear door of the Rolls-Royce and Lucas slipped into the seat, Alyssa still in his arms. She struggled a little; his arms tightened around her and he put his lips to her temple.
“Sit still, amada,” he whispered.
“Your driver will think—”
“Worry about what I will think, if you keep shifting against me that way.”
The soft taunt had the effect he’d anticipated. Alyssa blushed and went very still just as Paolo got behind the wheel.
“This is Señorita McDonough,” Lucas said.
“Señorita,” Paolo said, smiling at her in his mirror.
“She will be visiting with us for a while.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucas frowned. He’d have to come up with something better than that but for now…
For now, his thoughts returned to what mattered most. Felix.
“Has there been any change in my grandfather, Paolo?”
“None I have heard of, sir.”
No. There wouldn’t have been. Lucas had phoned endless times, spoken with doctors and nurses, with something called a patient liaison, and each had told him the same thing.
No change. Felix was still in a coma.
“Do you wish to go to the hospital, sir?”
“Take us to the house first. I’ll get the señorita settled in and then I’ll go to the hospital.”
“I don’t need settling in,” Alyssa hissed. “And I wish you’d let go of me! What will the chauffeur think?”
Lucas looked at the firebrand in his arms. Her face was flushed, her hair had long ago come loose of its demure knot and whatever lipstick she’d had on was worn away by the endless hours since they’d left Texas…
Kissed away by his mouth on hers.
“You cannot just—just march around carrying me as if I were—as if I were—”
Bending his head, he kissed her, felt her initial struggle fade and become acquiescence, felt her lips soften, felt the sweetness of her sigh.
When he looked up, he caught Paolo openly gaping at them in the mirror.
“Paolo,” he said gently, “I forgot to mention…”
“Sir?”
“Señorita McDonough has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
They were the first words Alyssa had spoken since Lucas’s impossible announcement.
He’d carried her from the car, up a set of steps and through the massive doors of what could only be called a mansion, past a butler, a housekeeper, a maid, past half a dozen people who stared at her, at him, then beamed when he made the same announcement to each.
This is Señorita McDonough. Mi novia.
His fiancée. His fiancée, when in reality she was a woman who wanted to claw his eyes out.
But she’d kept quiet, knowing anything she said would be pointless, that the arrogant Spanish prince would shut her up by kissing her.
Once they were alone, she’d tell him what an idiot he was.
And they were alone now.
He’d carried her up an elegant, curving staircase, down a wide hall, shouldered open a door, kicked it shut behind him and, at last, dropped her on her feet. Then he’d folded his arms and looked at her in a way that said he knew what was coming next.
“All right, amada,” he’d growled, “let’s have it.”
And she’d given it to him. A look of rage, of disbelief, and then the question that was really a statement.
“Are you out of your mind?”
He had to be. Why else say they were engaged? Why further complicate something that was quickly becoming impossible?
He scowled. Glared. Ran his hands through his dark hair until it stood up in little ruffles. He paced across the room, swung around, faced her and said, “I had no choice.”
“You had no choice?”
“That’s correct. I had no—”
“You told everyone—everyone!—that I’m your fiancée because you had no choice?”
“Chica. If you would calm down—”
“We both agreed that contract, that inane stipulation, is a joke. It’s why I said I’d come here with you, because we agreed. Because you said you’d find a way to make your grandfather see it was wrong.”
“Unenforceable.”
“Unenforceable, wrong, what’s the difference?” Alyssa slapped her hands on her hips. “I knew I shouldn’t have believed you!”
His face darkened. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“You just told your staff that we’re engaged. What would you like me to call you? Creative? Inventive?” Alyssa blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I did a lot of thinking today. Tonight. Whatever you call it when you fly through umpteen time zones.”
“Three time zones,” Lucas said coolly. “I know it’s difficult but try to be accurate.”
“Four, counting this one, and that’s not the point!” She strode toward him, eyes hot. “And now, here you are, telling your staff, telling the entire world that I am something I most definitely am not.”
Lucas folded his arms. “Are you finished?”
“No, I am not finished. If you think, if you for one second think I would ever agree to the terms of that—that stipulation—”
“Amazing, how you make that into a dirty word.”
“I wouldn’t marry you if—if—”
“If I were the last man on earth. A cliché, amada, but why worry about such things when you’re in the middle of a tirade?”
He was right. She was ranting and what was the point? Hadn’t she spent hours coming up with a plan? Well, with parameters for his plan, the one that involved making his grandfather see the light?
Alyssa took a deep breath.
“The point is—”
“The point,” Lucas said grimly, stalking toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, hoisting her unceremoniously to her toes, “the point, my charming novia, is that you have nothing to worry about. I would not marry you, either, not if you were the last female in the universe!”
“Then why—”
“Because,” he growled, lowering his head so their eyes met, “because I am a fool who suddenly realized that bringing you here could ruin your reputation.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her reputation? This man had insulted her, threatened her, bullied her, accused her of lying about being a virgin, and now he was worried about her reputation?
He had to be joking.
“I admit, I should have thought of it sooner.”
“Thought about my reputation,” Alyssa said slowly.
“Yes. This is a small place. A world unto itself.”
“What small place? What world?”
“This one,” he said with impatience. “Andalusia. Those who live here. Those who breed these horses.”
“I don’t live here. And, as you surely know, I don’t breed horses, Andalusians or otherwise.” Her mouth thinned. “Not anymore.”
“But you did.”
“Once, a very long time ago, my mother bred them.”
“And so will you, once I find a way to break the contract and return the land to you.”
Her heart lifted. That was what he’d said he wanted to do, to his grandfather during their phone call and then to her. Did he actually mean it?
“Trust me, amada. It is a small world we live in. You don’t want people talking about you. I have no right to permit people to assume I need you here for—for the wrong reasons.”
“You mean,” she said coolly, “a man like you needs women for only one reason.”
“Yes. No! Damn it, Lyssa—”
“You called me that before. It isn’t my name.”
“What in hell does what I call you have to do with what we’re discussing?”
Alyssa blinked. What were they discussing, exactly? She wasn’t sure anymore. Lucas was standing too close. His hands on her shoulders were too warm. His eyes were too dark.
“I like the name Lyssa,” he said, his voice softening. “It suits you. Does it bother you that I call you by it?”
Bother her? Why would it? The way he said it, Lyssa, as if he were whispering it to her. As if it belonged only to them. As if they were alone together, their mouths fused, their bodies on fire…
Oh God!
“No,” she said coolly, “no, it doesn’t bother me at all. Anyway, you’re right. It has nothing to do with what we were talking about.”
“Reputations.”
“Yes.”
“Well, the point is…” Lucas cleared his throat. “The point is, the sight of you disconcerted my people.”
“You mean,” she said sweetly, “they’re not accustomed to seeing you carry home the spoils of war?”
“They’re not accustomed to seeing me bring a woman into this house,” he said, refusing to be sidetracked. “I’ve never done it before.”
Why did that make her want to smile? “You haven’t?”
“That’s what I just said, amada. No, I have not. And I suddenly realized my people would—well, they would see you and come to the wrong conclusion.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want them to think I brought you here for sex.”
“So, I was right. You’re concerned about your own rep—”
“Damn it,” Lucas growled, “that’s not it! You’ve been through enough. Why should anyone pin a label on you because of me?”
Alyssa blinked. Maybe there was a heart buried under all that macho muscle.
“That’s—that’s very kind, but—”
“Let everyone think you’re my novia. It will protect you from gossip.” His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Trust me, amada. Gossip travels, even from one side of the Atlantic to the other.”
“Well—well, as I said, that’s kind of you. But—”
“At the end of all this, I’ll simply say we decided our engagement was a mistake.”
The Spanish Prince s Virgin Bride Page 8