The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

“You said—you said you were taking me to Greece.”

He nodded, reminded himself of Lucas’s advice and stepped back. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“You mean, you’ll let me stay here?” Her breath caught. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought it was with relief.

Of course, that was what he meant. Certainly it was what he meant…

The hell it was, he thought, and pulled her into his arms.

“I mean,” he said roughly, “that I’d be a fool to pay for your upkeep without getting anything in return.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will share my bed. You will give birth to my son. And if, in the intervening months, you have proven yourself sufficiently accomplished as my mistress, I will marry you, give you my name, my title…and permit you to be a mother to this child you claim to want for your own.” He drew her closer. “If you haven’t pleased me, I will keep my son, send you back to New York and you can fight me in the courts.”

Time seemed to stand still. Then Ivy looked unflinchingly into his eyes.

“I hate you,” she said, “hate you, hate you—”

Damian kissed her again and again mercilessly, fiercely, until, finally, she gave a little sob and melted against him.

Was that, too, part of the act?

It didn’t matter.

“Hate me all you like, glyka mou. From this moment on, I own you.”

CHAPTER SIX

A WOMAN identifying herself as Damian’s personal assistant phoned at six and offered no apology for calling at such an early hour.

“Do you have a passport, Miss Madison?”

Ivy was tempted to say she didn’t but what was the point? For all she knew, traveling with royalty meant doing away with passports.

“Yes. I have.”

“In that case, please be ready to leave for Greece at eight-thirty. Promptly at eight-thirty,” the P.A. said emphatically. “His Highness does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Shall I stand at attention until he arrives?” Ivy said, trying to mask a sudden wave of fear with sarcasm.

It was a wasted effort. Ivy could almost see the woman’s raised eyebrows.

“His driver will come for you, Miss Madison, not the prince himself.”

“Of course he won’t,?

? Ivy said, and hung up the phone.

Damian Aristedes was not a man who would sully his hands with work. Not even when it came to making arrangements about a woman.

His assistant probably did this kind of thing all the time. Fly one woman to Greece, fly another to Timbuktu…The prince would expect a mistress to be available on demand.

He was in for a big surprise.

She would never become his mistress. She would never agree to become his anything, much less his wife—although that, obviously, had been a lie. A little bait to lure her into his bed.

Not that he’d need bait for most women.