The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

With his fury.

As if he had anything to be furious about.

It was she who was pregnant, she who would agonize over the life-changing decisions ahead, she who would pay the price for one night’s madness.

Male and female. Yin and yang. Poets made the balance sound romantic but it wasn’t. Men led. Women followed. That was what the world expected, and what too many women accepted.

She’d always known that. She’d watched her father treat her mother like an amusing, if sometimes trying, possession.

Her grandfather had done his best to deal with her the same way but she hadn’t permitted it. She’d never permitted it….

Until the night she fell into the arms of this stranger who stood watching her through accusing eyes.

At least she had herself under better control now. She took a steadying breath—there was no point in letting him see how upset she was—and looked straight back at him.

“Goodbye, Prince Barbieri.”

It was like speaking to a statue. “Explain yourself,” he growled.

Explain herself? The cold demand chased away whatever remained of her nerves.

She didn’t need to explain herself to anyone.

“It’s a small apartment,” she said evenly. “Do you really need me to explain how to get to the front door?”

Her attempt at sarcasm backfired. The look on his face grew even colder.

“That call.”

“That private call, you mean.”

That, too, got her nowhere. “You are pregnant,” he said flatly.

Aimee said nothing. Nicolo took a step toward her.

“Answer me!”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

His eyes narrowed. “I warn you, this is not a time for games.” He jerked his head toward the telephone. “That message. Does it mean you are with child?”

Such an old-fashioned phrase. Another time, she might have found it charming. Now, she found it a measure of how much Nicolo Barbieri belonged in a world that was as far from her own as Earth was from the moon.

“That message was for me. I have no intention of discussing it with—”

He was on her before she could finish the sentence, his hands hard on her elbows as he lifted her to her toes.

“You are three months pregnant!” His grasp on her tightened. “Three months ago, you slept with me.”

“I told you, I am not going to discuss this!”

“You will discuss whatever I wish, when it concerns me.” He lowered his head until his eyes were on the same level as hers. “How many other men were you with three months ago?”

Oh, how she hated him! And yet, he had every right to think that way about her. She’d gone into his bed with no more planning than the slut he’d called her. With less planning, she thought, or she wouldn’t be pregnant!

“I asked you a question.”

“And I told you to get out.” Aimee’s voice trembled; she hated herself for the show of weakness. “You have no right—”