Sandra Marton - The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife

Those bright green eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not here for money.”

“There’s no jewelry, either. No spoils of war. I donated everything I’d given her to charity.”

“I don’t care about that, either.”

“Really?” He folded his arms. “You mean, I haven’t ruined your hopes for a big score?”

Her eyes filled with tears.

Indeed, Damian thought grimly, that was exactly what he’d done.

“You—you egotistical, self-aggrandizing, aristocratic pig,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You haven’t spoiled anything except for yourself. And believe me, Prince or Mr. or whatever name you want, you’ll never, ever know what you missed!”

It was an emotional little speech and he could see she was determined to end it on a high note by shoving past him and striding to the door.

There was every reason to let her go.

If she was willing to give up so easily and disappear from his life as quickly as she’d entered it, who was he to stop her?

Logic told him to move aside.

To hell with logic.

Damian shifted his weight to keep her trapped in the corner. She called him another name, not nearly as creative as the last, put her arms out straight and tried to push him away.

He laughed, caught both her wrists and trapped her hands against the hard wall of his chest. Anger and defiance stained her cheeks with crimson.

“Damn it, let go!”

“Why, sweetheart,” he purred, “I don’t understand. How come you’re so eager to leave when you were so eager to see me?”

She kicked him in the shin with one of her high heeled boots. It hurt, but he’d be damned if he let her know that. Instead he dragged her closer until she was pressed against him.

He told himself it was only to keep her from gouging his shin to the bone.

And that there was no reason, either, for the hot fist of lust that knotted in his groin as he looked down into her flushed face.

Her eyes were wild. Her hair was a torrent of spun gold. Her lips were trembling. Trembling, and full, and delicately parted, and all at once, all at once, Damian understood why she was here.

What a thickheaded idiot he was!

Kay had obviously told Ivy about him. That he had money, a title, an eye for beautiful women.

And now Kay was gone but Ivy—Ivy was very much alive.

Incredibly alive.

His gaze dropped to her mouth again. “What a fool you must think me,” he said softly. “Of course I know why you’re here.”

Her eyes lit. Her mouth curved in a smile. “Thank God,” she said shakily. “For a while there, I thought—”

Damian silenced her in midsentence. He thrust his hands into her hair, lifted her face to his and kissed her.

She cried out against his mouth. Slammed her fists against his chest. A nice touch, he thought with a coldness that belied his rising libido. She’d come to audition as her sister’s replacement. Well, he’d give her a tryout, all right. Kiss her, show her she had no effect on him and then send her packing.

Except, it wasn’t happening that way.

Maybe he really had been without a woman for too long.

Maybe his emotions were out of control.

Sex, desire—neither asks for reason, only satiation and completion. He wanted this. The heat building inside him like a flash-fire in dry brush. The deep, hungry kiss.

The woman struggling for freedom in his arms.

She was pretending. He knew that. It was all part of the act. He nipped at her bottom lip; she gave a little cry and he slid his tongue into her mouth, tasted her sweetness, caught the little sound she made and kissed her again and again until she whimpered, lifted herself to him, flattened her hands against his chest…

Thee mou!

Damian jerked away. The woman stumbled back. Her eyes flew open, the pupils so enormous they’d all but consumed the green of her irises.

What the hell was he doing? She was just like Kay. A siren, luring a man with sex—

Her hand flew through the air and slammed against his jaw.

“You bastard,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You evil, horrible son of a bitch!”

“Don’t bother with the theatrics,” he snarled. “Or I’ll call you some names of my own.”

“I don’t understand why Kay loved you!”

“Your sister never loved anything that didn’t have a price tag on it. Now, go on. Get the hell out before I change my mind and call the police.”

“She loved you enough to let you talk her into having this baby!”

Damian had swung away. Now he turned around and faced Ivy Madison.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know damned well what I’m talking about! She lost the first baby and instead of offering her any comfort and compassion, you told her to get out because she couldn’t give you an heir.”

Could a woman’s lies actually leave a man speechless? Damian opened his mouth, then shut it again while he tried to make sense of what Ivy Madison had just said.

“You would have tossed away the woman who loved you, who adored you, just because she couldn’t give you a child. So my sister said she’d give you a baby, no matter what it took, even after the doctors said she couldn’t run the risk of pregnancy!”

“Wait a minute. Just wait one damned minute—”

Ivy stared at him, emerald eyes bright against the pallor of her skin.

“You used her love for you to try to get your own way and you didn’t care what it did to her, what happened to her—”

Damian was on her in two strides, hands gripping her shoulders, fingers biting into her flesh, lifting her to her toes so that their faces were inches apart.

“Get out,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Do you hear me? Get out of my home and my life or I’ll have you arrested. And if you think you’ll walk away after a couple of hours in jail, think again. My attorneys will see to it that you stay in prison for the next hundred years.”

It was an empty threat. What could he charge her with besides being a world-class liar? He knew that. What counted was that she didn’t.

But it didn’t stop her.

“Kay was in love with you.”

“I just told you what Kay loved. You have five seconds, Miss Madison. One. Two—”

“She found a way to have your child. You were happy to go along with it but now, you refuse to acknowledge that—”

“Goodbye, Miss Madison.”

Damian spun Ivy toward the door. He put his hand in the small of her back, gave her a little push and she stumbled toward the elevator.

“I’m going to call down to the lobby. If the doorman doesn’t see you stepping out of this car in the next couple of minutes, the cops will be waiting.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Just watch me.”

The elevator door opened. Damian curled his fingers around her elbow and quick-marched her inside.

Tears were streaming down her face.

She was as good at crying on demand as Kay had been, he thought dispassionately, though Kay had never quite mastered the art. Her face would get red, her skin blotchy but despite all that, her nose never ran.

Ivy’s eyes were cloudy with tears. Her skin was the color of cream. And her nose—damn it, her nose was leaking.

A nice touch of authenticity, Damian told himself as he stepped from the car and the door began to close.

“I was a fool to come here.”

Damian grabbed the door. Her words were slurred. Another nice touch, he thought, and offered a wicked smile.

“Didn’t work out quite the way you’d planned it, did it?”

“I should have known. All these months, no call from you…”

“I’m every bit the son of a bitch you imagined I’d be,” he said, smiling again.

“I tried to tell Kay it was a bad idea, but she wouldn’t listen.”