OH, WHAT a joy to see!
Damian Aristedes’s handsome jaw dropped halfway to the ground. Seeing that was the first really good thing that had happened to Ivy in a while.
Obviously his highness wasn’t accustomed to having his life disrupted by unwanted surprises.
Damian’s unflappable, Kay had said.
Well, okay. She hadn’t said it exactly that way. Nobody can get to him, was probably more accurate.
Not true, Ivy thought. Just look at the man now.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
She didn’t answer. The pleasure of catching him off guard was wearing off. She’d prepared for this moment but the reality was terrifying. Her heart was hammering so hard she was half afraid he could hear it.
“You were outside Portofino’s today.”
He was gaining control of himself. His voice had taken on authority; his pale gray eyes had narrowed.
“Are you a reporter for one of those damned tabloids? I don’t give interviews.”
He really didn’t know who she was. She’d wondered about that, whether Kay had ever shown him a photo or pointed out her picture in a magazine, but she’d pretty much squelched that possibility at the restaurant, where she’d followed him from his Fifty-Seventh Street office.
He’d looked at her, but only the way most men looked at her. With interest, avarice—the kind of hunger she despised, the kind that said she was a plaything and they wanted a new toy.
Although, when this man had looked at her today, just for a second, surely no more than that, she’d felt—she’d felt—
What?
She’d seemed to lose her equilibrium. She was glad someone had joined him because she knew better than to confront him with another person around.
This discussion had to be private.
As for that loss of equilibrium or whatever it was, it only proved how dangerous Damian Aristedes was.
That he’d been able to mesmerize Kay was easy to understand. Kay had always been a fool for men.
That he’d had an effect on Ivy, even for a heartbeat, only convinced her she’d figured him right.
The prince of all he surveyed was a sleek jungle cat, constantly on the prowl. A beautiful predator. Too bad he had no soul, no heart, no—
“Are you deaf, woman? Who are you? What do you want? And how in hell did you get up here?”
He’d taken a couple of steps forward, just enough to invade her space. No question it was a subtle form of intimidation. It might have worked, too—despite her height, he was big enough so that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes—but Ivy was not a stranger to intimidation.
Growing up, she’d been bullied by experts. It could only hurt if you gave in to it.
“Three questions,” she said briskly. “Did you want them answered in order, or am I free to pick and choose?”
He moved quickly, grasped her wrist and forced her arm behind her back. It hurt; his grip was strong, his hands hard. She hadn’t expected a show of physical strength from a pampered aristocrat but she didn’t flinch.
“Take your hand off me.”
“It’ll take me one second to phone for the police and tell them there’s an intruder in my home. Is that what you want?”
“You’re the one who won’t want the police involved in this, Your Highness.”
His gray eyes focused on hers. “Because?”
Now, Ivy thought, and took a steadying breath.
“My name is Ivy.”
Nothing. Not even a flicker of interest.
“Ivy Madison,” she added, as if that would make the difference.
He didn’t even blink. He was either a damned good actor or—A tingle of alarm danced over her skin.
“You are—you are Damian Aristedes?”
He smiled thinly. “A little late to ask but yes, that’s who I am.”
“Then—then surely, you recognize my name…”
“I do not.”
“I’m Kay’s sister. Her stepsister.”
That got a reaction. His eyes turned cold. He let go of her wrist, or maybe it made more sense to say he dropped it. She half expected him to wipe his hand on his trousers. Instead he stepped back.
“Here to pay a condolence call three months late?”
“I’d have thought you’d have been the one to call me.”
He laughed, although the sound he made had no mirth to it.
“Now, why in hell would I do that? For starters, I never knew Kay had a sister.” He paused. “That is, if you really are her sister.”
“What are you talking about? Certainly I’m her sister. And, of course you know about me.”
The woman who claimed to be Kay’s sister spoke with authority. Not that Damian believed she really was who she claimed to be.
At the very least she was up to no good. Why approach him this way instead of phoning or e-mailing? What the hell was going on here?
Only one way to find out, Damian thought, and reached for his cell phone, lying on the marble-topped table beside the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling your bluff. You won’t answer my questions? Fine. You can tell your story to the cops.”
“You’d better think twice before you pick up that phone, Mr. Aristedes.”
His intruder had started out full of conviction, like a poker player sure of a winning hand, but that had changed. Her voice had gone from strong to shaken; those green eyes—so green he wondered if she were wearing contact lenses—had gone wide.
A scam, he thought coldly. She was trying to set him up for something. The only question was, what?
“Prince,” he said, surprising himself with the use of his title. Generally he asked people to call him by his first or last name, not by his honorific, but if it took royal arrogance to shake his intruder’s self-control, he’d use it. “It’s Prince Damian. And I’ll give you one second to start talking. How did you get up here?”
“You mean, how did I bypass the lobby stormtroopers?”
She was trying to regain control. Damned if he’d let it happen. Damian put down the phone, angled toward her and invaded her space again so that she not only stepped back, she stepped into the corner.
No way out, except past him.
“Don’t play with me, lady. I want straight answers.”
She caught a bit of her lower lip between her teeth, worried it for a second before releasing it and quickly touching the tip of her tongue to the flesh she’d gnawed.
Damian’s belly clenched. Lucas had it right. He’d been too long without a woman.
“A delivery boy at the service entrance held the door for me.” She smiled thinly. “He was very courteous. Then I used the fire stairs.”
“If you’re Kay’s sister, why didn’t you simply ask the doorman to announce you?”
“I waited all this time to hear from you but nothing happened. Telling your doorman I wanted to see you didn’t strike me as useful.”
“Let me see some ID.”
“What?”
“Identification. Something that says you’re who you claim to be.”
“I don’t know why Kay loved you,” Ivy said bitterly.
Damian decided it was the better part of valor not to answer that. Instead he watched in silence as she dug through the bag slung over one shoulder, took out a wallet and opened it.
“Here. My driver’s license. Satisfied?”
Not satisfied, just more puzzled. The license said she was Ivy Madison, age twenty-seven, with an address in Chelsea. And the photo checked out. It was the woman standing before him. Not even the bored Motor Vehicle clerks and their soulless machines had been able to snap a picture that dimmed her looks.
Damian looked up.
“This doesn’t make you Kay’s sister.”
Without a word, she dug into her purse again, took out a business-card size folder and flipped it open. The photo inside was obviously years old but there was no mistaking the faces of the two women looking at the camera.
“All right. What if you are Kay’s sister. Why are you here?”
Ivy stared at him. “You can’t be serious!”
He was…and then, with breathtaking speed, things started to fall into place.
The sisters didn’t resemble each other, but that didn’t mean the apple had fallen far from the tree.
“Let me save you some time,” Damian said coolly. “Your sister didn’t leave any money.”
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.”
“I’ll bet. Two con artists discussing how to handle a sucker. Must have been one hell of a conversation.”
She brushed the back of her hand over her eyes but, more credit to her acting skills, the tears kept coming.
“Just be sure of one thing, Prince Aristedes.”
“It’s Prince Damian,” he said coolly. “If you’re going to try to work royalty, you should use the proper form of address.”
“Don’t think you can change your mind after the baby’s born.”
“I wouldn’t dream of…” He jerked back. “What baby?”
“Because I won’t let you near this child. I don’t give a damn how many lawyers you turn loose on me!”
Damian stared at her. He’d let go of the elevator door and it was starting to close again. He moved fast and forced it open.
“What baby?” he demanded.
“You know damned well what baby! Mine. I mean, Kay’s.” Ivy’s chin lifted. “Kay’s—and yours.”
The earth gave a sickening tilt under his feet. There was a baby? No. There couldn’t be. Kay had never really been pregnant. Her doctor had told him so…
“You’re a vicious little liar!”
“Fine. Stay with that idea. I told you, I won’t let my baby—Kay’s baby—near a son of a bitch like—”
She let out a shriek as he dragged her from the elevator, marched her into his apartment and all but threw her into a chair.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He stood over her, feet apart, arms folded, eyes blazing with anger. “Start talking, and it better be the truth.”
She began sobbing. He didn’t give a damn.
“I’m waiting,” he growled. “What baby are you talking about? Whose is it? And where?”
Ivy sprang to her feet. “Get out of my way.”
He grabbed her again, hauled her to her toes.
“Answer me, goddamn it!”
Ivy looked up at him while the seconds seemed to turn to hours. Then she wrenched free of his hands.
This baby,” she said, laying a hand over her belly. “The one in my womb. I’m pregnant, Prince Damian. Pregnant—with your child.”