CLAIMING HIS BOUGHT BRIDE RACHEL BAILEY

AND

SEDUCING THE ENEMY’S DAUGHTER JULES BENNETT

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CLAIMING HIS BOUGHT BRIDE

RACHEL BAILEY

“No point hiding your reaction to me, Lily.”

Her eyes narrowed in contradiction, but her chest moved in rapid, shallow breaths.

A smile of victory threatened, but he let only one corner of his mouth curve up. “Don’t worry, there will be time for that. A lifetime of opportunities.”

Gasping, Lily stepped back, rubbing her palms over the skin he had held. “No, Damon. I agreed to marry you. I agreed to have your baby, which it so happens I’m already carrying. But I did not agree to share your bed. It won’t be that type of marriage.”

The smile playing on his lips extended into a full-blown version. A challenge. He loved a challenge if the prize was worth winning. And this woman in front of him was worth bedding—he knew that well.

About the Author

RACHEL BAILEY developed a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck) and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to gain degrees in psychology and social work, but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living.

She lives on a piece of paradise on Australia’s Sunshine Coast with her hero and four dogs, and loves to sit with a dog or two, overlooking the trees and reading books from her ever-growing to-be-read pile.

Rachel would love to hear from you and can be contacted through her website, www.rachelbailey.com.

Dear Reader,

I love a reunion story—especially with a couple where the passion still runs deep. So it was such a pleasure to sink into Lily Grayson’s life when she meets with her ex-lover, the rich and gorgeous Damon Blakely.

Having been brought up around art and galleries, it was natural for me to infuse Lily’s life with touches of the art world through her job as a gallery curator. Monet’s series of water lilies have always spoken to me, and Lily shares my appreciation (though Damon prefers a different series by Monet—one that more reflects his personality!).

As an avid reader of Desire™ books, I’m thrilled my own first Desire™ novel is finally here. Lily and Damon’s story will always hold that special “firstborn” place in my heart and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Best wishes,

Rachel

To my own personal hero, John. For everything.

Thanks to

Diana Ventimiglia for believing in this book and for her continued guidance.

Jennifer Schober for her faith in me.

Robyn Grady, Barbara Jeffcott Geris, Melissa James and Sharon Archer for their brilliant critiquing.

One

Lily Grayson placed a hand on her still-slender waist and searched the familiar ballroom. Shimmering silver and gold streamers hung from the expansive twenty-foot ceiling; a string quartet provided presupper music, which blended with the chatter of two hundred black-tie guests. A high-society birthday party was in full swing, but enjoying the festivities could play no part in Lily’s plan.

Lips dry and her breathing shallow, her gaze flew from face to face, looking for the man she needed to speak with urgently. The man she’d once loved, but could never trust with her heart … or their unborn baby’s emotional well-being.

Damon Blakely.

The multimillionaire corporate raider whom men feared and women coveted.

A waiter paused, tray covered with flutes of crystalline champagne and fine-stemmed glasses of wine, but she shook her head and continued her circuit of Travis Blakely’s sixtieth birthday party. In the six months she’d been with Damon, she’d visited his uncle’s Melbourne home several times, but not once since their breakup almost three months ago. Since Damon had let her down when she’d needed him most.

The thought led back to her gran, home alone tonight, recovering from another bout of pneumonia, part of the ill health that had incapacitated her recently. If only Gran would accept more help, but she refused to move in with Lily or let Lily live with her. Gran valued her independence and Lily couldn’t help but feel powerless. But she wouldn’t be sidetracked with thoughts of her beloved grandmother now. She’d see Gran taken care of, one way or another.

Tonight she needed to find Damon.

Lily continued searching from guest to guest as she wove through the crowd. The women in evening gowns of satins and sequins reminded her of peacocks parading for attention, and the sounds of clinking glasses and a hundred indistinct conversations culminated in an assault on her ears. She’d rather be anywhere than here—this was not her world. But it was his world and she needed to find him.

Searching still, she swung around. Her heartbeat stalled before exploding in her chest as her gaze collided with his.

Dead ahead, suave in a tux, red wine in one hand, the other free to shake the hands of acquaintances who stepped into his path, Damon smiled and passed comments with those who waylaid him. The charming lord of all he surveyed. But his distinctive eyes, with the black ring circling the ice-blue iris, were focused on her.

An exquisite shiver passed down her spine at the intensity of his gaze and her body reacted with predictable awareness. Lily closed her eyes to tamp down the response but her lids immediately fluttered open. He stirred within her an overwhelming hunger. Even now, she couldn’t keep her eyes from devouring him.

Damon towered over the other guests, and she realized that instead of searching for him, she should have stood on the entrance stairs to spot his characteristic waves of midnight-dark hair. Or closed her eyes and let her body find his with the magnetic link that still drew her to him.

He finished talking to a rotund man, who laughed heartily at Damon’s parting comment, then took several strides toward her before being tapped on the shoulder by an elderly statesman Lily recognized from the newspapers.

She eased out a breath—it seemed she wouldn’t need to approach him. He was coming to her. As her blood heated and skin tightened at the thought, she took an involuntary step back. Amazing. Even after all his neglect and the utter anguish he’d caused, the force of her attraction was still overpowering.

Leaning against a cool pillar, she waited, taking in the scene of Melbourne’s elite at play. At odds with those around her, she’d never wanted a life of extravagance. Growing up with Gran, who’d struggled to keep a roof over their heads after her son—Lily’s father—had gambled the family home away, she’d wished only for security. Financial stability, no more.

The cloying scent of too many expensive perfumes and colognes mingling in the enclosed space made her head spin, and she looked longingly toward the exit. She needed to get this over with. The stress of trying to anticipate Damon’s reaction to her news was pushing her to breaking point. She was still coming to grips with it herself.

Finished with the statesman, Damon took the last few strides to reach her, his broad shoulders and long legs showcased by the tuxedo.

He didn’t say a word, just seemed to drink her in, his sensuous mouth parted slightly before he downed the rest of his wine and discarded the glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Then he clasped her elbow and slowly reached down to press a kiss to her cheek, a little too close to the corner of her mouth for propriety, but then Damon had never worried about convention when it clashed with his interests.

“Hello, Lily.” He seemed to roll her name around his mouth before delivering it in his deep voice, something that had always sent her pulse erratic. “You look gorgeous.”

His compliment hummed through her blood, even as she told herself not to listen. She’d learned long ago that people said what they wanted you to hear. A lesson she’d relearned recently thanks to the man still holding her arm.

She swallowed and found her voice. “Hello, Damon. You look good, too. You always did in a tuxedo,” she conceded.

His mouth curved and pale blue eyes gleamed. “I’d rather hoped you preferred me out of my tuxedo.”

An unbidden image of them entwined on his bed rose in her mind. The memory of his tanned, muscled body contrasted against crisp fine cotton sheets made her inwardly groan. When an ache deep and low in her stomach began to throb, Lily gritted her teeth and withdrew her elbow in a move others in the room wouldn’t notice, but which sent a clear message to Damon—touching was a right he no longer possessed.

A raised eyebrow told her he’d taken her meaning and wasn’t offended. He sank his hands into his front trouser pockets. Confident and sexy to the core.

She needed to tell him now, before his lethal sexuality scrambled her brain further. Needed to get him somewhere private so she could tell him about their baby as well as her plans to move on with her life.

He leaned close and whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling sensuously. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about in private.”

Lily froze. Had he guessed? No, he couldn’t have—she wasn’t showing yet and at fourteen weeks, her morning sickness had passed. There were no clues and no one else knew, she’d made certain of it. Her secret was safe, until she told Damon in her own words.

And now he wanted to speak to her in private—it seemed fate had cut her a break for once. She would grab the opportunity. “When?”

He gave a self-satisfied grin. “How does now suit?”

Her legs felt weak but she maintained the cool facade. “Where?”

For reply he took her hand and led her away. As firecrackers shot through her veins, Lily shook her head.

Obviously she needed to make clearer her position on the no-touching rule. However, for expediency’s sake, this one last time she would allow the contact.

Though perhaps she shouldn’t take his acts of entitlement and their effects on her so personally; all women seemed to succumb to Damon Blakely’s innate sensuality when they were in his orbit. Far more important to her were other qualities—traits Damon seemed incapable of understanding or displaying. Emotional reliability. Prioritizing others’ needs before his own. Worse, she knew that would never change.

He drew her down a quiet hallway toward the rear of the stark mansion where he’d grown up, until she recognized the heavy double sliding doors of Travis Blakely’s private gallery.

Damon flicked on the lights and her art-gallery curator’s eye was drawn to the priceless artwork hanging on the walls and enclosed in glass on podiums.

She drifted forward and ran a finger along the edge of one glass cabinet, not turning to him, even when he spoke.

“We haven’t been alone in, how long?” A wall of heat moved behind her and for one crazy moment she let herself simply absorb his warmth in hope of soothing her chilled heart.

“Almost three months.” She turned, bringing her within a foot of him. Her heart skipped a beat to find him so close.

“How have you been? Your gran?” He casually reached to toy with a strand of her long silver-blond hair, sending a frisson of heat across her skin.

“I’ve been fine,” she whispered, wishing her voice had been stronger but unable to help his effect on her. “Gran’s been under the weather, but she’s coming out of it now.”

At least physically. Her medical bills had mounted up and, with no assets or income besides the old age pension, Lily was worried for the woman who’d raised her since the age of twelve. Gran had already lost so much, her son, her health, her house, her nest egg.

Damon released the lock of hair and grazed his knuckles down the side of her cheek in a touch as light as butterfly wings. “That must have been hard for you.”

Lily nodded, torn between her body’s reaction to Damon’s touch and the thoughts his words evoked. She owed Gran everything, loved her beyond measure.

“I suppose she still won’t let you help.” His voice was quiet, beguiling.

On the verge of slipping under his sensual thrall, she caught herself. She had to wrest back power over her own body.

She stepped away and moved to the other side of the glass cage, putting the artwork between them as a token symbol of protection. Only then did she trust herself to reply. “She says that after raising me to stand on my own two feet, the last thing she wants is for me to be financially behind the eight ball because of her.”

Damon didn’t appear to feel thwarted by her physical retreat, more like she’d thrown down the gauntlet and he’d accepted. He prowled the trail she’d followed, yet bypassed her position and leaned against a nearby column, ankles crossed, hands resting on narrow hips. The pose of a predator biding his time. “Have you come up with any options?”

She took a breath, held it, then admitted, “Not yet. But I will.” Finding a way to look after Gran was a priority.

He pushed off the column, rolling his shoulders as he hunted the shadows of the room, before turning and ending squarely in front of her.

His eyes seemed to consume her whole. “You seem sure about that.” His arched eyebrow told her that he didn’t share her confidence.

Truth be told, she had no idea how she’d make sure Gran was taken care of, but she wouldn’t consider failure.

“Don’t worry about me, Damon, I’ll find a way.” The heat radiating from him, the raw sexual hunger in his gaze, made it difficult to think, to say anything, but she needed to change the subject. “It seems I should be more worried about you. I heard Travis disinherited you after we broke up.”

“Ah, yes. The millions of tainted dollars, this loving family home.” He swept an arm around, eyes filled with derision. “Everything.”

“Including the one thing you’ve always coveted.” Had wanted more than he’d wanted her. His late father’s company, BlakeCorp.

Looking down at her hands, she blinked away any remnants of emotion that thought still evoked. She was over it. Over him.

Movement drew her attention back to his face. He was closer again. The barely visible tension in his features dissolved, replaced by his usual arrogant self-assurance.

Hands clasped behind his back, Damon leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I have an offer for you. To help your gran.”

Undiluted shock surged through her entire body. Her neck snapped back and she sought his eyes. It was the last thing she’d expected. “What offer?”

“I’ll buy her a house. One with all modern safety features for someone her age, but where she still has her independence. I’ll pay off all her outstanding medical expenses. And I’ll employ a private nurse to help until she’s back on her feet. Longer, if she’ll allow it.” He smiled, assured his offer was too good to refuse. “You know she’ll accept. She knows I can afford it and she always had a soft spot for me.”

“Why would you do that?”

He shrugged and took her hand, drawing her still closer, pressing his advantage. “Travis invited me here tonight to make me an offer. I want to extend the offer to include you. And your Gran.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “I thought you’d both sworn never to lay eyes on the other again.” In fact, she’d been astonished when Travis’s secretary had rung to follow up on Lily’s RSVP tonight, and had revealed that Damon was expected. But she’d immediately seen her chance to speak with him—Damon had been out of the country and, unsure of when he’d jet off again, she’d grabbed the first opportunity to see him she could.

But she had to stay on guard. Game playing came as naturally to the Blakelys as making money. “Why would Travis come to you now and make an offer?”

“Been keeping up on the family goings-on, Lily?” His thumb ran up and down on the wrist he held. “Perhaps you still have my best interests at heart.”

Lily blew out a dismissive breath and withdrew her hand. Her stomach churned. How much more of this game could she take? “Damon, for pity’s sake, cut the theatrics and answer my question.”

He smiled—the slow smile of a panther assured of catching its prey. Though, just who he thought his prey was this time—her or Travis—she wasn’t certain.

“Travis received some tragic news from his doctor today.” Damon didn’t even try to pretend that any news that was tragic for Travis would adversely affect him. There had been no love lost between the two long before she’d met either of them.

She knew Travis had raised Damon with more than an iron rod—he’d also used emotional abuse and deliberate neglect as tools to rear his older brother’s son. Damon had never wanted to talk much about it, but it’d been easy enough to put two and two together—and the answer had broken her heart. Perhaps she’d given Damon one chance too many when they’d been together, knowing how he’d never really escaped the torment of his childhood. But she couldn’t go on giving him chances now. Things had changed.

One thing she knew, Damon would never forgive Travis. What surprised her was that they’d lasted so long without either one destroying the line of inheritance.

She tried to gauge Damon’s feelings from his expression but failed. “If he’s talking to you again, the news is obviously something that’s made him confront his mortality.”

Damon nodded. “Despite retaining the services of the best cardiovascular surgeon in the country, last month’s operation to repair his heart was unsuccessful. Test results that came in today confirmed it. And he’s apparently not a good candidate for a heart transplant—lack of donors, his age and the mistreatment he’s given the rest of his body have seen to that. He pressed them for a prognosis. They’ve given him twelve months to live.”

Despite Travis’s mistreatment of Damon as a child, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy.

And sympathy for Damon, faced with losing the only family he had left, albeit an estranged and loathed family member. Impulsively she reached out and laid her hand on his forearm, stroking the material covering his golden-brown skin.

“Damon, I’m sorry.”

He made a dismissive sound and clamped down on her hand with his free one—not allowing her sympathy, but not permitting her to break the contact, either. “Actually, there’s good news come from this. He’s prepared to revise his will.”

Lily blinked several times. “He’ll give you your father’s company back?” Was that why Damon was at this party tonight?

A glint appeared in his eye. “That was my price.”

She hesitated, holding off congratulating him on achieving his longtime ambition until she’d heard the cost.

“It seems Travis has become sentimental. He wants to leave a legacy to his family.” Damon’s scornful smile clearly showed his opinion of his uncle’s change of heart.

Lily frowned in confusion. “He’s leaving you everything?”

“No, he’s still determined I’ll never touch a penny of his money. But he offered to leave his entire portfolio of assets and cash to my child. He said my child will be rich.” Damon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He failed to take into account that any child of mine would be rich without his generous offer.” He moved away, restless, tension radiating from him in waves she could almost feel, but the emotion was tightly leashed.

Any child of his? He was seriously thinking about children? She’d hoped that, despite his incredibly busy life, he’d want to play some role in their baby’s upbringing—though not a role that could allow him to repeat the cycle of the Blakely’s cold, emotionally harsh parenting style. Perhaps something more like a big brother. She’d assumed he wouldn’t want more than that—he’d told her more than once he didn’t want children.

He stopped before a portrait of a Victorian woman surrounded by children dressed as small adults, gazing at the figures as if they held secret wisdom.

“Your child?” Instinctively her hand went to her belly as she watched his broad, tense back. And then another thought struck—had she missed a vital piece of Damon’s history where he already had a child?

He turned in a cold, almost casual way and faced her again, this time with several feet distance between them. “If I conceive a child before he dies.”

Lily nodded, with a streak of intense, perverse joy that Damon had no other children before the one she carried.

No. She gritted her teeth. She had to stop letting possessive thoughts like these sneak through her defenses. They were counterproductive to her goals. She needed to tell him her news, ask his cooperation and keep both her baby and heart protected in the process.

Stray possessive thoughts could play no part in her future relationship with him. She needed her wits about her. She was prepared to provide for this baby if Damon rejected fatherhood or denied paternity; she earned a good wage as assistant curator at the gallery. But she’d hoped with all her heart he’d want to make sure his child had every advantage. It seemed from his comments he would.

Rich was another story though. She didn’t want Damon’s fortune. The Blakely family was a stellar example of how excessive wealth corrupted morals.

Her hand found the silver heart pendant at her throat. “What did you tell him?”

He looked at her, down his long, proud nose. “I said no.”

The vision of the two Blakely lions squaring off earlier in the night was strangely compelling. “So that’s when he offered you your father’s company?”

“He dangled BlakeCorp as a bribe and then threw in a touch of blackmail. Told me he’d leave all his worldly goods to his cousin’s son, Mark, if I refused. And Mark would break it up and sell everything to the highest bidder—as long as that bidder wasn’t me, as per my dear uncle’s directions.”

Lily had met Mark once at a family dinner. He had the Blakely ruthless, money-hungry gaze and it had chilled her from across the table. “So how will you produce this baby?”

Curiosity made her ask. She knew she should tell him now about her pregnancy, but first she desperately wanted to know what plan he’d devised.

“Ah, good question. And it’s not just any baby. He wants a legitimate heir.” Damon lifted a sardonic brow.

She drew in one long breath. “You’ll marry?”

“Which is where you come in.” Suddenly he was close again, so close she could feel the heat from his body, smell the rich red wine on his breath. “I want to marry you.” He clasped both her hands and smiled in a good imitation of reasonableness.

Lily’s head swam and her throat felt thick. His complete disinterest in having children in the past had allowed a hope he’d let her raise their baby on her own. But things had changed.

The room around her began a slow spin. If she told him now about her pregnancy, nothing would stop his pursuit of her. He’d made a decision that he wanted a child. Her child. For the sake of BlakeCorp, not because of love or commitment.

Damon always got what he wanted.

She bit down on the rising panic—everything had veered out of control within short minutes. Her simple plan of doing the right thing and telling him about the baby, asking him for financial support, and looking for a mutually agreeable role he could play in the child’s life was now a complicated tangle.

“Lily?” He lifted her chin with a finger. “If you marry me, you and your gran would both be taken care of beyond your wildest dreams.”

Still she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but this will work very well for us.” He leaned in to feather a kiss along her jawline.

Damon was a man others regarded as beyond powerful, but she’d known from the start that his greatest power was his ability to enthrall. To mesmerize her with negligible effort. The knowledge, however, was little protection. She felt herself falling…. His lips brushed the sensitive skin of her throat, leaving a decadently moist trail.

“There were things left—” he paused and nipped her earlobe “—unfinished between us last time. I’m not fond of unfinished business, Lily.”

She swallowed hard. “You mean I left you and you hate losing.”

She felt his mouth curve into a smile against her skin. “We were good together before,” he said between smooth kisses along her throat. “A marriage between us could work.”

Would it? Her knees felt boneless from the ministrations he was paying her neck. It was obvious sexual compatibility would never be a problem. But now she couldn’t play make a decent go of it or just try it. Breaking up over him letting her down that last day might seem an overreaction to some, but that had merely been the last straw for their relationship. She remembered the disillusionment when he dropped her home on her birthday, halfway through a romantic dinner, because work had called. Another time, he’d become so immersed in a stock market fluctuation, he’d totally forgotten to meet her. It was a day she’d really needed him—the tenth anniversary of her parents’ deaths. Both times he’d promised to make it up to her, and she supposed he had, but she’d learned Damon wasn’t a person she could rely on to be there when she needed him most. And her obligation now was first and foremost to the tiny life dependent on her.

Her own mother had put her husband’s needs ahead of her child’s. As a professional gambler, Lily’s father had needed to travel, mostly in poverty, and Lily had been dragged from place to place, craving stability, routine, reliability. Until the age of twelve, when she’d moved in with her grandmother, she’d known none.

This baby’s needs came before hers or Damon’s.

She needed to find a way to make this new development work for her.

“If I were to agree,” she croaked out through her dry throat. She swallowed, willing her voice to work. “I have some conditions of my own.”

His eyes widened slightly but he nodded. “Tell me.”

“I’d marry you if it meant Gran would be taken care of.” Lily stepped back and wrapped her arms around herself. She’d walk over broken glass for that sweet woman.

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.” His mouth curved.

“But bringing a baby into the equation is a different matter entirely.” She took a deep breath and stepped farther away, outside his aura. “I’d want to bring this baby up on my own. One thing I learned from living with my parents and then Gran is it’s not the number of people in the family that matters, it’s the capacity to love, and prioritize each other. To be emotionally reliable for each other.” Gran would be there for her now, too, and that was all she needed.

She braced herself to explain, to tell him the truth. As their baby’s father, he deserved it, and she needed him to understand. “I’d never cut you off from your own child, but you have to know already that your version of commitment isn’t what a child needs. Your priorities.” She trailed off, not sure how to word it without causing offence. Not sure how to tell him she didn’t want the cycle of the Blakely men’s frozen hearts thrust upon her innocent baby.

Uncertain, she clasped her hands together in front of her belly. “We would work out beforehand what role you’d want to play. Visitation rights that don’t interfere too much with your work.”

Damon thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. “Visitation rights?” The look in his eyes said he had no intention of being that far removed from his child, but she pressed on.

“I also want to be financially stable enough to know that my child will always have a home and things he or she needs. You’ll make an account for the baby, in my name. I need to be secure.” Her own wage was enough if push came to shove, but this was a way to ensure her baby would never go without.

He nodded, eyes calculating as she spoke. “Go on.”

“And lastly, I want a contract ensuring these conditions are met.” She raised her chin, hoping he didn’t argue this point because it was an absolute bluff—she was in too far to walk away. Her baby’s needs were paramount.

“You don’t trust me, Lily?” A rare emotion passed across his face, but she wasn’t sure it was hurt. Far more likely he was mocking her.

“I’ll marry you and have the baby you need, Damon, but I’ll raise it on my own with money from both of us. Sign a contract to that effect or you’ll have to find someone else.”

He rocked back on his heels, a smile playing around his mouth. “You drive a hard bargain. Good for you.” The smile that had threatened finally broke free and this time it reached his eyes. “These are precisely the qualities I want in the mother of my child.”

He stepped forward but she moved sideways, evading him. She was shaking inside and, knowing the negotiations were at a critical point, needed all the distance from his masculine solidness she could manage. “You haven’t answered. Will you sign a contract with my conditions?”

He reached for her, playing to her weakness, but she again evaded and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Damon?”

His gaze rested on hers, intense and unwavering. “My child will grow up where he should—in my house with his mother and father.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. Once Damon made up his mind, he was unwavering … and she had so little bargaining room. Her mind raced so fast she began to feel light-headed. She needed to find a way to give herself some emotional space in this arrangement.

But there was only one option, and she sent up a quick prayer that he agreed, because she couldn’t back out of this deal now. “I’ll concede to living in your home, but only on the condition that we have separate bedrooms. On opposite sides of the house.”

One side of his mouth quirked. “Are you sure that’s what you really want, Lily?”

Her body screamed no, even as her mind continued to fine-tune her position. “This will be a paper marriage—we’ll live separate lives under one roof. I won’t share your bed, Damon. Now or ever.”

He chuckled with genuine amusement. “Ah, sweetheart, you’re forgetting the child we need to make.” He cast her a look that in the past would have made her come to him. “I’m looking forward to that part immensely.”

Lily finally allowed herself to return the smile. She knew he’d try to change the parameters, turn the situation to his benefit, but at least if she could get him to sign a contract, she had a leg to stand on.

If only she felt as confident about resisting the invitation to his bed.

“As it happens, that won’t be a problem,” she said, laying her hands over her waist. “I’m already pregnant with your baby.”

Two

Damon called up all his famed reserves of self-control to avoid swaying on his feet.

She was pregnant?

His head swam as if he’d been sucker punched. He supposed he had been. In all the preplanning and strategizing, he’d not once factored in this possibility. It had just never occurred to him that she already nurtured his baby inside her body.

His gaze fixed on her stomach, searching for answers. He found none, just her flawless pale fingers stretched across the narrow expanse of her waist.

Heart beating slower than usual with shock, mind trying to make sense of the new information, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. She stood very still; a serene mask covered her features. How could she be so calm after delivering news this momentous?

Then it came—the crack in Lily’s veneer. She pulled one side of her full bottom lip between her straight white teeth and bit delicately down. He’d lost count of the number of people he’d played in his line of work, the number of meetings where he’d wrested control from unwilling board members. The key was always to wait until that small sign of unease appeared—to be able to recognize it—then to act without mercy.

Yet he remained unmoving, emotions frozen.

She was carrying his child?

Then, as if time caught up with crashing reality, his body came back to life. Heart pumped hard, mind cleared, adrenaline flowed.

He had a child. That baby in her womb belonged to him. He’d never considered children in his future, not until his uncle’s ultimatum, but now that the reality presented itself, he knew he’d never let that child go.

Lily’s condition of separate bedrooms be damned. He hadn’t been prepared to sign his name to that idea even before her announcement, but now there was no way in hell he’d let her create distance between them. The baby and the woman carrying it were his and would stay that way no matter what he needed to do to ensure it.

He glanced over at her. She was exquisite with her forest-green eyes, her alabaster skin, her silver-blond hair glimmering under the soft light. He desired her like no other. Even since first meeting her at a gallery fund-raiser, she’d gotten under his skin. And now she’d be forever tied to him.

Unwilling to show her any of his innermost reactions, he spoke with little inflection to his words. “You played that card close to your chest, sweetheart.”

“Not—” she cleared her throat “—not really. I suspected … thought I knew … but only had it confirmed by a doctor today. It’s why I came here tonight. To find you and tell you.” Her hands remained across her belly, almost protectively.

“So you were pregnant when you left me.” His voice was flat, almost accusing, even to his own ears.

She grimaced. “I didn’t know I was.”

He raised a brow. The outcome was the same. And he had another question while they were on the topic. “Tell me honestly, Lily, why did you leave?”

With shaking hands, she pushed a strand of hair behind an ear. “Is there any purpose in dredging this up now?”

Maybe not, but the question had bothered him—pride had kept him from pursuing an answer. But now she was here in the flesh, he needed an answer. “We’re getting married. I think a short analysis on the breakdown of our past relationship has relevance.”

She lifted her chin, but ruined the effect by biting down again on her full bottom lip. “Because I was too low a priority in your life.”

That again! He’d prioritized her above almost everything, higher than a woman had ever been, and she still wanted more?

Needing to move, to use some of the adrenaline hurtling through his veins, he strolled with controlled movements to look into a glass cage enclosing an ancient clay urn. Several museums had offered exorbitant amounts of money to buy the artifact, and yet here it’d stayed. Trapped by Travis in this mausoleum, the way Damon himself had been for many years.

Nothing mattered more to him than reclaiming his heritage. He’d been made to feel like a poor, pathetic relation, when his father’s business savvy was the only reason Travis wasn’t still working as a junior assistant somewhere. It was time to restore rightful order to the world.

He swiveled to face Lily, the only woman who’d ever sparked dreams that didn’t include BlakeCorp. The innate sensuality in the way she moved; her mouth, made for such sweetness and such sin; her heart, so untainted by the blackness that consumed his.

But everything had changed. And he needed to be very clear about his priorities. This woman was the key to BlakeCorp … and his baby.

“We’ll marry as soon as I can arrange it.” He stepped forward and grasped her upper arms, ignoring his body’s insistent response to her. His blood had heated the moment he saw her in the ballroom, and now his groin screamed for attention.

He heard her breath catch at the touch but she tried to smother it, to deny his power over her, simply nodding her answer.

He let his voice drop to the seductive timbre she always responded to. “No point hiding your reaction to me, Lily.”

Her eyes narrowed in contradiction but her chest moved in rapid, shallow breaths.

A smile of victory threatened, but he only let one corner of his mouth curve up. “Don’t worry, there will be time for that. A lifetime of opportunities.”

Gasping, Lily stepped back, rubbing her palms over the skin he had held. “No, Damon. I agreed to marry you. I agreed to have your baby, which it so happens I’m already carrying. But I did not agree to share your bed. It won’t be that type of marriage.”

The smile playing on his lips extended into a full-blown version. A challenge. He loved a challenge if the prize was worth winning. And this woman in front of him was worth bedding—he knew that well.

He let out a slow, easy breath and sank his hands into his trouser pockets. “Let’s just see how things unfold.”

“I know how things will unfold. We’ll be married in name only. We might live under the same roof, but we will be living separate lives. I let you hurt me before when I relied on you, needed you. And every time you had to choose between your business and me, you chose it, no matter how high my needs were or how minor the work issue. Be warned, I won’t be as naive this time.”

He waved her claim away. “Ancient history. We’re starting anew. Something I’m very much looking forward to.” He brushed a kiss on her cheek and held out his arm to escort her back to the party. After a brief hesitation, she raised her chin and preceded him out the doors.

He watched her go, appreciating the shape of her back, the sway of her hips.

Nothing would stop him from claiming his child or his father’s company—they rightfully belonged to him. And he had a burning need to have this woman under him again. Fate had conveniently wrapped all the things he wanted in one neat, sweet-smelling package.

All he must do was coax his bride-to-be back into his bed.

The following morning, Lily wandered through the crowd of art-lovers as they milled around the display of Impressionist paintings her gallery was showcasing.

This exhibition had been her special project—selecting the paintings she wanted to show together, arranging with interstate and international galleries to borrow artwork to complement their own examples of the style, organizing events with schools and the public to coincide with the opening week. And she’d loved every minute.

She continued her stroll. The sounds of a busy exhibition always pleased her—the muffled footsteps on the tiled floor, voices raised or lowered in wonder and awe, an occasional guide sharing their passion.

Blended with that was the knowledge that today was the second to last day, giving her a twinge of sadness that usually came with the end of an exhibition. From tomorrow night, they’d begin taking down the display, returning paintings, completing paperwork. In a few days’ time, another exhibition would fill this room.

Lily paused to appreciate some of her last moments with her favorite Monet. One of his series of water lilies, it was incredibly popular with the crowds for its lavenders, greens, pinks and blues—its undeniable intensity and luminosity.

But she loved this series because it showed the multitude of ways there were to look at the same subject, depending on time of day, the season or the position of the observer.

Similarly, there were many ways to view marriage: a fairy tale come true with hearts and flowers; a deep commitment with a soul mate that transcended the mere institution … or a pragmatic contract used to secure an inheritance.

She’d never yearned for the trappings of a fairy tale, but, despite her parents’ train-wreck of an example, she’d always secretly hoped that somewhere she had a soul mate and they’d eventually find each other.

Marriage to Damon was not such a union.

As the reality of her situation hit her again, the room around her rocked then swooped, leaving her feeling faint.

Oh, God, what had she done?

“The water lily collection always struck me as overly sentimental,” a deep voice said close to her ear.

She turned quickly to see Damon staring at the Monet, hands on hips, bunching the sides of his dark gray suit jacket above them.

“I like his series of the French cathedral more,” he said, gaze still on the artwork. “Same concept of capturing the subject in different lights, but a much more interesting outcome.”

She inhaled an intoxicating breath of his spicy scent. He always smelled so damn good. She’d noticed his cologne on other men and it’d had nowhere near the bone-melting impact it did when blended with Damon’s own scent.

With effort, she brought her attention back to the conversation on art. “Buildings are more interesting than flowers and nature?” Though, she knew the answer from Damon’s point of view. The material, the concrete, the financially tangible were always more valuable than simple beauty. What did interest her was his apparent knowledge of the French Impressionist. When they’d met, he’d claimed to have little understanding of the art world.

He turned, taking in her expression, and raised a brow—a look made all the more devilish by the accompanying heavy-lidded gaze. “I like buildings. And don’t look so shocked that I recognize the painting. If you date someone with a PhD in fine art for six months, something’s bound to rub off.”

Lily laughed softly, conceding the point. “So now you’re a gallery regular?”

“No, I’ve come to see my fiancée.” He cupped her chin and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I always did prefer snow lilies to their watery cousins.”

Words of praise dripped so easily from his tongue—with or without sincerity—that she refused to respond. She’d fallen for his silver-tongued flattery before. It had led to heartache whenever he left her without looking back. She must not forget.

And yet a part of her she couldn’t control craved his kiss, craved him beyond reason.

He released her chin and dropped his hand into his trouser pocket. “And to finalize some arrangements. How soon can you get time off work?”

Her mind clicked into gear, pushing aside any remnants of hurt that he could so easily, so clinically, switch topics of discussion. It was only what she’d expected. Men like Damon did not while away the time talking about paintings. They mentioned them as a lead-in to getting what they wanted. Another reminder not to let down her guard.

Instead, she began thinking through the question and implications. This exhibition was almost over and she’d be going into detailed planning of her next project—a good time to take a day or two off if necessary to organize legal documentation for their wedding. “What do you have in mind?”

He rocked back on his heels, all casual confidence. “We fly out to New Zealand in three days, exchange vows and fly back. You’ll need a week off work to cover the flights and a couple of days there.”

Her stomach lurched. She seemed to have missed a step. “New Zealand?”

He lifted his shoulders then dropped them in a confident gesture. “Much quicker than waiting for the paperwork to go through in Australia. I originally considered Las Vegas, but decided the shorter flights to and from Auckland will be better for the baby.”

A group of gallery patrons gathered about the Monet so, feet on autopilot, Lily moved away toward the middle of the room. Damon followed.

Her mind whirred too fast for any one thought to be clear. She needed time; he was moving so fast. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she’d agreed to marry him, and now here he was, asking her to leave the country in three days.

Her lungs labored to draw in enough oxygen. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure.” One corner of his mouth lifted in an incomparable show of self-satisfaction. “I’ve already booked the flights so there’s no rush to secure seats.”

The world stilled as a strong sense of déjà vu settled over her. This was what it’d been like to be involved with Damon Blakely the last time. She sometimes wondered why she hadn’t seen these warning signs when they’d first met. The cavalier attitude to other people’s plans and choices. The belief he knew better, that his decisions weighed more than those of mere mortals. The same warning signs her mother should have noticed in her father.

Defensive anger rose to fill her chest. “You booked tickets without checking with me first?”

The best seats, too, she knew without asking. The man had gall for an expensive gamble like that. But then he wouldn’t have seen it as a gamble—he always got what he wanted.

He lowered his voice and his eyes darkened, the pupils expanding to almost meet the black ring around his ice-blue irises. “This is a priority for both of us. We need to make sure our baby is legitimate.”

The anger dissolved as quickly as it’d arrived, leaving her deflated, empty. He was right. They did need to ensure the baby was legitimate for the terms of the will. She’d cede on this one point, but only because it made sense, not because of his tactics.

“I’ll need to check with the gallery director.” She shook her head and began heading for the staff offices, Damon almost a step ahead even when she led. “I’ll let you know by tonight.”

He dropped a casual arm around her shoulders, which she knew would be more to stop her walking in another direction than a gesture of affection. “Come to my place after work and tell me what you’ve arranged. You haven’t seen my new house yet.” His voice had deepened into black velvet.

He’d changed tactics, turned on the charm. Her mind could acknowledge the game plan in this move but her body reacted to the timbre of his voice with primal hunger down low in her belly.

The gleam in his eye told her he knew exactly the effect he was causing. He pressed his advantage, fingers caressing the exposed skin of her upper arm where his hand hung. She kept walking, trying desperately to control her rampant hormones that urged her to turn to him, to let him charm and seduce her, no matter the cost.

But no, the stakes were too high now. His agenda wouldn’t have their baby as first priority and that was the only agenda she could approve at the moment.

She stiffened and pointedly tipped her chin to his hand as it lazily stroked her sensitized skin.

Never slow on the uptake, Damon dropped his arm—but let it trace a lazy path down her back as he did so.

Damon always held himself in such control she wondered for the hundredth time if he’d shown any genuine feeling—besides desire—in all their time together.

Dismissing the thought, she waited for the next tactic he’d pull out of the bag. The wait was short.

“Melissa is cooking pasta tonight.” His tone was casual, as if he were doing her a favor. “She’d love to see you again.”

Lily thought of Damon’s housekeeper with her bush of light brown curls and ready smile. “I’d like to see her again, too, but I’m pretty tired these days after work.”

She was past the morning sickness stage and now the main side effect of her pregnancy seemed to be fatigue. Besides, she needed as much distance from Damon as she could get. Distance seemed to be the only effective strategy in resisting him, and even then its value was questionable. “I’d rather ring and have an early night.”

Immediately, his expression morphed into concern and he swung around in front of her, blocking her path. “Are you getting enough rest?” He clasped her elbow. “Perhaps this job is too much for you in your condition.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she hooked the sides of her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath before answering. “Damon, I’m fine. I’m a little tired from the pregnancy, but nothing to be alarmed about. I’m more than capable of doing my job.”

Though the thought had crossed her mind that if she was this tired at three and a half months, how would she cope at eight months? Or after the birth when she’d be struggling with disrupted sleep? She had no experience of babies, of motherhood, and that deficiency scared her.

He considered a moment then nodded with deceptive slowness. “Fair enough. I’ll bring Melissa’s pasta to you. What time will you get home?”

Her heart pinched tight. Despite his high-handed manner, it was nice to have someone other than her grandmother worry about her—even if it was only to guard an investment. So she smiled her gratitude even as she rejected his offer. “I’ll be fine. I made a big pot of soup last night and there’s some still in the fridge. I’ll heat that.”

She sidestepped him and continued toward the restricted access area.

Without missing a beat, he was beside her, matching her strides. “Soup? Does that have everything a baby needs?”

A gallery staff member walked past and waved. Damon watched Lily wave back but felt her tense beside him and instinctively knew her reaction was about his question not the colleague. He frowned. She didn’t like him helping?

She kept walking. “I appreciate your concern, but I can look after myself.” Her voice was calm and only a tinge of exasperation laced her words. “And now I have to go back to work.” They’d arrived at the doors to staff offices. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll call you tonight.”

He nodded, watched her swipe her security badge and walk through the door.

She was wrong. Someone needed to look after both her and his baby. And he knew just the person for the task.

But for now he had to get back to work. There were many loose strings to be tied before he could leave for a week.

Striding from the gallery, he headed for his Lexus, then drove the inner-city streets back to his company’s headquarters.

His second-in-charge, Macy, greeted him outside his office door, her long brown hair drawn back, starkly emphasizing her sleek features. “Mr. Blakely, I have some good news.”

“Come through.” Damon had first employed Macy for her outstanding business skills. But he’d since discovered her thinking and strategizing was eerily similar to his, making her indispensable.

They walked through and Macy closed the door behind them. Damon rounded the desk, taking off his jacket and letting it hang on the back of his executive chair before sitting.

Macy stepped forward and handed him a report. “We’ve secured another of Travis Blakely’s companies, Melbourne Brewing Limited.”

Damon allowed himself a self-satisfied smile as he skimmed the report. “Good. He doesn’t know about this one, either?”

“No, I bought the loan he’d taken out using MBL as collateral. Another one he’d taken without informing his attorneys.”

Damon let his eyes drift closed to savor the rush. Revenge was oh, so sweet. He couldn’t wait for the day he told his evil excuse for an uncle that he’d bought all his assets out from under him. He’d vowed as a thirteen-year-old—black, blue and bleeding from being “disciplined” by his uncle’s fists—that this would come.

Damon already held the deeds to the old man’s house—again Travis had used it as collateral on a loan to cover a business deal gone wrong. Damon simply bought the company that had given the loan.

Travis’s main mistake had been in growing arrogant, in letting his ego make business moves his bank balance couldn’t match. And Damon had been more than willing to cash in on that slip.

Though, Damon had used other tactics where needed. He’d acquired the mansion’s private gallery in a deal brokered by his man on the inside. Travis thought he was selling two paintings but instead had signed over the entire gallery for a song—all because he’d assigned the task to an employee whose loyalty Damon had bought for an absurdly high price.

He knew Travis was only aware of losing two companies, ones where hostile takeovers had been necessary. And even with those, Damon had covered his tracks well enough by using companies within companies, so the only people who knew he was at the top of the chain were the two people in his office.

He spared his 2IC an approving nod. “Good work. You’ll be getting a bonus.”

Macy barely acknowledged the boon as she slid gracefully into the chair across from his. “That makes twenty-three companies you’ve acquired from Travis.”

He threw the papers onto his desk and loosened his tie, righteous victory filling his chest. “Only five to go.” So close now.

Macy retrieved the report, running a finger down a table of figures as if committing them to memory. “The most well-protected five, including—”

“Including BlakeCorp.” He finished her sentence, stomach clenched. “I have a backup plan. You got my memo that I’ll be out of the office next week?”

Macy nodded. “Do you need me to accompany you?”

“Not this time. I need you here, running things. I’ll be unavailable some of the time—it’s not strictly company business.” A vision with silver-blond hair rose unbidden and he allowed himself a moment of appreciation before tamping down on it.

Macy arched a brow and he knew what she was thinking. He was never away from the office for anything but work.

He smiled. “Oh, I’ll be working on our objectives—I’ll be putting plan B into place in case we don’t get the last five companies in time.”

Macy’s eyebrows drew together creating a tiny frown line between them. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’m not confident we’ll be able to get those last five. Especially BlakeCorp.”

Deep down, neither was Damon. In fact, the task was close to impossible. But he wouldn’t stop before he owned it all. His pride demanded he take everything away from the uncle who’d treated a small child so shamefully, who hadn’t honored his dead brother’s wishes. That included Travis Blakely’s portfolio of assets, every last coin of his cash reserves, his home, his reputation … everything. He didn’t want to merely win, he wanted to see Travis destroyed, utterly and completely.

He sank back into his chair, seeing Lily’s delicate beauty again in his mind. Her pure heart could never understand his black motives in his campaign against Travis. Wouldn’t understand the darkness that lived inside him every waking moment.

But now that Lily was pregnant with his child, by God he’d make it a real marriage.

Everyone wore masks of one type or another. He just had to ensure his stayed firmly in place.

Three

Three days later, Lily watched from her kitchen window, a bowl of fruit salad in her hand, as Damon pulled his Lexus to the curb in front of her rented house.

He slid out and her breath caught. His khaki pants and moss-green polo shirt should have looked casual, but with the pants’ crisp crease down the front and the shirt tucked in above a simple belt that had probably cost the equivalent to a month of her wages, he somehow appeared ready to lead a board meeting. Or seduce a woman.

She almost choked on her strawberry as the thought took hold and irresistible desire stole over her. The familiar luscious heat started low in her belly.

Determined not to lose control of her body, she carefully set down the bowl and gripped the edges of the sink. She would not get distracted by something as counterproductive as sexual attraction. To do the best for her baby she needed to be focused—and she would be.

She glanced out the window again and watched as Damon, folded papers in one hand, set his keyless lock and strode to her front door.

Lily took a deep breath and dried her hands to let him in. But instead of pressing the buzzer, he took out the key she’d given him while they’d dated and let himself in. Her heart twisted at the familiarity of the action, for the memories of naive happiness it evoked.

She’d asked for that key back; he’d told her he’d get around to it, but she’d known he had no intention. She guessed his reasons had something to do with a bruised sense of entitlement. She’d had every intention of changing the lock. Then she’d suspected she was pregnant, one of her assistants on the Impressionist exhibition was reassigned, and then. Well, then Travis had fallen ill and Damon had asked her to marry him.

“Lily, it’s me,” he called from the hall.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she called back, picking up her bowl again and perching on a kitchen stool, elbows resting on the polished wood counter. He could see himself through the house—she didn’t want to seem too eager and reinforce his view of their relationship.

Damon appeared in the doorway and propped one shoulder against the frame, his casual pose belying the heat in his eyes. Every cell and molecule in her body went on instant alert and every drop of hormone screamed her need for him. For all the heat and pleasure that his gaze promised.

Focus. Her chin kicked up. There were more important priorities than physical want. Like her future. And her baby’s future.

He chuckled, slow and deep. “They’ll feed us on the plane.”

Her grasp on self-control almost wavered as his sensual rumble resonated through her, but she staved off the threat by concentrating on his words alone. “I know, but I’m pregnant and I’m hungry. This will tide me over until we board.”

Broad shoulders straightened as his amusement evaporated. “Lily, you’re not on your own in this. If you’re hungry anytime, anywhere, tell me and I’ll get what you need.”

Her breathing hitched, but she wouldn’t be swept away by his words. She was more than capable of feeding herself. “Thanks, but I’ve got some cookies in my bag. I’ll be fine.”

He took a step closer, his voice deepening. “I don’t just mean now. I’m serious. You’re carrying my baby, so you tell me whatever it is you want and I’ll find it. I don’t care if we’re in the middle of a traffic jam or on a snowbound mountain. I’ll arrange it.”

His gaze was unwavering, resolute. He meant it. Well, for now. His promises only lasted until work called, but her pulse fluttered nevertheless. In this moment, he was here, looking after her, and he’d never been more attractive.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She took a piece of cantaloupe and chewed carefully, desperate to do something to shield her overwhelming yearning for the man before her. She forced her gaze down to her fruit.

A silence followed and the tension escalated despite her resolve not to look up. She could feel his eyes on her—her skin prickled with heat wherever they landed. Still, she would not look.

She knew she’d have to eventually—they were getting married. At some point she’d have to face what he did to her and find a way to handle it. But for the life of her, right this minute, she couldn’t think how.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him open the folded papers and lay them out flat on the counter beside her.

“The bank account for the baby in your name, as requested. I’ve deposited an amount my lawyers tell me should be enough to support a child until he’s eighteen. I didn’t want you to be worried that I’ll stop payments. I’ll still add more at regular intervals.”

Lily stopped chewing as her eyes rested on the very generous value of the account. Her mind stilled, then clicked into gear. She hadn’t expected this move precisely but, knowing Damon, she had been waiting for a counteroffensive ever since she laid out her conditions. And here it was.

He’d arranged the lump sum in the bank account so there would be no need for a contract to ensure his payments. Money in the bank equaled no contract to get money. His first step in a plan to avoid signing anything pertaining to her other condition—separate bedrooms, separate lives.

Her shoulders slumped. She should have guessed he’d fight on that one. Damon always held tight to what was his.

She rubbed little circles on her temples, attempting to relieve the building pressure.

The very fact that he was manipulating her now reinforced her decision that their child couldn’t grow up in the mold of the Blakelys. It would be too cruel to let an innocent baby learn the Blakely cynicism and how to bow down at the altar of the almighty dollar.

Damon played to win. At any cost. Their relationship had already been chalked up as one of those costs and she’d vowed to never give him the chance to treat her heart as expendable again. Or her baby’s precious heart.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut her off. “Are your bags packed? I’ll take them out.”

She folded her hands on the counter and squeezed them until her knuckles turned white. She needed to be strong or he’d walk all over her. She’d told him her conditions; she just had to stick to her guns and not let him manipulate her. “Damon, you haven’t given me a contract yet.”

He didn’t flicker an eyelash. “Contract? I’ve already given you the money. It’s the independence you wanted.”

Attempting to put herself in a less submissive position, she stood. It wasn’t much of an improvement, given his massive presence, but she could only work with what she had. He stood on the other side of the counter, leaning against it with one hip as if there was nothing she could say that would worry him.

She lifted her chin. “I want separate bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. I’m not saying the vows without a contract ensuring that.”

Damon smiled. Her threat appeared to amuse him. He prowled around the counter and came to a stop mere inches from her.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and hypnotic, “I’m not signing my marital rights away. If you’re so sure we can’t live together, perhaps you should consider a different contract. Leave me sole custody.”

Her hands instinctively flew to her waist. His eyes held hers. He may have been amused but he wasn’t joking. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach and struggled to make her voice work. “The courts won’t be swayed by your money, Damon. Or by a man who can’t keep his word—you promised you’d sign the contract.”

His gaze roamed to her hair and his hand reached up to run down its length, from crown to where the ends lay on her shoulder. She flinched and yet still felt compelled to lean into him. She hated herself for that weakness.

He didn’t retract his hand, instead lingering over the exposed skin at the curve of her neck. “Actually, I didn’t agree to sign anything.”

His hands began to work their magic, sending ripples of heat and pleasure out from the spot his fingers caressed, along each and every nerve ending, all the way to her toes. As a distraction, it was effective—she paused instead of responding.

Pressing his advantage, Damon closed the last gap between them and used his other hand to press the small of her back so she leaned into him.

“Now we need to be reasonable,” he breathed into her ear. “I’ve given you more money than most people see in their lifetime. You need this marriage as much as I do. I’m assuming you’ve already told your grandmother about the new house?”

Lily swallowed with difficulty and nodded.

Without her noticing, he’d maneuvered her around so her back was against the counter and she was trapped between it and the muscled wall of his chest. She could feel him against her skin, feel him under her skin. He’d invaded her blood and it pumped for him through her body, powerful, dark, spellbinding. As if every strong beat in her chest was his name.

He brushed his lips along her earlobe and she felt the words on his breath as much as heard them. “And yet you’re willing to risk that over an unwinnable point.”

She dropped her chin, only barely stifling a moan. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t make a thought form that didn’t involve his body.

It had always been this way between them, simmering passion that ignited with a simple touch from their first kiss. Before, even—from the first time their gazes had connected at the gallery fund-raiser. Damon had prowled over, offered her a champagne flute he’d acquired on the way and asked, “How high a donation for a private tour of the gallery with—” he checked her name badge “—an assistant curator?” He’d kissed her before they made it halfway through the Australian Colonial Art exhibit.

And now he was doing it again—skipping preliminaries and rushing straight to the passion she could barely resist. If only he’d stop crowding her! She needed to step away, but there was nowhere to go. She placed her hands firmly on his shirt and pushed. He stepped back several inches, that same amused smile on his perfect mouth.

She had to focus. He was trying to take all her bargaining power away, but she wouldn’t let him forget … he needed her. “You won’t get BlakeCorp without me.”

He raised his brows in innocent surprise. “You think I’d choose a business over a child of my own flesh and blood?” He ran a knuckle lightly down her cheek. “Lily, why make this harder than it needs to be? No one gets everything they want at a negotiation table. That’s why it’s called negotiation. You played your hand well and you’re getting a good outcome—the bank account and your gran taken care of for the rest of her life. And me.”

Him? Her whole body flushed, but she needed to stay on her game or he’d outplay her. “Damon, whether you sign a contract or not, I won’t be the kind of wife you want.”

“And what kind is that?” He turned slightly to lean back against the counter, ankles crossed, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. His earlier amusement had returned.

She narrowed her eyes, wanting him to understand how serious she was about this. “I won’t sleep with you.”

Gran always said, start as you mean to go on. This was a marriage on paper for the sake of a will. It was not now, nor would it ever be a real marriage. She couldn’t let the lines blur—not even once. Her heart was having enough trouble resisting falling in love with him again as it was. Sleeping with him would court disaster.

“Let’s just say the negotiations will be ongoing on that point.” He raised one brow and her stomach fell. He still intended seducing her.

Then another thought struck. “You have booked separate bedrooms wherever we’re staying, haven’t you?”

It’d be just like Damon to expect her to share his bed despite the boundaries she’d laid. He probably had some ridiculous excuse ready like, just because they shared a bed didn’t mean they had to make love.

Though separate bedrooms might not be much of a defense when it came down to it….

He nodded, poker-faced. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

“So you won’t mind if I check that?” She knew how he worked and it wasn’t necessarily honorable, not when he wanted something as badly as he wanted this.

A lazy grin spread across his face. “Not at all.” He reached into his back pocket, withdrew his wallet and found a slip of paper that he handed her. It had a hotel name and phone number. Had he really done what she’d requested or was this another bluff?

She folded the note and stuffed it in her handbag on the bench. She’d ring to make sure when she got a private moment. When he wasn’t breathing down her neck, making her lose her thoughts.

He looked around as if that was settled. “Where are your bags?”

She blinked, tried to get her bearings, and glanced down the hall. “At my bedroom door.”

Lily watched him stride away, an edge of panic creeping up to clutch her chest. She had a strong feeling that she’d jumped out of the frying pan and into a bushfire.

Damon inserted the Auckland hotel room key card into the honeymoon suite’s lock and turned to appraise his new wife. How would she react to being carried over the threshold? Not well, if her mood during their vows was any indication.

Her frame of mind notwithstanding, she’d looked like a vision from heaven in the Peace Chapel. And the sharp constriction of his chest had almost blindsided him. It was right, this union.

He’d bought her a small bouquet of lily of the valley and she’d clutched it tightly, her gaze resting on the blooms during most of the ceremony.

Her downcast eyes only added to her resemblance to the aged paintings of holy women housed in his childhood home. She’d been ethereal.

She still was as she stood motionless, waiting for him to turn the door handle.

Normally he’d be willing to risk her wrath and just sweep her into his arms to enter the room, but he had a lot riding on her mood tonight. Plans they’d both enjoy if she’d only relax.

He presented his arms. “How would you like to enter, Mrs. Blakely?”

Lily’s forest-green eyes flickered with pain before landing on contempt. “I’ve told you, we don’t have that type of marriage, Damon.”

He looked her lush frame up and down. Then why had she worn white? The cotton summer dress may not look much like a traditional wedding gown, but she couldn’t fool him—her sentimental streak had chosen the color as intentionally as he’d chosen her bouquet.

She could deny it all she liked, but her selection proved that deep down she acknowledged the validity of their marriage. Which gave his libido hope that the wedding night would turn out to be as traditional as the color of her dress.

He smiled at his bride as she waited for him to open the door. No doubt about it, the sentimental streak that had chosen her white attire would like to be carried over the threshold. And damn if he didn’t relish the prospect himself.

He reinserted the key card to activate the lock, then leaned down and scooped her up in one smooth motion, carrying her through the door into a room elegantly decorated in whites and creams, and kicked it closed behind him.

He was pleasantly surprised she didn’t object. She’d probably convince herself later it was due to shock. No matter, for now he’d savor the moment.

The scent of wildflowers enveloped him, the pressure of her body against his consumed him and he paused to let his eyes drift closed and fully appreciate the feeling.

She was tall, yet so delicate he’d often thought of her as a snow lily come to life—willowy, as if seeking the sun. He raised his lids to look his fill. Her fairness—creamy skin and silver-blond hair—only enhanced the illusion. Her eyes, the color of untamed foliage, showed where she truly belonged. Her natural habitat wasn’t the art galleries her work kept her in, but where the wild lilies grew.

“Very nice, Damon. Now put me down.” One side of his mouth curved at her hundred-percent controlled tone, but he sensed she was close to breaking point. He released her legs first, then, holding her torso with both hands, let her slide the way down.

His blood heated both at the sensation and at the memories it evoked. Of them making love through the night. The slide of nakedness. Of the sound deep in her throat when he touched her the ways she liked. His groin flexed and reported for duty.

By the time her feet touched the plush cream carpet strewn with rose petals, her pupils had dilated. Her breathing held an edge of raggedness.

He didn’t release her. “You thinking along the same lines as me, sweetheart?”

There was a certain satisfaction in being able to call her that again. It suited her so completely, as if the term had been created for her alone. And he was sure he saw a flash of approval in her features every time it passed his lips.

She arched a brow. “I’m hoping against hope this is still the suite with two bedrooms. How’s that compare to your thoughts?” She pushed against his chest and moved away. “I rang ahead to check from the airport but I’ve learned to never assume anything with you.”

He almost laughed, but caught himself in time. Smart girl. He’d changed the arrangements only as they waited outside the chapel, predicting she’d check the hotel number he gave her before then.

He adopted an innocent air. “In a honeymoon suite?” He looked pointedly from white walls and Austrian blinds, across to a table of palest pink marble with two white lacquered chairs, to the complimentary champagne waiting in an ice bucket. “Can’t imagine how likely that option would be.”

Her jaw dropped and her mouth formed a perfect little O. Then her fists clenched at her sides. “This is not a honeymoon. It’s a contractual agreement.”

He grinned. “Language can be so confining. Let’s just wait and see exactly what we have here.”

She shook her head as if words failed her. Then he watched, enjoying her profile as she bent to unzip her suitcase, left neatly beside his on matching luggage stands by hotel staff. Her sweet upturned nose, lush pink lips, just begging.

“If you think I’m sharing a bed with you, then you haven’t remembered me properly.” She straightened, lemon silky robe and pajamas over one arm, the other planted firmly on her hip.

Oh, he remembered all right. Remembered she liked to think she was in control. And sometimes he let her. Then, when she’d stopped fighting, he’d convince her of his point in other ways. Oh, yes, he remembered some very pleasant convincing.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes and leaned a little unsteadily onto the wall beside her. “I need a long, hot shower. And when I come out I expect you’ll have arranged separate beds.” As she lowered her hand from her face, he was shocked to see her now-lackluster complexion.

His stomach fell and all thoughts of passion evaporated. “Something’s wrong. Is it the baby?” Maybe he’d pushed her too fast in her condition? Despite getting the all clear from three doctors for the flights, had it been too much for her to fly while pregnant?

He moved to her side and encircled her in his arms. The health of the tiny life she carried was the one thing they were in complete agreement on. He needed this baby—his plan B. But it was more than that. Something personal between him and the child that he couldn’t yet define. A connection, a link.

She twisted to move from his embrace. “Nothing’s wrong with the baby. I’m just tired from the rush to pack and the flight.”

This time he didn’t let her go. Instead, he guided her to the cream, overstuffed couch. “Sit down for a few minutes.”

When she opened her mouth to disagree, he laid a finger across her lips. “Just this once, do something I suggest without arguing. Rest before getting in the shower. I don’t want you fainting in there.” He arched an eyebrow.

Her eyes widened as she took his meaning—either sit with him for a moment or risk having him checking on her, naked and wet in the shower stall. A job so appealing his temperature nudged up a couple of degrees just thinking about it.

With innate grace, she sank into the luxurious couch and rested the side of her face on the high headrest. He had to remember she was almost four months pregnant. Easy to forget when she showed so few signs, but he’d thought about the situation a lot since the night she’d sprung the news on him.

And in a surprise to himself, he’d grown more fascinated by the idea she was carrying his child inside her. Moved, even. When he’d devised this plan after his uncle’s offer, he hadn’t stopped to think of the emotional bond he’d feel to the baby. After his disastrous childhood, he’d have been happy going through life never reproducing.

And yet … even now, there was a tiny version of him under Lily’s hands as they rested on her belly. Where did the baby fit? Lily may be tall, but she was slim. In fact, she could use a bit more meat on her bones. He’d start working on that from today, too. This woman was carrying his child and he’d make damn sure both of them had everything they needed.

“Tell me what you know about the baby.” He hadn’t finished forming the thought before it was out of his mouth.

Her eyes opened slowly, lazily, and she smiled. “I don’t know much yet. No gender. But everything is progressing as it should be for this far along.”

Damon grabbed on to the small morsel of information, yet still needing more. “Can you …” He cleared his throat. “Can you feel him move?”

“Not yet. Sometime in the next couple of weeks, the experts say.”

Sitting there on the couch, hands clasped over their child, lashes fluttering to rest on her cheeks, she was so damn beautiful, the epitome of what a mother should be—soft, protective, kind. Despite his threat in her kitchen about giving him sole custody, he’d never act on it. Having been deprived of a mother’s love for most of his childhood, he knew its value.

His hand reached out, almost of its own volition, then retracted. It seemed an intimacy too far. Strange, when they were married and would be lovers again as soon as she stopped fighting it. And this was his baby.

Yet something still kept him from forcing this intrusion on her without invitation. Something about her now, perhaps the glow radiating from her skin, which made her look like the Madonna portrait that had hung in his childhood schoolroom.

She was high above him, he with his blackened heart. He was under no illusions about the darkness that consumed him inside, a consequence of being raised by an instrument of the devil. A man who had no boundaries on the methods he used—even on a child. Cruelty, humiliation, violence, thievery.

Damon had always prided himself that no matter how low he sank, he never stooped as low as Travis. But now, looking down on Lily, untainted by darkness, he could see his own true colors.

God knew, it was too late for him. The only way to save himself now was to have her purity beside him, part of him. She’d give him an heir, BlakeCorp and personal salvation.

He needed to have her, now more than ever.

Decision made beyond question, he smiled, using all his charm. “The color’s returned to your cheeks. You look well enough for that shower now. I’ll order up some food while you’re in there.”

Her eyes drifted open, a cool green gaze landed on his for a moment, lingered, then she turned away and nodded.

Unsettled but determined, he watched her go and made a vow to himself.

He would have her. Tonight.

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