Claiming His Bought Bride Page 3

  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

  T hree 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.