Claiming His Nine-Month Consequence
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Jennie Lucas
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Chapter One
ARES KOURAKIS!
As rhythmic music and lights pulsed across the dark, hot dance club, the whispers of his name grew louder, building to a roar. The famously handsome Greek billionaire had come to Star Valley at last.
Ruby Prescott rolled her eyes at all the excited chatter and awed stares being directed toward the shadowy VIP section. A handsome billionaire? Yeah, right. In her experience, billionaires were always ugly—if not on the outside, then definitely on the inside. No man became that rich without seriously warping his soul.
But she had more important things to worry about. Bartending was Ruby’s third job today, after a morning teaching skiing to four-year-olds and an afternoon working at a clothing boutique. She couldn’t stop yawning, and she still had a whole night of work ahead. Stretching to wake herself up, she moved across the bar, pouring drinks as quickly and carefully as she could.
“Ares Kourakis,” one of the waitresses, Lexie, breathed across the bar. “Can you believe he finally came?”
“It would be stupid if he didn’t, after buying a house here.” Ruby had been on that house’s cleaning crew, too, six months earlier, right before the man had bought it for the reported sum of thirty million dollars. Nice place, if you liked your ski lodges fancy and as big as a football stadium. Pouring another beer and setting it on the bar, Ruby said sourly, “And what kind of name is Ares, anyway?”
“He’s so handsome and rich, he can have any name he wants. I’d be Mrs. Ares Kourakis in a second!” Staring toward the dark corner of the bar, Lexie fluffed up her hair. “I’m so lucky he’s sitting in my section!”
“Very lucky,” Ruby replied sardonically, “since I heard he just broke up with his girlfriend.”
“Really?” Lexie’s face was ecstatic. Unbuttoning another button on her white shirt, she picked up her tray and hurried toward the VIP corner.
Ruby continued to pour drinks behind the bar. The Atlas Club was busy tonight, the last night of the March film festival that made the town even more crowded than usual.
Billionaires weren’t unusual in Star Valley, a ski-resort paradise in the Idaho mountains and a playground for the rich and famous. The busiest time was Christmas, when wealthy people brought their families to ski, and July, when the famous McFallon and Company CEO conference caused a fleet of private jets to descend on the valley like bloated metal vultures blocking out the sun.
But Ruby knew, just as there was no such thing as free drinks, there was no such thing as Prince Charming. The richer and more ambitious a man, the darker his soul.
Another waitress hurried up breathlessly to the bar. “I need three mojitos, one no sugar, one pomegranate, one extra lime and she said if the mint isn’t muddled right, she’s sending it back.”
Ruby sighed. At least wealthy men, unlike their girlfriends and wives, generally stuck to ordering uncomplicated drinks, like scotch on the rocks. Turning away, she swiftly made the cocktails. As she placed them on the tray, Ruby saw a young blonde in a tiny red dress trying to inconspicuously scoot past the bar.
“Ivy?” Ruby said incredulously.
Her nineteen-year-old sister flinched, then turned. “Um. Hi, Ruby.”
“You can’t be in here! You’re underage! How did you get past the door?”
Her cheeks flushed red. “I, um, told Alonzo that there was an emergency with Mom, and I had to talk to you.”
Panic went through Ruby. “Is Mom—”
“She’s fine, I swear. She was sleeping when I left.” Ivy squared her shoulders. “But I heard Ares Kourakis is here.”
Oh, no. Not her little sister, too. “You can’t be serious!”
“I know you think I’m just a kid. But I have a plan.” Ivy lifted her chin. “I’m going to seduce him. All I have to do is poke a few holes in the condom, get pregnant and he’ll marry me. Then our troubles will be over.”
Ruby stared at her sister in shock. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “No.”
“It will work.”
“You’d risk getting pregnant by a man you don’t even know?” she gasped.
Ivy narrowed her eyes. “I have a chance for everything I ever wanted, and I’m going to take it. Unlike you. You keep talking about your big dreams, but you don’t do anything! You’re just a coward!”
Staring at her little sister, Ruby caught her breath, feeling like she’d just been punched. You’re just a coward...
“I’m going to live the life of my dreams,” Ivy continued. “No more worries about bills. I’ll have jewels and live in a castle.” She looked at her elder sister contemptuously. “Maybe you’ve given up on your dreams, Ruby. I haven’t.”
Five years younger than Ruby, Ivy had always been the spoiled baby of the family. But looking at her now, in a tight red dress and stiletto heels, Ruby realized with a chill that her sister had grown up to be freakishly beautiful. She might actually have a chance to succeed at her awful plan.
“Don’t do this,” she breathed. “I can’t let you do this.”
“Try to stop me.” And Ivy disappeared into the crowd.
For a moment, Ruby couldn’t move. Exhaustion, shock and fear, never far away since their mother’s diagnosis, clouded her vision like too many punches to the head.
Ivy’s plan to trick Ares Kourakis into marriage was just a joke, surely. Her little sister had always been allergic to hard work, but even Ivy wouldn’t sell her body—her soul—to a man she didn’t love just because he was rich!
Would she?
“Wait,” Ruby cried, and started to follow her, only to crash into the other bartender, causing an empty bottle of vodka to fly off the shelf and smash to the floor behind the bar. As the other bartender cursed loudly, she heard laughter and mocking applause from patrons at the bar.
“What’s wrong with you?” Monty, the other bartender, hissed.
Heart pounding, Ruby wordlessly grabbed a broom and quickly cleaned up the glass. She turned to Monty. “Cover me.”
“What? Girl, are you crazy? I can’t take over all the—”
“Thanks.” With an intake of breath, she headed for the darkest corner of the bar. A chill went down Ruby’s spine at the memory of her baby sister’s voice.
All I have to do it poke a few holes in the condom, get pregnant and he’ll marry me.
Squaring her shoulders, Ruby strode toward the VIP section. Up on the platform a few feet above the rest of the club, past the man’s glowering bodyguard, she saw her sister in the bright red dress, already ensconced cozily at a table with a brutally handsome dark-haired man. Ares Kourakis.
As if the Greek billionaire felt Ruby’s gaze, he turned.
Dark sardonic eyes glittered in the darkness, cutting through her. She felt a flash of heat. Catching her breath, she shivered with a strange fear. Even the man’s name was dangerously sexy, starting with the Greek god of war and ending with a kiss.
She shook herself. What was wrong with her? She mocked her body’s reaction. The rumors about him were true. The man was handsome. So what? It just meant he’d be even more selfish. Even more heartless.
She wasn’t going to let him ruin Ivy’s life, and possibly a baby’s.
Tightening her jaw, Ruby went grimly forward.
* * *
Ares Kourakis, thirty-six-year-old billionaire, sole heir of the Kourakis shipping fortune and the most famous playboy on six continents, was bored.
He surveyed the dance club. Even here, in the remote mountains of the American West, he was bored by the same old expensive scotch, the same old pounding electronic music, all boringly unvaried from Stockholm to Singapore.
All the women in dance clubs were exactly the same, too. Oh, their looks varied, of course, as he traveled around the world. But the type of girls in clubs was always the same: model thin, model beautiful, perfectly made up with long hair, short skirts and high heels.
And whether their eyes were brown or blue or black or green, they always glittered with the same hunger: willing to do anything—be anyone—to possess him.
His money. His status. His body.
That last one, Ares usually hadn’t minded so much. He generally took advantage of whatever was offered as casually as another man might enjoy dessert after dinner. He didn’t feel guilty, either. Gold diggers knew what they were doing. They hoped to lure him through sex into the permanent misery of marriage. But he knew how to play the game. He lazily enjoyed the sensual delights when they were offered and just as quickly forgot them when they were not.
Ares was good at the game. For many years, he’d enjoyed it. Until recently.
He’d been so busy over the winter, traveling constantly to get a new business acquisition under control, that he’d been unable to even visit the luxurious ski lodge he’d purchased in Star Valley months before. He’d thought he might enjoy having a place to relax, far from the demands of New York. But as was typical, after buying it he’d been too busy to use it. Then his mistress, Poppy Spencer, had begged him to accompany her to the Star Valley Film Festival, where she’d secured a viewing of her first film.
Poppy was beautiful and tiny, blond and glamorous, in her midthirties. A trust-fund baby, she’d never had to work and floated through potential careers, quitting whenever they got boring or difficult. Last year, in the middle of all the awards-season parties in Hollywood, she’d decided she should be a movie star. Declaring auditioning as “tedious and embarrassing,” she’d financed a movie herself, as the writer, producer, director and sole actor. Three hours long, filmed as a monologue in black-and-white, it was a hugely important film—Poppy had told Ares so repeatedly. In fact, as they’d flown to Star Valley on his private jet a few days before, she’d groused that this tiny film festival wasn’t big enough for her groundbreaking artistic achievement.
Poppy had been mortified last night when her film had been roundly panned—even booed—by the audience. Weeping profusely at his ski lodge afterward, she’d demanded that he fly her immediately to Nepal, so she could “disappear forever.” She’d paused midsob, brightening as she mused the possibility of hiking to the top of Mt. Everest alone, thereby becoming a famous mountaineer.
When Ares had declined to drop everything and fly her to Nepal, she’d accused him of being unsupportive of her dreams and broken up with him. She’d left Star Valley in such a huff, she’d even been willing to fly economy class.
But Ares had stayed. He’d just gotten to Star Valley. He liked the little town, and he’d barely spent any time at his brand-new house. He hadn’t even had a chance to snowboard, and though the late-March sun was swiftly melting the snow, he wanted at least a few hours on the mountain, damn it, before he headed for Sydney tomorrow on business. Why on earth would he go to Nepal? Especially since he knew within months Poppy would announce she hated mountaineering and instead wanted to be a forensic anthropologist like some character on a TV show?
Poppy could be occasionally amusing, and was good in bed. More important, she’d never made emotional demands, never asked him about his childhood or appeared interested in his thoughts or feelings unless they related to her. She was strictly surface level, which suited him perfectly. With his busy schedule, they’d often gone weeks without speaking to each other between social events.
Ares suddenly realized he was glad she’d left last night. He’d been bored a long time. Not just with Poppy, but with everything. Everyone. He’d spent the last fourteen years turning the shipping empire he’d inherited at twenty-two into a vertically integrated worldwide conglomerate that sold and shipped everything from minerals to motor oil. Kourakis Enterprises was the love of his life. But even his company had somehow lately become...uninteresting.
Grimly, Ares tried to push away the feeling. He’d spent today on the mountain as he’d wanted, with the bright sun, melting snow and icy wind. But even that hadn’t been as enjoyable as he thought it would be. He’d heard his name whispered wherever he went. Women skied into his line of vision, giggling and tossing back seductive glances, cutting him off and forcing him to change his path so he didn’t crash into them or veer off into a tree. He’d ended the day more irritated than he’d begun.
So tonight, his last night in Star Valley, he’d decided he needed to go out. Perhaps his mood would improve after a passionate encounter with some attractive woman he’d never have to see again.
But now, as Ares looked blankly across the VIP table at a young blonde telling some long, boring story, he knew he’d been wrong.
This had been a mistake. All of it. He should just go. Leave for Sydney tonight. Tomorrow, he’d tell Dorothy to put the ski lodge back on the market.
“Excuse me,” he said curtly, startling the blonde in the middle of a sentence. He tossed money on the table to pay for the single glass of scotch, barely tasted, left here a few minutes ago by the vapidly smiling waitress. Looking away, he started to rise.
Then he froze.
Across the club, he saw her.
Time seemed to slow around him as a jolt of electricity went through his body. The flashing lights, thumping music, frantic dancers all became just noise, mere smudges of color. Only she was in focus. This woman.
Not a woman. A goddess.
Glossy dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and huge, fringed by thick black lashes. Her full, heart-shaped lips were deep red.
She was dressed differently from the other women. Instead of tight, short, low-cut clubwear, she was innocently sexy in a simple cotton gingham top, sleeveless and secured with a casual tie at the waist. It caressed the hourglass curves of her body, from her full breasts to her tiny waist, expanding to full hips sheathed in feathery-soft jeans.
And the goddess was coming straight for his table.
Ares’s throat went dry.
Straight for him.
His bodyguard stopped her at the bottom of the stairs. It was only when she turned to speak to Georgios that Ares felt able to breathe again.
The young blonde at his table had continued chattering nervously about something or other. He’d forgotten she was there. Sinking back into his chair, he said abruptly, “You should go.”
“Go?” The blonde gave a foolish grin. “You mean to your place?”
Not listening, he made a rough gesture to his bodyguard, who let the gorgeous brunette pass.
Dark-haired and sloe-eyed, the goddess climbed the few steps toward him. He stared at the sway of her hips. What was it that drew him? Her earthy sex appeal in those seemingly modest clothes, like a 1940s pinup? Her incredible body, her soulful eyes?
Whatever it was, she drew him like a flame. Boredom was suddenly the last thing on his mind. His breathing was hard as she came forward. And not only his breathing.
But the brunette barely looked at him. Instead, she turned accusingly to the blonde girl at the table.
“All right. Let’s go.”
The girl, who suddenly looked defiant as a teenager, snapped, “You’re not the boss of me, Ruby!”
Ruby. A beautiful fairy-tale name for a woman who looked like a brazen princess who could tempt any man into eating a poison apple. Ares didn’t mind her possessiveness, not in this case. It was all he could do not to push the other girl out of the chair himself. But he forced himself to say courteously to the blonde, “Yes, you need to go. I’ll be glad to buy your drinks for the night, but—”
“Drinks?” Ruby turned her angry glare on him. Ares felt the same jolt, the one that left him electrified and breathless. “My little sister is underage, Mr. Kourakis. How dare you offer her alcohol?”
“Your sister? Underage?” Frowning, Ares looked at the blonde girl, then back at the goddess. She stood over the table in a fury, taking quick breaths. Understanding dawned. “Is that why you came up here?”
Ruby scowled. “Believe me, I’m doing you a favor, Mr. Kourakis. Ivy had this fantastic idea of seducing you and getting knocked up so you’d marry her.”
Ares’s jaw dropped; not at the plan, but at the honesty.
“Shut up!” the girl yelled. “You’re ruining everything!”
“She wanted to marry a billionaire. Any billionaire would do.” Looking at him, Ruby tilted her head, her expression almost contemptuous. “Please excuse her for being stupid. She’s only nineteen.”
The look she gave him spoke louder than words: What kind of man your age would date a teenager?
She made him feel ancient, at the age of thirty-six.
“I hate you!” the blonde cried.
She turned sharply to her sister. “Ivy, go home. Before I have Alonzo toss you out so hard, you bounce on the sidewalk.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” But looking at her, Ivy’s defiance fled. “Fine!” Rising to her feet, she stomped away.
“And don’t even think about telling Mom what you tried to do!” Ruby yelled after her. She glanced back at Ares, humor curving her deliciously full lips. “Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Kourakis. Have a good night.”
As she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist.
Her skin was soft and caused heat to flood through his body. He heard her intake of breath when he touched her.
Ares looked up at her. “Wait.”
“What do you want?”
“Have a drink with me.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Then what are you doing at a bar?”
“Working. I’m a bartender.”
She worked for a living? He looked at her capable hands. “Take a few minutes. Your boss will understand.”
Her frank dark gaze locked with his. “No.”
Ares frowned. “Are you upset because I was talking to your sister? I was never interested in her.”
“Good.” She pulled her wrist from his grasp. “Please excuse me.”
“Wait. Your name is Ruby? Ruby what?”
Glancing back, she gave a low laugh that he felt all the way to his toes. “There’s no point in telling you.”
“But you know my last name.”
“Against my will. Everyone is talking about you. Apparently you’re quite a catch.” Her voice was sardonic.
Ares had never been brushed off so thoroughly by any woman. He tried to understand. “You are married?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“I’m working.” She enunciated the word as if she thought maybe he’d never heard it before. “And the waitstaff will be needing their drink orders.”
Ares stared at her. “You would truly rather work than have a drink with me?”
“If I’m not pouring drinks, it hurts everyone’s tips. Which hurts everyone’s ability to pay rent. Not everyone,” she added sweetly, “owns a thirty-million-dollar house bought with cash.”
So she’d noticed his house. Even the price. Encouraged, he stretched out his arm suggestively along the top of the seat next to his. “Most other women would quit their jobs on the spot to spend an evening with me—”
“So have a drink with one of them,” she said, and walked down the steps without looking back.
Ares sat for several moments in stunned silence, alone at the VIP table. He dimly heard the thumping music. He barely noticed as women in tight dresses and stilettos continued to parade below the platform, dancing provocatively for his benefit. He glanced over at Georgios. His bodyguard rolled his eyes. Exactly what Ares was thinking, too. Same music. Same club. Same people.
With one exception.
Who was this Ruby, and why could he suddenly not imagine any outcome tonight that didn’t end with her in his bed?
Rising to his feet, Ares told Georgios, “You can go.”
His bodyguard brightened. He was probably thinking of calling his wife back in New York, who was no doubt up late with their new baby. “Should I leave the car?”
“I’ll find a ride home. But tell the pilot I want to leave first thing in the morning.”
“Of course. Good night, Mr. Kourakis.”
Turning, Ares stalked through the nightclub. Dance music pounded in waves, colored lights blurring in the dark, sultry heat as crowds of people parted for him like magic. Men looked at him with envy, women with desire. But he had only one object. One goal.
When he reached the bar, a free chair immediately appeared for him, as such things always did. He slid into it as his due.
Ruby looked up from where she was pouring drinks behind the bar. Her lips parted in surprise, then annoyance. “What are you—”
“Tell me your last name.”
“It’s Prescott,” a waitress said nearby. At her glare, the girl continued in a squeak, “Ruby Prescott.”
At last they were getting somewhere. Tilting his head, Ares said, “Nice name.”
“I don’t think you can criticize,” she snapped. “What kind of parents would name their child after the Greek god of war?”
“My parents,” he said flatly. He changed the subject. “I’m bored with scotch. I’ll have a beer.”
She blinked in surprise. “A beer?”
“Whatever you have on tap.”
“Not some expensive forty-year-old scotch? Just regular old beer?”
He shrugged. “I don’t care what it is. As long as I’m having that drink with you.”
Ruby scowled, and quickly poured him the cheapest beer, making sure to leave lots of foam. Taking the glass, he slugged back a long gulp, then wiped the foam from his mouth. “Delicious.”
Her scowl deepened as she turned away, moving around the bar, fixing drinks with impressive speed. He could see why she dressed in a sleeveless cotton shirt. The club was warm, and she moved so swiftly from the bottles to the well drinks, grabbing glasses and ice, it was almost athletic.
Ares nursed his beer, watching her work. Her full breasts were spectacular, yes, but every last bit of her was amazing. His gaze traced appreciatively over her softly curved arms. Her backside was nicely curved, too. He’d never seen any woman with such an hourglass shape, and her bottom was something a man could really hold on to. He nearly groaned at the erotic images that suddenly filled his mind.
But it wasn’t just her curves. Ruby Prescott had other, more subtle charms. Her thick black lashes, now fluttering with irritation against her pale skin. The tremble of her lips, ruby red like her name. She frequently bit them in concentration as she worked. His eyes traveled over the sweep of her long hair, dark as a raven’s wing, tumbling down her back. The curve of her bare shoulder. The angry gleam of her dark eyes, which suddenly met his accusingly.
“Why are you doing this? Is it some kind of game to you?”
“Why?” he asked, sipping his cheap beer. “Is it one to you?”
“If you think I’m playing hard to get, you’re wrong.” Standing directly in front of him on the other side of the bar, Ruby glared. “For you, I’m impossible to get.”
Her expression was fierce, her dark eyes glinting like a lightning storm over a dark ocean. Her chest rose in quick, angry breaths. She didn’t even realize her beauty, he thought. She had no idea. And unlike everyone else in the world, she wasn’t at all impressed by him.
And in that moment, Ares knew he had to have her.
Tonight.
Whatever it took.
Whatever it cost.
He would have her.
