Baby of His Revenge Read online

  “I can make you explode with pleasure...”

  Kassius Black rose from the ashes of his catastrophic childhood driven by revenge against the father who abandoned him. With near complete ownership of his father’s assets, Kassius’s last vengeful step is to present him with an heir he’ll never get to know!

  “And if I’m wrong, I will pay you ten million dollars.”

  Pure in body and mind, Laney Henry is the perfect candidate to wear Kassius’s ring and carry his child. So Kassius delivers his ultimatum confident he has nothing to lose...or does he?

  “I am so sure that I can make you gasp with desire, so sure I can make you explode with pleasure, that if I am wrong, Laney, I will pay you ten million dollars.”

  Ten million dollars.

  The amount staggered her. She thought of what it would mean. She could go back to New Orleans and hire full-time caregivers for her father. Her grandmother, who’d worked her fingers to the bone for fifty years, could finally relax and enjoy her life. Laney could be with the family she loved.

  “But the amount I’ll pay if I lose doesn’t matter.” Kassius looked down at her, his eyes glinting wickedly in the moonlight. “Because I intend to win.”

  Laney licked her lips. “Just for the sake of argument, if you do make me... um... If you prove I’m not frigid, then what would you want in return?”

  “Beyond the sweet prize of your body?”

  He moved suddenly, leaning over the bed, running his wide hand in a sensual stroke down her body. His expression was deadly serious.

  “If I cannot give you pleasure, Laney, I will give you ten million dollars and you will walk out of here a wealthy woman. But if I make you explode with joy you will surrender everything. You will allow me to take possession of your body and fill you with my child. You will be mine—forever.”

  Wedlocked!

  Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!

  Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved...

  she’s got no choice but to say ‘I do!’

  But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they think marriage will be easy...

  Soon their convenient brides become the object of an inconvenient desire!

  Find out what happens after the vows in

  Trapped by Vialli’s Vows

  by Chantelle Shaw

  The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition

  by Sharon Kendrick

  One Night to Wedding Vows

  by Kim Lawrence

  Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

  by Michelle Smart

  Expecting a Royal Scandal

  by Caitlin Crews

  Look out for more Wedlocked! stories coming soon!

  Baby of His Revenge

  Jennie Lucas

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  USA TODAY bestselling author JENNIE LUCAS’s parents owned a bookshop and she grew up surrounded by books, dreaming about faraway lands. A fourth-generation Westerner, she went east at sixteen to boarding school on scholarship, wandered the world, got married, then finally worked her way through college before happily returning to her hometown. A 2010 RITA® Award finalist and 2005 Golden Heart® Award winner, she lives in Idaho with her husband and children.

  Books by Jennie Lucas

  Mills & Boon Modern Romance

  A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir

  Nine Months to Redeem Him

  Uncovering Her Nine-Month Secret

  The Sheikh’s Last Seduction

  To Love, Honour and Betray

  A Night of Living Dangerously

  The Virgin’s Choice

  Bought: The Greek’s Baby

  One Night With Consequences

  A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir

  At His Service

  The Consequences of That Night

  Princes Untamed

  Dealing Her Final Card

  A Reputation for Revenge

  One Night In...

  Reckless Night in Rio

  Unexpected Babies

  Sensible Housekeeper, Scandalously Pregnant

  Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

  To Pete, who inspires me every day.

  Contents

  Cover

  Back Cover Text

  Introduction

  Wedlocked

  Title Page

  About the Author

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  Extract

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I SHOULD FIRE you right now, Laney.” Her boss glared at her. “Anyone would love to have your job. All of them less stupid than you!”

  “I’m sorry!” Laney May Henry had tears in her eyes as she saw the hot coffee she’d just spilled on her boss’s prized white fur coat, which had been hanging on the back of a chair. Leaning forward, she desperately tried to clean the stain with the hem of her faded cotton shirt. “It wasn’t...”

  “Wasn’t what?” Her boss, a coldly beautiful American-born countess who had been married and divorced four times, narrowed her carefully made-up eyes. “What are you trying to imply?”

  It wasn’t my fault. But Laney took a deep breath. She knew there was no point in telling her boss that her friend had deliberately tripped her as she’d brought them coffee. No point, because her boss had seen the whole thing and had laughed along with her friend as Laney tripped with a noisy oof, sprawling helter-skelter across the carpet of the lavish Monaco flat. For her boss, it had all been a good joke—until she saw the coffee hit her full-length fur coat.

  “Well?” Mimi du Plessis, the Comtesse de Fourcil, demanded. “I’m waiting.”

  Laney dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Madame la Comtesse.”

  Her boss turned to her friend, dressed in head-to-toe Dolce and Gabbana on the other side of the white leather sofa, smoking. “She’s stupid, isn’t she?”

  “Very stupid,” the friend agreed, daintily puffing out a smoke ring.

  “So hard to get good help these days.”

  Biting her lip hard, Laney stared down at the white rug. Two years ago, she’d been hired to organize Mimi du Plessis’s wardrobe, keep track of her social engagements and run errands. But Laney had quickly discovered why the salary was so good. She was on call day and night, often needing to work twenty-hour days and endure her boss’s continual taunts. Every day of the last two years, Laney had fantasized about quitting and going back to New Orleans. But she couldn’t. Her family desperately needed the money, and she loved her family.

  “Take the fur and get out of here. I can’t stand to look at your pathetic little face another moment. Get the coat to the cleaners and heaven help you if it’s not back before the New Year’s Eve gala tonight.” Dismissing her, the comtesse turned back to her friend, resuming their earlier conversation. “I think tonight Kassius Black will finally make his move.”

  “You think so?” her friend said eagerly.

  The comtesse smiled, like a smug Persian cat with a golden bowl of overpriced cream. “He’s already wasted millions of euros giving anonymous loans to my boss. But the way things are going, my boss’s company will be bankrupt within the year. I finally told Kassius that if he wants my attention, he should stop throwing money down the drain and just ask me out.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t deny it.”

  “So he’s taking you to the ball tonight?”

  “Not e
xactly...” She shrugged. “But I was tired of waiting for him to make his move. It’s obvious he must be wildly in love with me. And I’m ready to get married again.”

  “Married?”

  “Why not?”

  Her friend pursed her lips. “Darling, yes, Kassius Black is rich as sin and dangerously handsome, but who is he? Where does he come from? Who are his people? No one knows.”

  “Who cares?” Mimi du Plessis, who liked to brag about how she could trace her family history back not only to the Mayflower, but to Charlemagne, now shrugged it off. “I’m fed up with aristocrats without a single dollar to their name. My last husband, the comte, bled me dry. Sure, I got his title—but after the divorce I had to get a job. Me! A job!” She shuddered at the indignity, then brightened. “But once I’m Kassius Black’s wife, I’ll never have to worry about working again. He’s the tenth-richest man in the world!”

  Her friend elegantly blew out another smoke ring. “Ninth. His real estate investments have exploded.”

  “Even better. I know he’ll try to kiss me at midnight. I can’t wait. You can just tell any wife of his would be well satisfied in bed...” Her sharp face narrowed when she saw Laney still hesitating unhappily by the sofa, heavy coat in her arms. “Well? What are you still doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, madame, but I need your credit card.”

  “Give you my card? That’s a joke. Pay for it yourself. And get us more coffee. Hurry up, you idiot!”

  Beneath the weight of the white fur coat, Laney took the elevator downstairs and trudged through the lobby of the elegant Hôtel de Carillon onto the most expensive street in Monaco, filled with designer shops, overlooking the famous Casino de Monte Carlo and the Mediterranean Sea. As she walked out of the exclusive residential hotel, the doorman gave her an encouraging smile. “Ça va, Laney?”

  “Ça va, Jacques,” she replied, mustering up a smile. But the heavy gray clouds seemed as leaden as her heart.

  It had just stopped raining. The street was wet and so were the expensive sports cars revving by, along with the sodden-looking tourists crowded together in packs on the sidewalk. In late December, the winter afternoons were short and the nights were long. But that only added to the delight of New Year’s Eve. It was a popular time for people, especially wealthy yacht owners, to visit Monaco and enjoy exclusive parties, designer shops and world-class restaurants.

  Laney comforted herself with the thought that at least the rain had stopped. Aside from her worries about the coat getting wet, she’d run out of the building too fast to grab her coat and just wore a plain white shirt, loose khakis and sensible clogs with her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail—the uniform of the servant class. But even without rain, the air was damp and chilly, and the sun was weak. Shivering, she held the fur coat tightly in her arms, both to protect it from being splashed by a passing car and to keep herself warm.

  She didn’t like her boss’s fur coats much. They reminded her too much of the pets she’d loved growing up at her grandmother’s house outside New Orleans, the sweet, dopey old hound dogs and proudly independent cats. They’d comforted her through some heartbreaking days as a teenager. Thinking of them reminded Laney of everything else she missed about home. A lump rose in her throat. It had been two years since she’d last seen her family.

  Don’t think about it. She took a deep breath. The fur in her arms was bulky and big, and Laney was on the petite side, so she shifted the coat over her shoulder to look down at her smartphone.

  But as she scouted out the nearest fur cleaner, she was suddenly jostled by a large group of tourists stampeding by, blindly following their guide’s flag up ahead. Stumbling forward, Laney tripped off the curb and fell forward into the street. Turning with a gasp, as if in slow motion, she saw a red sports car barreling down on her!

  There was a loud squeal of tires, and Laney felt a surge of regret that she was going to die, at twenty-five, far from home and everyone she loved, holding her boss’s dirty fur coat, run over by a car. She just wished she could tell her grandmother and her father one last time that she loved them...

  She closed her eyes and held her breath as she felt the impact. The car knocked her over the hood and she flew, then fell hard on something soft.

  The air was knocked out of her lungs, and she wheezed for breath as everything went dark.

  “Damn you, what were you thinking!”

  It was a man’s voice. It didn’t sound like the voice of God, either, so she couldn’t be dead. Laney’s eyes fluttered open.

  A man was standing over her, looking down. His face and body were hidden in shadow, but he was tall, broad-shouldered. And, it seemed, angry.

  A crowd gathered around them as the man knelt beside her.

  “Why did you run out in the street like that?” The man was dark-haired, dark-eyed, handsome. “I could have killed you!”

  Laney suddenly recognized him. Coughing, she sat up abruptly. A wave of dizziness went through her, and she put her hand on her head, feeling sick.

  “Be careful, damn you!”

  “Kassius—Black,” she croaked.

  “Do I know you?” he said tersely.

  Why would he? She was nobody. “No...”

  “Are you injured?”

  “No,” she whispered, then realized to her shock that it was true. Looking down, she saw the fur had blocked her impact against the street like a soft pillow. Incredulously, she touched the nose of the wildly sleek and expensive sports car pressing into her shoulder. He must have stopped on a dime.

  “You’re in shock.” Without asking permission, he ran his hands over her. He was no doubt searching for broken bones, but having him touch her—stroking her arms, her legs, her shoulders—caused heat to flood through Laney. Her cheeks burned, and she pushed him away.

  “I’m fine.”

  He looked at her skeptically.

  She look a shuddering breath and tried to smile. “Really.”

  Of all the billionaires in Monaco—and there were tons—she’d just inconvenienced the one her boss wanted, this mysterious and dangerous man. If the comtesse found out Laney had caused him problems, on top of everything else...

  Laney tried to stand up.

  “Wait,” he barked. “Take a breath. This is serious.”

  “Why?” She glanced back at the glossy fender of the car. “Did I hurt your Lamborghini?”

  “Funny.” His voice was dry. He was looking at her narrowly. “What were you thinking, jumping in front of me?”

  “I tripped.”

  “You should have been more careful.”

  “Thanks.” Rubbing her elbow, she winced. On the two occasions she’d seen the man before, while he was having lunch meetings with the comtesse, Laney had vaguely thought Kassius Black must be an American raised in Europe, or possibly a European raised in America. But there was a strange inflection in his voice that didn’t suit either theory. In fact, it was an accent she recognized well. But it obviously wasn’t possible. She rubbed her forehead. She must have hit it harder than she thought. “I’ll try to take your advice in the future.”

  Rising to his feet, he looked around at the crowd that had formed a semicircle around them in the street. “Is there a doctor?” No one moved, even when he repeated the request in rapid succession in three other languages. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “Um...” She bit her lip. “That’s nice and all, but I’m afraid I don’t have time for that.”

  He looked incredulous. “You don’t have time for an ambulance?”

  She gave herself a quick look for gushing blood or maybe a broken leg she hadn’t noticed. But the worst that seemed to have happened was that she’d had the wind knocked out of her and had gotten a little lump on her forehead. She touched it. “I’m on an urgent errand for my boss.”

  Wincing a little, she pushed herself off the street and rose to her feet. He reached out his hand to help her. When their hands touched, she felt electr
icity course through her body, making her shake all over. She looked up at him. He was nearly an entire foot taller than she was, handsome and powerful and sleek in his dark suit. She could only imagine what a pathetic mess she looked like right now. Talk about noblesse oblige.

  She dropped his hand.

  “Well, thanks for stopping your car,” she muttered. “I’d better get going...”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  “Mimi du Plessis, the Comtesse de Fourcil.”

  “Mimi?” Abruptly, the man stepped closer, searching her face. Recognition dawned. “Wait. I know you now. The little mouse who scampers around Mimi’s flat, fetching her slippers and finding her phone.”

  Laney blushed. “I’m her assistant.”

  “What was her errand, so important that you nearly died for it?”

  “But I didn’t die.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “Lucky,” she breathed as she tilted her head back. Her mind felt oddly blank as she looked up at him. Up close, he was even more handsome. And his face had character, with an interesting scar across one of his high cheekbones. His aquiline nose was slightly uneven at the top, as if it had been broken when he was young and not properly realigned. This man hadn’t been born rich—that much was for sure. He was nothing like the wealthy playboys Mimi had gone through like tissue paper since her divorce. This man was a fighter. A thug, even. And for some reason, as he looked down at her, he made Laney feel dizzy—as if the world had just moved beneath her sensible shoes.

  His gaze sharpened. “So what was the errand, little mouse,” he repeated, “so important you were willing to die for it?”

  “Her coat—” That reminded her. Looking around for it, she gave an anguished cry.

  The expensive white fur was now soaked in a muddy puddle on the street, ripped to shreds where one of his tires had gone through it.

  Laney took a deep breath.

  “I’m so fired,” she whispered. Her head was starting to clang with headache as she knelt and picked it up. “She told me to get it cleaned before the ball tonight. Now it’s ruined.”

  “It’s not your fault.”