Claiming His Nine-Month Consequence. Jennie Lucas

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