Книга - His Pregnant Princess Bride

His Pregnant Princess Bride
Catherine Mann


A princess and a Southern billionaire are expecting twins! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Catherine Mann!His focus is on his family’s football dynasty. Louisiana billionaire Gervais Reynaud has no time for romance. But he can’t say no to a tryst with Erika Mitras. True, she’s a princess, but in no way prim…or proper. Their time together is unbelievable…and all too short.When Erika said goodbye, she meant it. But now she must tell Gervais the truth. He’s about to be a father…to royal twins. After leaving her overbearing family, Erika wants nothing from Gervais. But the tempting tycoon just may charm her into a future she desires all too much.









Erika wasn’t at all what he expected when he’d spotted a foreign princess on the guest list.


He’d envisioned either a stiff-necked dignitary or a football groupie bent on a photo op and a chance to meet his players. He didn’t come across many people who dared tell him they didn’t like football.

How contrary that her disinterest in his world made her all the more appealing. Yes, she aroused him in a way he couldn’t recall having felt about any woman before.

And quite possibly some of that allure had to do with the fact that for once in his life he wasn’t under the scrutiny of the American media.

Perhaps if he was careful he could do something impulsive without worrying about the consequences rippling through his family’s world.

* * *

His Pregnant Princess Bride

is part of the Bayou Billionaires series—Secrets and scandal are a Cajun family legacy for the Reynaud brothers!




His Pregnant Princess Bride

Catherine Mann





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN lives on a sunny Florida beach with her flyboy husband and their four children. With more than forty books in print in over twenty countries, she has also celebrated wins for both a RITA® Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. Catherine enjoys chatting with readers online—thanks to the wonders of the internet, which allows her to network with her laptop by the water! Contact Catherine through her website, www.catherinemann.com (http://www.catherinemann.com), find her on Facebook and Twitter (@CatherineMann1 (https://twitter.com/catherinemann1)) or reach her by snail mail at PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA.


To my dear friend and former neighbour from Louisiana—Karen.

Thank you for all the Mardi Gras cakes and celebrations!


Contents

Cover (#u9eab9bb5-4b78-54d1-993f-a064943541fe)

Introduction (#u2952c242-ebc0-5b7f-9d6b-05240e21a8b2)

Title Page (#ua5a878e8-6641-5f4f-bbc8-cb9b1efe8194)

About the Author (#u35666a7d-3493-5380-9966-bd39e44a5d56)

Dedication (#u09214708-c4cc-5751-a7fb-282786e56dad)

Prologue (#u36ee5326-933a-52a3-ab59-3858ac8be961)

One (#u504e3a04-5a02-52c5-94af-9fa5dfb21048)

Two (#u3a0e9a28-7dd8-56f8-a74d-6055bf420a23)

Three (#u095b38a5-1edf-5881-8770-cc030c23512a)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_76c31b44-0bd2-5dfe-99bd-6c27e7ea5fc7)

“I have to confess, I don’t care for the football at all.”

Princess Erika’s declaration caught Gervais Reynaud off guard, considering they’d spent the past four hours in the private viewing box overlooking Wembley Stadium, where his team would be playing a preseason exhibition game two months from now.

As the owner of the New Orleans Hurricanes NFL team, Gervais had more important things to do than indulge this high-maintenance Nordic princess he’d been seated beside during today’s event, a high-stakes soccer match that was called “football” on this side of the globe. A game she didn’t even respect regardless of which country played. Had it been sexist of him to think she might actually enjoy the game, since she was a royal, serving in her country’s army? He’d expected a military member to be athletic. Not unreasonable, right? She was definitely toned under that gray, regimented uniform decorated with gold braid and commendations.

But she was also undoubtedly bored by the game.

And while Gervais didn’t enjoy soccer as much as American football, he respected the hell out of it. The athletes were some of the best in the world. His main task for today had been to scout the stadium, to see what it would be like for the New Orleans Hurricanes when they played here in August. He’d staked his business reputation on the team he owned, a move his financial advisers had all adamantly opposed. There were risks, of course. But Gervais had never backed away from a challenge. It went against his nature. And now his career was tied to the success of the Hurricanes. The media spotlight had always been intense for him because of his family name. But after he’d purchased the franchise, the media became relentless.

Previewing the Wembley Stadium facilities at least offered him a welcome weekend of breathing room from scrutiny, since the UK fan base for American football was nominal. Here, he could simply enjoy a game without a camera panning to his face or reporters circling him afterward.

He only wished he could be watching the Hurricanes play today. He’d put one of his brothers in charge of the team as head coach. Another brother ran the team on the field in the quarterback position. Sportswriters back in the United States implied he’d made a colossal mistake.

Playing favorites? Clearly, they didn’t know the Reynauds.

He wouldn’t have chosen from his family unless they were the best for the job. Not when purchasing this team provided his chance to forge his own path as more than just part of the Reynaud extended-family empire of shipping moguls and football stars.

But to do that successfully, he had to play the political game with every bit as much strategy as the game on the field. As a team owner, he was the face of the Hurricanes. Which meant putting up with a temperamental princess who hadn’t grasped that the “football team” he owned wasn’t the one on the field. Not that she seemed to care much one way or the other.

Sprawled on the white leather sofa, Gervais tossed a pigskin from hand to hand, the ball a token gift from the public relations coordinator who’d welcomed him today and shown him to the private viewing box. The box was emptying now that the clock ran out after the London club beat another English team in the FA Cup Final. “You don’t like the ball?”

She waved an elegant hand, smoothing over her pale blond hair sleeked back in a flawless twist. “No, not that. Perhaps my English is not as good as I would wish,” she said with only the slightest hint of an accent. She’d been educated well, speaking with an intonation that was unquestionably sexy, even as she failed to notice the kind of football he held was different than the one they’d used on the field. “I do not care for the game. The football game.”

“Interesting choice, then, for your country to send you as the royal representative to a finals match.” Damn, she was too beautiful for her own good, wearing that neat-fitting uniform and filling it out in all the right places. Just looking at her brought to mind her heritage—her warrior princess ancestors out in battle side by side with badass Vikings—although this Nordic princess had clearly been suffering in regal silence for the past four hours. The way she’d dismissed her travel assistant had Gervais thinking he wouldn’t even bother playing the diplomat with this ice princess.

“So, Princess Erika, were you sent here as punishment for some bad-girl imperial infraction?”

And if so, why wasn’t she leaving now that the game had ended? What held her here, sipping champagne and talking to him after the box cleared? More important, what kept him here when he had a flight planned for tonight?

“First of all, I am not a reigning royal.” Her icy blue eyes were as cool as her icy homeland as she set down her crystal champagne flute. “Our monarchy has been defunct for over forty-five years. And even if it was not, I am the youngest of five girls. And as for my second point, comments like yours only confirm my issue with attending a function like this where you assume I must be some kind of troublemaker if I don’t enjoy this game. I must be flawed. No offense meant, but you and I simply have different interests.”

“Then why are you here?” He wanted to know more than he should.

The PR coordinator for the stadium had introduced them only briefly and he found himself hungry to know more about this intriguing but reticent woman.

“My mother was not happy with my choice to join the military, even though if I were a male that would not be in question. She is concerned I am not socializing enough and that I will end up unmarried, since clearly my worth is contingent upon having babies.” Rolling her eyes, she crossed her long, slim legs at the ankles, her arms elegantly draped on the white leather chair. “Ridiculous, is it not, considering I am able to support myself? Besides, most of my older sisters are married and breeding like raccoons.”

“Like rabbits.”

She arched a thin blond eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“The phrase is breeding like rabbits.” Gervais couldn’t quite smother a grin as the conversation took an interesting turn.

“Oh, well, that is strange.” She frowned, tapping her upper lip with a short, neat fingernail. “Rabbits are cute and fuzzy. Raccoons are less appealing. I believe raccoons fit better,” she said as if merely stating it could change a colloquialism on her say-so.

“You don’t like kids?” he found himself asking, even though he could have stood and offered to walk her out and be done with any expectation of social nicety.

When was the last time he exchanged more than a few words with a woman outside of business? He could spend another minute talking to her.

“I do not believe I must have a dozen heirs to make a defunct monarchy stable.”

Hmm, valid point and an unexpected answer. “So I take that to mean you’re no threat to hitting on the players?”

Down on the field, the winning team was being mobbed.

“You assume correctly,” she blurted so quickly and emphatically, she startled a laugh from him.

It was refreshing to find a woman who wasn’t a sports groupie for a change.

He found himself staying behind to talk to her even though he had a flight to catch. “What do you do in the military?”

“I am a nurse by degree but the military uses my skills as a linguist. In essence, I’m a diplomatic translator.”

“Say again?”

“Is that so shocking? Do I not appear intelligent?”

She appeared hot as hell, like a blue flame, the most searing of all.

“You’re lovely and articulate. You speak English fluently as a second language. You’re clearly intelligent.”

“And you are a flatterer,” she said dismissively. “I work as a translator, but now that I’m nearing the end of my time in military service, I’ll be taking the RN degree a step further, becoming a nurse-practitioner, with a specialty in homeopathic treatments, using natural herbs and even scents, studying how they relate to moods and physiological effects. Stress relievers. Energy infusers. Or immune boosters. Or allergy relievers. Any number of combinations to combine an alluring perfume with a healthier lifestyle.”

“Where do you study that?”

“I’ve been accepted into a program in London. I had hoped to pursue nursing in the military to increase my experience, but my government had other plans for me to be a translator.”

A nurse, soon to become a nurse-practitioner? Now, that surprised him. “Very impressive.”

“Thank you.” She nodded regally, a lock of hair sliding free from her twist and caressing her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear. “Now, explain to me what I need to know to speak intelligently about what I saw down on the field with all those musclemen when I return home.”

Standing, he extended an arm to her. “By all means, Princess, I know a little something about European football even though the team I own is an American football team.”

She rose with the elegance of a woman who’d been trained in every manner to grace high-end ballrooms not ball games. And yet she chose to further her education and serve her country in uniform.

Princess-Captain Erika Mitras wasn’t at all what he expected when he’d spotted a foreign dignitary on the guest list. He’d envisioned either a stiff-necked VIP or a football groupie bent on a photo op and a chance to meet the players. He didn’t come across many people who dared tell him they didn’t like football—European or American. In fact, he didn’t have many people in his life who disliked sports. The shipping business might be the source of Reynaud wealth, but football had long been their passion.

How contrary that her disinterest in sports made her all the more appealing. Yes, she aroused him in a way he couldn’t recall having felt about any woman before.

And quite possibly some of that allure had to do with the fact that for once in his life he wasn’t under the scrutiny of the American media. Perhaps if he was careful, he could do something impulsive without worrying about the consequences rippling through his family’s world.

He stepped closer, folding her hand into the crook of his arm, and caught a whiff of a cinnamon scent. “And while I do that, what do you say we enjoy London? Dinner, theater, your choice. Just the two of us.”

Flights could be rescheduled.

She paused to peer up at him, her cool blue eyes roaming his face for a moment before the barest hint of a smile played over her lips. “Only if, after a brief outline of the differences in these football sports, we can agree to no football talk at all?”

“None,” he vowed without hesitation.

“Then it sounds lovely.”

Who knew cinnamon would be such a total turn-on?


One (#ulink_f55751ee-8e0e-5cc3-ab8c-fb9095d182e7)

2 ½ Months Later

New Orleans, Louisiana

Princess Erika Birgitta Inger Freya Mitras of Holsgrof knew how to make a royally memorable appearance.

Her mother had taught her well. And Erika needed all the confidence she could garner striding onto the practice field full of larger-than-life men in training. Most important, she needed all her confidence to face one particular man. The leader of this testosterone domain, the owner of the state-of-the-art training facility where he now presided. Players dotted the field in black-and-gold uniforms, their padded shoulders crashing against each other. Shouts, grunts and curses volleyed. Men who appeared to be trainers or coaches jogged alongside them, barking instructions or blowing whistles.

She’d finished her military stint a month ago, her hopes of serving her country in combat having been sidelined by her parents’ interference. They’d shuffled her into some safe figurehead job that made her realize the family’s Viking-warrior heritage would not be carried on through her. She’d been so disillusioned, adrift and on edge the day she attended the soccer game, she had been reckless.

Too reckless. And that weekend of indulgence brought her here. Now. To New Orleans. To Gervais.

Her Jimmy Choo heels sank into the most plush grass ever as she stepped onto the practice field of the New Orleans Hurricanes. She’d assumed this particularly American game was played on Astroturf. And assumptions were what she had to avoid when it came to her current adventure in the United States.

She had not intended to see Gervais Reynaud again after he left the United Kingdom. Their weekend of dates—and amazing, mind-blowing sex—had been an escape from rules and protocol and everything else that had kept her life rigidly in check for so long. She’d had relationships in the past, carefully chosen and approved. This was her first encounter of her own choosing.

And it had turned out to be far more memorable than she could have ever imagined.

She felt the weight of his eyes from across the open stretch of greenery. Or perhaps he had noticed her only because of the sudden silence. Players now stood still, their shouts dimming to a dull echo.

The rest of the place faded for her while she focused on Gervais Reynaud standing at the foot of the bleachers, as tall as any of the players. He was muscular, more so than the average man but more understated than the men in uniform nearby. She knew he had played in his youth and through college but had chosen a business route in the family’s shipping enterprise until he had bought the New Orleans Hurricanes football team. The American football team. She understood the difference now. She also knew Gervais’s purchase of the team had attracted a great deal of press coverage in business and sports media alike.

He had not told her much about his life, but before she made her trip here she had made a point of learning more about him and his family.

It certainly was amazing what a few internet searches could reveal.

Tracing their ancestry deep into Acadian history, the Reynaud family first built their fortune in shipping, a business that his grandfather patriarch Leon Reynaud had expanded into a thriving cruise ship company. Leon also turned a love of sports into another successful venture when he’d purchased shares in a Texas football team, learning the business from the inside out. His elder son, Christophe, inherited the shares but promptly sold them to buy a baseball team, creating a deep family rift.

Leon passed his intense love of football to his younger son, Theo, whose promising career as a quarterback in Atlanta was cut short due to injury and excess after his marriage to a celebrated supermodel fell apart. Theo had three sons from his marriage, Gervais, Henri and Jean-Pierre, and one from an earlier affair, Dempsey. All of the sons inherited a passion for the game, playing in college and groomed for the NFL.

While the elder two sons broke ties with their father to bring corporate savvy to the front office of the relatively new team, the younger two sons both continued their careers on the field. The Reynaud brothers were especially well-known in Louisiana, where their football exploits were discussed—as much a topic of conversation as the women in their lives. She’d overheard references to each in the lobby of the five-star hotel where she’d spent the night in New Orleans.

Would she be the topic of such conversation once her “encounter” with Gervais became public knowledge? There would be no way to hide it from his football world much longer.

Football. A game she still cared very little about, a fact he had teased her about during their weekend together, a weekend where they had spent more time undressed than clothed. Her gaze was drawn back to that well-honed body of his that had made such passionate love to her.

His dark eyes heated her with memories as he strode toward her. His long legs ate the ground in giant slices, his khakis and sports jacket declaring him in the middle of a workday. He stopped in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking the sun and casting his handsome face in shadows. But she didn’t have to see to know his jaw would be peppered with the stubble that seemed to grow in seconds after he shaved. Her fingers—her body—remembered the texture of that rasp well.

Her breath caught somewhere in her chest.

He folded his arms over his chest, just under the Hurricanes logo stitched on the front of his jacket. “Welcome to the States, Erika. No one mentioned your intention to visit. I thought you didn’t like sports.”

“And yet, here I am.” And in need of privacy out of the bright Louisiana sun and the even brighter curious eyes of his team and staff. She needed space and courage to tell him why she’d made this unexpected journey across the Atlantic to this muggy bayou state. “This is not an official royal visit.”

“And you’re not in uniform.” His eyes glided over her wraparound dress.

“I’m out of the service now to begin furthering my studies.” About to return to school to be a nurse-practitioner, the career field she’d hoped to pursue in the military, but they would not allow her such an in-the-field position, instead preferring to dress her up and trot her around as a figurehead translator. “I am here for a conference on homeopathic herbs and scents.” A part of her passion in the nursing field, and a totally made-up excuse for being here today.

“The homeopathic scents for healing, right? Are you here to share specially scented deodorant with my players? Because they could certainly use it.” His mouth tipped with a smile.

“Are you interested in such a line?” Still jet-lagged from the transatlantic flight, she was ill prepared to exchange pleasantries, much less ones filled with taunts at her career choice.

“Is that why you are here? For business before you start your new degree?”

She could not just banter with him. She simply could not. “Please, can we go somewhere private to talk?”

He searched her eyes for a long moment before gesturing over his shoulder. “I’m in the middle of a meeting with sponsors. How about supper?”

“I am not here for seduction,” she stated bluntly.

“Okay.” His eyebrows shot upward. “I thought I asked you to join me for gumbo not sex. But now that we’re talking about sex—”

“We are not.” She cut him short. “Finish your meeting if you must, but I need to speak with you as soon as possible. Privately. Unless you want your personal business and mine overheard by all of your team straining to listen.”

She definitely was not ready for them to hear she was pregnant with the heir to the Reynaud family dynasty.

* * *

She was back. Princess Erika, the sexy seductress who’d filled his dreams since they’d parted ways nearly three months ago. And even though he should be paying attention to the deal with his sponsors, he could not tear his eyes away from her. From the swish of her curves and hips. And the long platinum-blond hair that made her look completely otherworldly.

He needed to focus, but damn. She was mesmerizing.

And apparently, every team member on the field was also aware of that fact. From their top wide receiver Wildcard to running back Freight Train.

Gervais turned his attention back to finishing up his conversation with the director of player personnel—Beau Durant—responsible for draft picks, trades, acquiring the right players and negotiating contracts. An old college friend, Beau shared his friend’s interest in running a football team. He took a businesslike, numbers approach to the job and wed that with his personal interest in football. Like Gervais, he had a position in his family’s multinational corporation, but football was his obsession.

“Gervais, I’d love to stay and chat, but we have another meeting to get to. We’ll be in touch,” his former college roommate promised.

“Perfect, Beau. Thank you,” he said, offering him a sincere handshake. Beau’s eyes were on the princess even if he didn’t ask the obvious question. Beau was an all-business kind of guy who never pried. He’d always said he didn’t want others sticking their noses in his private life, either.

The eyes of the whole damn team remained on the princess, in fact. Which made Gervais steam with protectiveness.

He barked over to his half brother, the head coach, “Dempsey, don’t your boys have something better to do than stand around drooling over a woman like pimply teenage boys?”

Dempsey smirked. “All right, men. Back to practice. You can stare at pretty girls on someone else’s time. Now, move!” Henri Reynaud, the Hurricanes’ quarterback and Gervais’s brother, shot him a look of half amusement. But he slung his helmet back on and began to make his way into formation. The Bayou Bomber, a nickname Henri had earned during his college days at LSU, would not be so easily dissuaded from his obvious curiosity.

Dempsey scratched some numbers out on his paper. Absently, he asked, “What’s with the royal visit?”

“We have some...unresolved issues from our time in England.”

“Your time together?” Dempsey’s wicked grin spread, and he clucked his tongue.

He might as well come clean in an understated way. The truth would be apparent soon enough. “We had a quiet...relationship.”

“Very damn quiet if I didn’t hear about it.” Crossing his arms, he did his best to look hurt.

“You were busy with the team. As it should be.”

“So you have some transcontinental dating relationship with Europe’s most eligible princess?”

“Reading the tabloids again, Dempsey?”

“Gotta keep up with my players’ antics somehow.” He shrugged it off.

“Well, don’t let her hear you discussing her eligibility. She’s military. She might well be able to kick your ass.”

“Military, huh? That’s surprising.”

“She said male royals serve. Why not females? She just finished up her time.” Which had seemed to bother her. He understood well about trying to find where you fit in a high-profile family.

“Carole Montemarte, the Hurricanes’ press relations coordinator, will have a blast spinning that for the media. Royalty for a girlfriend? Nice, dude. And she chased you clear across the ocean. You are quite the man.”

Except that didn’t make sense. She’d ignored his calls after he left the country. Granted, what they’d shared blew his mind, and he didn’t have the time or energy for a transcontinental relationship. So his calls had been more...obligatory. Had she known that? Was that the reason she’d ignored him?

So why show up here now?

He sure as hell intended to find out.


Two (#ulink_3e5e26f4-28ee-5920-b2ed-0e5f235e3364)

Limos were something of the norm for Erika. Part of the privilege of growing up royal. This should feel normal, watching the sunset while being chauffeured in the limo Gervais had sent to retrieve her from her hotel. Half of her childhood had been spent in the backseat of a limo as she and her family went from one event to another.

But today was anything but normal. As she pulled at the satin fabric of her dress, her mind began to race. She had never pictured herself with a brood of children like her sisters. Not that she didn’t want them, but this was all happening so fast. And with a man she wasn’t entirely sure of. Just the thought of Gervais sent her mind reeling. The thought of telling him about their shared interest made her stomach knot. She began to wonder about what she would tell him. How she would tell him. News she could barely wrap her brain around. But there were secrets impossible to keep in her world, so if she wanted to inform Gervais on her terms, she would have to do so soon.

Tonight.

And just like that, Erika realized the vehicle had stopped. Reality was starting to set in, and no amount of finery and luxury was going to change that. She had chosen the arctic-blue dress because it reminded her of her heritage. Of her family’s Viking past. Of the strength of her small country. She needed these reminders if she was going to face him.

Try as she might, Erika couldn’t get the way he looked at her out of her mind. His eyes drinking her in. The memory sent a pleasurable shiver along her skin.

The chauffeur opened the door with a click, and she stepped out of the limo. Tall and proud. A light breeze danced against her skin, threatening her sideswept updo. Fingers instinctively flew to the white-crusted sapphire pin that, at the nape of her neck, not only held her hair together but also had been in her family for centuries.

Smoothing her blond hair that cascaded over one of her shoulders, she took in the Reynaud family compound in the meeting of sunset with the moon, the stars just beginning to sparkle in the Louisiana sky. Though she had to admit, the flood of lights leading up to the door diminished the starlight.

She lifted her gaze to the massive structure ahead of her. Greek Revival with white arches and columns—no other word than massive, and a girl who grew up in a palace wasn’t impressed easily.

As she walked up the stairs to the home, the sureness from touching her family heirloom began to wane. But before she could lose her nerve and turn back, the limo pulled away and the grand door opened in front of her. This was officially happening.

Though the lights outside had been clinical and bright, the foyer was illuminated by bulbs of yellow. The warmth of these lights reflected on what appeared to be hand-painted murals depicting a fox hunt. American royalty.

A servant gestured for her to walk through the room on the left. Gathering the skirt of her dress, Erika crossed the threshold, leaving behind the foyer and its elaborate staircase and murals.

This room was made for entertainment. She had been in plenty of grand dining halls, and this one felt familiar and impersonal, with wisps of silk that told their secrets to the glass and windows.

Erika had always hated dinners in rooms like this.

Quickly scanning the room, she noted the elaborately carved wooden chair and the huge arrangements of flowers and the tall marble vases. But Gervais wasn’t here, either.

She pressed on through the next threshold and found herself in a simpler room. It was clear that this was a family room. The opulent colors of the grand dining room softened, giving way to a creamy palette. The kind of colors that made Erika want to curl up on the plush leather sofa with a good book and some strong tea with milk.

The family room sported an entertainment bar with Palladian windows overlooking the pool and grounds. But if she turned ever so slightly she could also see an alcove that appeared to lead to a more private section.

The master bedroom and bath? She could envision that space having doors out to the pool, a hot tub, perhaps. She bit her lip and spun away.

It was not as if she was here to gawk at furniture. She had to tell a man she barely knew that they were having a baby. And that the press would have a field day if she and Gervais didn’t get a handle on this now.

And there. She saw him. Chiseled. Dark hair, ruffled ever so slightly. His lips parted into a smile as he met her gaze.

Nerves and something else jolted her to life. Pushed her forward. Toward him and that wolfish smile.

She looked around and saw housekeeping staff, but no one else. Erika waved an elegant hand to the expansive room they stood in and the ones she’d already passed through. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Dempsey owns the other home on the compound grounds, next door. My younger brothers Jean-Pierre and Henri share the rights to the house to the northwest on the lake. Gramps has quarters here with me, since this house has been in our family the longest. It’s familiar. He has servants on call round the clock. He’s getting older and more forgetful. But we’re hoping to hold back time as long as we can for him.”

“I am so sorry.”

“They make great meds these days. He’s still got lots of life and light left in him.” A practiced smile pressed against his lips. It was apparent he was hopeful. And used to defending his grandfather’s position.

“And where does the rest of your family live?”

“Are you worried they’ll walk in on us?” He angled a brow upward, and she felt the heat of his eyes graze across her body. A flush crept along her face, heating her from the inside out. Threatening to set her nerves bounding out of control. She needed to stay calm.

“Perhaps.”

“My father’s in Texas and doesn’t return often. Jean-Pierre is in New York with his team for the season and Henri lives in the Garden District most of the time, so their house here is vacant for a while.”

Stepping out onto the patio, he nodded for her to follow. She hastened behind him. Intrigued. He had that way about him. A quality of danger that masked itself as safe. That quality that made him undeniably sexy.

And that, she reminded herself, was how she’d ended up in this situation.

Gervais surveyed the patio. She followed his gaze, noting the presence of a hot tub and an elaborate fountain that pumped water into the pool. The fountain, like the house, was descended from a Greek aesthetic. Apollo and Daphne were intertwined, water flowing from the statues into the pool.

Over the poolside sound system, the din of steel drums competed with the gentle echo of rolling waves on the lakeshore.

“You arranged dinner outside.” Erika breathed in the air on this rare night of low humidity. She looked around at the elaborate patio table that was dressed for dinner with lights, fresh flowers, silver and china. Ceiling fans circled a delicious breeze from the slight overhang of the porch.

“I promised you gumbo—” he gestured broadly, before holding the seat out for her “—and I delivered.”

She settled into the chair, intensely aware of his hands close to her shoulders. The heat of his chest close to her back. Blinking away the awareness, she focused on the table settings, surprised to realize he planned to serve her himself from the silver chafing dishes. “Your home is lovely.”

“The old plantation homes have a lot of character.” He slid into the seat across from hers. “I know our history here doesn’t compete with the hundreds of years, castles and Viking lore of your country, but the place has stories in the walls all the same.”

“The architecture and details are stunning. I can see why you were drawn to live here.” When Americans talked about their colonial towns, they always spoke of the old-world charm they’d possessed. But that was selling it short. Cities like New Orleans were the distillation of cultures haphazardly pressed against each other. And that distillation yielded beauty that was so different from the actual Old World.

“If you would prefer a restaurant...” He paused, tongs grasping freshly baked bread.

“This is better. More private.” She held up a hand. “Don’t take that the wrong way.”

“Understood. You made your point earlier.”

Seafood gumbo, red beans and rice, thick black coffee and powdery doughnuts—beignets. It was a spread that sent her taste buds jumping.

“Did you have a nice ride from the Four Winds Resort?”

“I did. The trees heavy with Spanish moss are beautiful. And the water laps at the roads as if the sea could wash over the land at any moment.” The languid landscape was so different than her country’s rugged and fierce Viking past. She’d liked learning about New Orleans so far.

“You could stay here, you know.”

“I did not come here for that.” She laced her words with ice even as her body burned with awareness of the man seated across from her.

“Then why are you here after walking out on me without a word or backward glance?”

So that hadn’t escaped his notice. She began to prepare the speeches that had replayed in her mind since she had boarded the plane to make the transatlantic journey.

“I’m sorry about that. I thought I was making things easier for both of us. It was a fling with no future, given we live across an ocean from each other. I saved us both a messy goodbye.”

At that time she had been thinking about the life she needed to get on track. But all her carefully laid plans were shifting beneath her feet, now that she was pregnant.

“And when I called you? Left messages asking to speak to you?”

“I thought you were being polite. Gentlemanly. And do not get me wrong, I believe it honorable of you. But that is not enough to build a relationship.”

“How much would it have hurt to return one call? If we’re talking about polite, I expected as much from you.” He cocked an eyebrow.

“You are angry. I apologize if I made the wrong decision.”

“Well, you’re here now. For your conference, right?”

“Actually, that wasn’t the truth.” She fidgeted with her leather band bracelet, inspirational inscriptions scrolled on metal insets providing support. Advice. And if ever she was in need of help, the moment was now. “I only said that in case others overheard. I’m here to see you. I want to apologize for walking out on you and have a conversation we should have had then.”

“What conversation would that be?”

Oh, what a loaded question, she thought. “How we would handle it if there were unexpected consequences from our weekend together.”

He stared at her, hard. “Unexpected consequences? How about you spell it out rather than have me play Fifty Questions.”

She dabbed the corners of her mouth as if she could buy herself a few more seconds before her life changed forever. Folding the napkin carefully and placing it beside her plate, she met his dark brown eyes, her own gaze steady. Her hands shaky. “I am pregnant. The baby is yours.”

* * *

Of all the things that Erika could have said, being pregnant was not what Gervais had been preparing himself for. He ought to say something. Something fast, witty and comforting. But instead, he just looked at her.

Really looked at her as he swallowed. Hard.

She was every bit as breathtaking as that first night they’d met. But there was something different in the way she carried her body that should have tipped him off.

Her face was difficult to read. She’d iced him out of gaining any insights in her eyes. Gervais examined the hair that trailed down her shoulder, exposing her collarbone and slender neck. This was the hairstyle of a royal, so different than the girl who had let her hair run wild over their weekend together.

And what a weekend it’d been. Months had passed since then and he still thought about her. About the way she’d tasted on his tongue.

He had to say something worthy of that. Of her. He collected his thoughts, determined to say the perfect thing.

Despite all of that, only one word fell out of his mouth.

“Pregnant.” So much for a grand speech.

Her face flashed with a hint of disappointment. Of course, she had every right to expect more from him. But more silence escaped his lips, and the air was filled not with sounds of him speaking, but with the buzz of waves and boats.

The trace of frustration and disappointment had left her face. She looked every bit a Viking queen. Impassive. Strong. Icy. And still so damn sexy in her soft feminine clothes and that bold leather bracelet.

“Yes, and I am absolutely certain the child is yours.”

“I didn’t question you.”

“I wanted to be clear. Although in these days of DNA tests, it is not a subject that one can lie about.” She frowned. “Do you need time to think, for us to talk more later? You look pale.”

Did he? Hell, he did feel as if he’d been broadsided by a three-hundred-pound linebacker, but back in his ballplaying days he’d been much faster at recovery. And the stakes here were far higher. He needed to tread carefully. “A child is always cause for celebration.” He took her hand in his, as close as he could let himself get until he had answers, no matter how tempted he was for more. “I’m just surprised. We were careful.”

“Not careful enough, apparently. You, um, did stretch the condom, and perhaps there was a leak.”

He choked on a cough. “Um, uh...I don’t know what to say to that.”

“It was not a compliment, you Cro-Magnon.” She shook her hand free from his. “Simply an observation.”

“Fair enough. Okay, so you’re pregnant with my baby. When do you want to head to the courthouse to get married?”

“Are you joking? I did not come to the United States expecting a proposal of marriage.”

“Well, that is what I am offering. Would you prefer I do this in a more ceremonial way? Fine.” He slid from his chair and dropped to one knee on the flagstone patio. “Marry me and let’s bring up this child together.”

Her eyes went wide with shock and she shot to her feet. Looking around her as if to make sure no one overheard. “Get up. You look silly.”

“Silly?”

For the first time since he’d met her, she appeared truly flustered. She edged farther away, sweeping back her loose hair with nervous hands. “Perhaps I chose the wrong word. You look...not like you. And this is not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I am simply here to notify you about your child and discuss if you wish to be a part of the baby’s life before I move forward with my life.”

“Damn straight I want to bring up my child.”

“Shared custody.”

He reached to capture her restless hands and hold them firmly in his. “You are not hearing me. I want to raise my child.”

“Our child.”

“Of course.” He caressed the insides of her wrists with his thumbs. “Let’s declare peace so we can make our way through this conversation amicably.”

Her shoulders relaxed and he guided her to a bench closer to the half wall at the end of the patio. They sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

She nodded. “I want peace, very much. That’s why I came to you now, early on, rather than just calling or waiting longer.”

“And I am glad you did.” He slid his hand up her arm to her shoulder, cupping the warmth of her, aching for more. “My brother Dempsey grew up thinking our father didn’t want him and it scarred him. I refuse to let that happen to my child. My baby will know he or she is wanted.”

“Of course our child will be brought up knowing both parents love and want him or her.”

“Yes, and you still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“The silly question that comes with a guy getting down on one knee. Will you marry me?”


Three (#ulink_04650cc6-6053-5a79-8849-c3d6c89fa0b5)

“Marry you? I do not even know you.” Erika’s voice hitched. Marriage? She had wanted him to be supportive, sure. But...marriage? The words tumbled over and over in her head in a disjointed echo.

“We knew each other well enough to have sex. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m trying to do the right thing here and offer to marry you. We can have a civil ceremony and divorce in a year. As far as our child knows, we gave it an honest try but things didn’t work.” His voice was level. Calm. Practical.

Her fears multiplied. This seemed too calculated. And she would not land in a family environment that was all for show again. Being raised royal had taught her she was not meant for a superficial existence. She had already chosen a meaningful career. A future where she could make a difference.

Swallowing back the anxiety swelling in her chest, she reminded herself to be reasonable.

“You figured all that out this fast? Or have you had practice with this sort of business before?” The notion cut her with surprising sharpness. She did not want to think about Gervais involved with other women after the way they’d been together.

“I am not joking.” His hand inched toward hers.

She scrutinized his face, studied the way his jaw jutted. The play of muted lights on his dark hair, the way it was thickest on top of his head. Even now, he was damn attractive. But that fact wasn’t enough to chase reason from her mind.

“Apparently not.”

“I’ll take that as a no to my proposal.” Retreating his hand, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You most certainly can. It is far too soon to speak of marriage. And have you forgotten? I have plans to pursue my education in the UK.”

Tilting his head, he lowered his voice. It became soft. Gentle. “You won’t even consider my offer? Not even for the baby’s sake? Let me take care of you while you’re pregnant and recovering, postpartum and such. You can get to know my family during the football season. Afterward, we can spend more time with yours.”

Even if the monarchy was defunct, she was a royal and sure of herself. She shot to her feet. “Do I get any say in this at all? You are a pushy man. I do not remember that about you.”

He stood and stepped closer, very close, suggestively. His hips and thighs warm against hers. “What do you remember about our time together?”

“If you are trying to seduce me into doing whatever you want—” Erika needed to focus. Which was tougher than ever with him pressed up against her and that smolder in his eye setting her on fire.

“If? I must not be working hard enough.” He slid his hands up her arms.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment she felt as if she could give in. But thoughts of her future child coursed through her mind. A ragged breath escaped her lips, and she reopened her eyes.

She clasped his wrists. “Stop. I am not playing games. I came here to inform you. Not demand anything of you. And certainly not to reenact our past together.”

His hands dropped and he scowled. “Let me get this straight. If I hadn’t wanted anything to do with the baby, you would have simply walked away?”

“You never would have heard from me again.” The words escaped her as an icy dagger. She would have no use for such a man. And she had to admit that even if his proposal felt pushy, at least Gervais was not the sort of person to walk away from his child.

“Well, not a chance in hell is that happening this time. You may have brushed me off once before, but not again.”

Had he genuinely wished to see her again after their weekend together? She had been afraid to find out at the time, afraid of answering his call only to discover that his contact was a perfunctory duty and social nicety. After what they had shared, she was not sure she could bear hearing that cool retreat in his voice. Now, of course, she would never know what his intentions had truly been toward her.

She took a deep breath. Regrouped.

“And you cannot command me to your will,” she warned him, her shoulders stiff with tension. “I will not be forced into marriage because you think that is the best plan. I have plans, as well.”

How many people had underestimated her resolve over the years because she had that label of “princess” attached to her? Her commanding officers. Teachers. Her own parents.

She would simply have to show Gervais her mettle.

“I understand that,” he murmured, his voice melting into the sounds of waves and steel drums. “Now we need to make plans together.”

Some of the tension in her eased. “Nice to know you can be reasonable and not just impulsive.”

With a shrug, he began again. “In the interest of being reasonable, let’s spend the next four weeks—”

“Two weeks,” she corrected him. She had already disrupted her life and traveled halfway across the globe for him.

He nodded slowly. “Two weeks getting to know each other better as we make plans for our child. You could stay here in my home, where there are plenty of suites for privacy. I won’t make a move that isn’t mutual. We’ll use this time to find common ground.”

“And if we are not successful in your time frame?” This felt like a business deal. But the time frame might be enough to bring him to reason.

“Then I guess I’ll have to follow you home. Now, how about I call over to the hotel for them to send your things here? You look ready to fall asleep on your feet.”

“You’re honestly suggesting I give up my plans completely and stay here?” She gestured back toward the house. Two weeks. Together. Under the same roof.

That part sounded decidedly less like a business deal. The very idea wisped heatedly over her skin.

“Not in my bed—unless you ask, of course.” He smiled devilishly. “But if we’re going to make the most of these two weeks, it’s best we stay here. There are fantastic graduate school programs in the area, too, if you opt for that later down the road. And I can also provide you with greater protection here.”

“Protection?” What in the world did she need his protection for? And from what? And what was this later-down-the-road notion for her plans?

“We’re a professional NFL family. That brings with it a level of fame and notoriety unrivaled in any other business domain. The fans are passionate. And while most of them are supportive, there is a segment that takes the game very personally. Some of the more unstable types occasionally seek revenge for what they perceive as bad decisions.” His jaw flexed. “Since your child is my child, that puts our baby at risk as a Reynaud. If you won’t stay here for yourself, then stay for our child. We are safe here.”

He had found the one reason she couldn’t debate. But she needed to be careful. To give herself time to think through the consequences of what she was agreeing to, and she couldn’t do that now when she was so tired.

“I am weary. It has been a long, emotional day. I would appreciate being shown to these guest suites that you speak of and I will consider it.”

“Of course.” He picked up his phone and tapped the screen twice before setting it down. “You’ll find all the toiletries you need at your disposal. I’ll have someone show you to a room and make sure you have everything you need.”

Before he finished speaking, a maid had arrived at the door, perhaps summoned by his phone.

Apparently, Gervais was serious about giving her some space if she elected to stay in the house with him. And while she appreciated that, she was also surprised at his easy efficiency. Hadn’t her pregnancy announcement rattled this coolly controlled man even a little?

“Thank you.” She looked at him, her breath catching at the raw masculinity of the man. She backed up a step, needing boundaries. And sleep.

“And I’ll have a long Hurricanes jersey sent up for you to sleep in.” His eyes remained on hers, but his voice stirred something inside her.

The last time they had slept under the same roof, there hadn’t been much sleeping accomplished at all. And somehow, as she took her leave of him, she knew that he was remembering that fact as vividly as she did.

* * *

The door closed behind her, and she loosed a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

This was...different from what she had grown up with. The billowy sheer curtains thinly veiled a view of Lake Pontchartrain. Heels clacked against the opulent white marble as she made her way to an oversize plush bed. Instinctively, she ran her hand over the white comforter as she took in the room.

A grand, hand-carved mahogany-wood nightstand held a score of toiletries.

It was luxurious. She unscrewed the lid on one of the lotion bottles, and the light scent of jasmine wafted up to her. She set it down, picked up the shampoo, popped the lid and breathed in mint and a tropical, fruity flavor.

This house was old, not as old as her castle, of course, but it still had history. And such a different feel than her wintry homeland. This was grander, built more for leisure than practicality.

Plopping onto the bed, Erika was somewhat surprised to note the bed was every bit as comfortable as it looked. The bed seemed to wrap her in a hug.

And she needed a hug. Everything in her life was undergoing a drastic change. Untethered. That was where she was. Her career in the military was over. It left her feeling strange, adrift. The past few years, her path had been set. And now? A river of conflicting wants and obligations flooded her mind.

Yes, she wanted to pursue her dream. She wanted to be a nurse-practitioner and pursue her studies in the UK, wanted that so badly. But that dream wasn’t as simple as it had been a couple months ago.

Even now, thousands of miles away, she felt the tendrils of familial pressure. When they learned she was going to have a child, they would be pressuring her. Probably into marriage. And Gervais seemed to have the same ideas. How was she supposed to balance all of it?

In her soul, she knew she’d be able to take care of her child. Give her baby everything and have her dreams, too. But the weight of everyone’s expectations left her feeling anxious. First things first, she needed to figure out what she wanted. How she would handle all of this. And then she could deal with the demands of her family and Gervais.

Lifting herself off the bed, she made her way to the coffee table where a stack of old sports programs casually dressed the table.

Dragging her fingers over the covers, she tried to get a feel for Gervais. For his family. The Greek Revival hinted at wealth but shed little on his personality. Though, from her brief time in the halls, she noticed how sparsely decorated the place was. On the wall, directly across from where she stood, were some photos in sleek black frames. They were matted and simple. The generic sorts of photographs that belonged more in a cold, impersonal office than a residence.

She walked over to investigate them further. The two images that hung on the wall were formal portraits, similar to the kinds she and her family had done. But whereas her family bustled with Viking grace and was filled with women, these pictures were filled with the Reynaud men.

The sons stood closer to the grandfather. Strange. A man who looked as if he could be Gervais’s father was on the edge of the photograph, an impatient smile curling over his face.

Gingerly, she reached out to the frame, fingers finding cool glass. Gervais. Handsome as the devil. A smile was on her lips before she could stop it. She dropped her hand.

No, Erika. She had to remain focused. And figure out how to do what was best for her—their—child that didn’t involve jumping into bed with him. Again.

Pulling at the hem of the jersey that cut her midthigh, a jersey she’d found on her bed and couldn’t resist wearing, she resolved to keep her hands off him. And his out from under her jersey. Even if that did sound...delicious.

* * *

Father.

The word blasted in his mind like an air horn.

Gervais tried to bring his mind back to the present. To the meeting with Dempsey, who had stopped by after Erika retreated to a vacant suite for the night. Just because Erika was pregnant didn’t mean his career was nonexistent. He needed to talk with his brother about the Hurricanes’ development. About corporate sponsorships and expanding their team’s prestige and net worth.

But that was a lot easier said than done with the latest developments in his personal life.

He swirled his local craft beer in his glass, watching the mini tornado foam in the center as he made himself comfortable in the den long after dinner had ended. Back when this house had still belonged to his parents, most of the rooms had been fussy and full of interior decorator additions—elaborate crystal light fixtures that hung so low he and his brothers broke a part of it every time they threw a ball in the house. Or three-dimensional art that spanned whole walls and would scrape the skin off an arm if they tackled each other into it.

The den had always been male terrain and it remained a place where Gervais felt most comfortable. The place where he most often met with his brothers. Dempsey had headed for this room as soon as he’d arrived tonight.

Now, sipping his beer, Gervais tried like hell to get his head focused back on work. The team.

Dempsey took an exaggerated sip from his glass and set it on the table in front of them. Cocking his head to the side, he settled deeper in the red leather club chair and asked, “What’s the deal with the princess’s arrival? She damn near caused Freight Train to trip over his feet like a first-day rookie.”

“She came by to see me.” Gervais tried to make it sound casual. Breezy.

“Because New Orleans happens to be right around the corner from Europe?”

“Your humor slays me.” He tipped back his beer. Dempsey was a lot of things, but indirect? Never.

“Well, she obviously came to see you. And from what I’m starting to hear now from the gossip already churning, the two of you spent a great deal of time together in the UK. Are you two back together again? Dating?” A small smile, but his eyes were trained on Gervais. A Reynaud trait—dogged persistence.

“Not exactly dating.”

“Then why is she here?” He leaned forward, picking up his glass. “And don’t tell me it’s none of my business, because she’s distracting you.”

He wanted to argue the point. But who the hell would he be kidding?

Instead, he dropped his voice. “This goes no further than the two of us for now.”

“I’m offended you have to ask that.”

“Right. Well, she’s pregnant. It’s mine.”

“You’re certain?” Dempsey set his glass on the marble side table, face darkening like a storm rolling out.

Gervais stared him down. Not in the mood for that runaround.

“All right. Your child. What next?”

“My child, my responsibility.” He would be there for his child. That was nonnegotiable.

“Interesting choice of words. Responsibility.” Something shifted in Dempsey’s expression. But Gervais didn’t have to wonder why. Dempsey was Gervais’s illegitimate half brother. Dempsey hadn’t even been in the picture until he turned thirteen years old, when Yvette, Dempsey’s mom, had angled to extort money from their father, Theo, at which point Theo brought Dempsey to the family home.

To say the blending had been rough was generous. It was something that felt like the domestic equivalent of World War Three. Gervais’s mother left. Then it was just a houseful of men—his brothers, Theo and Gramps. And it was really Gramps who had taken care of the boys. Theo was too busy shucking responsibilities.

“I’m sure as hell not walking away.” He’d seen too well the marks it left on Dempsey not knowing his father in the early years, the sting of growing up thinking his father didn’t care. Hell, their father hadn’t even known Dempsey existed.

Not that it excused their father, since he’d misled Dempsey’s mother.

“I’m just saying that I understand what it feels like to be an inconvenient mistake. A responsibility.” His jaw flexed, gaze fixed over Gervais’s head.

“Dad loves you. We all do. You’re part of our family.”

“I know. But that wasn’t always the case.”

“We didn’t know you then.”

“He did. Or at least he knew that he’d been with women without considering the consequences.” Dempsey’s eyes darkened a shade, protectiveness for his mother obvious, even though the woman had been a negligible caregiver at best. “Anyhow, it took us all a long time to come back from that tough start. So make sure you get your head on straight before this baby’s born. Better yet, get things right before you alienate the child’s mother. Because if you intend to be in the kid’s life, you’re not going to want to spend years backtracking from screwing up with words like responsibility at the start.”

The outburst was swift and damning. Dempsey shot up and out of his seat. He began to storm away, heading for the door.

Gervais followed.

“Dempsey—wait, I...” But the words fell silent as he nearly plowed into his brother’s back.

Dempsey had halted in his tracks, his gaze on the staircase in the corridor. Or, more accurate, his gaze on the woman now standing on the staircase.

Erika. In nothing but his jersey that barely reached midthigh. And she looked every bit as tantalizing as she had in her dress.

Gervais’s eyes traced up, taking in her toned calves, the slope of her waist. The way her breasts pushed on the fabric. That wild hair of hers... She was well covered, but he couldn’t help feeling the possessive need to wrap a blanket around her to shield her from his brother’s gaze.

“I heard noise and realized there was someone wandering around.” She drifted down a step, gesturing toward a shadowed corner of the hallway outside the den, where Gervais’s grandfather stood. “I believe this is your grandfather?”

Gramps must have been wandering around again. Leon Reynaud was getting more restless with the years, and forgetful, too. But it was Erika who concerned him most right now. Her face was emotionless, yet there was a trace of unease in her voice. Had she overheard something in their conversation in the den?

Gramps Leon shook a gnarled finger at them. “Somebody’s having a baby?” He shook his head. “Your father never could keep his pants zipped.”

A wave of guilt crashed against him. For years he had tried to avoid any comparisons between himself and his father. Purposely setting himself on a very different path.

His father had been largely absent throughout his childhood and teen years. Theo Reynaud was a woman chaser. Neglectful of his duties to his children, his wife and the family’s business.

Gervais would make damn sure he’d do better for his child. Even if Erika wasn’t on board. Yet. He’d be an active presence in his future child’s life. Everything his father failed to be.

Dempsey moved toward their grandfather, face slightly flushed. He stood and clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Dad’s not expecting another child, Grandpère.”

“Oh.” Leon scratched his sparse hair that was standing up on end. “I get confused sometimes. I must have misunderstood.”

Dempsey looked back at Gervais, expression mirroring the same relief Gervais felt. Crisis avoided.

His brother steered Gramps toward the door. “I’ll walk with you to your room, Gramps.” He gave Erika a nod as they passed her, though his focus remained on Leon. “I programmed some new music into your sound system. Some of those old Cajun tunes you like.”

“Thank you, boy, thank you very much.” They disappeared down the hall. Leaving Gervais alone with Erika.

Her arms crossed as she met his gaze. Unflinching bright blue eyes.

“You look much better in that jersey than anyone on the team ever did.” God, she was crazy sexy.

“Whose jersey is this?” She traced the number with one finger, tempting him to do the same. “Whose number?”

He swallowed hard, a lump in his throat. “It’s a retired number, one that had been reserved for me if I joined the team. I didn’t.” He shook off past regrets abruptly. He’d never played for the team, so he’d bought it, instead. “So shall I escort you back to you room?”

He couldn’t keep the suggestive tone from his voice. Didn’t want to.

She tipped her haughty-princess chin. “I think not. I can find my own way back.”

That might be true enough. But they weren’t done by a long shot. He wouldn’t rest until the day came when he peeled that jersey from her beautiful body.





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