Lone Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 7)

by Lilian Monroe

  I gulp. “Are you always this insufferable?”

  “Now, now, Rowan, play nice. We’re stuck in here together.” The Prince’s eyes glimmer. My core ignites. Damn him and his stupid, sexy eyes, reminding me of how isolated we are in this little cottage.

  “Your Highness—”

  “Call me Wolfe,” he says, holding my gaze. “Please. At least for tonight.”

  My breath catches. What else will we do, just for tonight?

  I turn back to the fire, sucking in a deep breath. It does nothing to calm me. “Wolfe,” I start, liking the way his name sounds. The Prince lets out a low breath. I don’t have the courage to look at him. Instead, I stare at the fire. “You were right about my design. It wasn’t right for this place. It didn’t reflect the history or the people who have come before.”

  When I find the nerve to glance at the Prince, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. For once, it’s not mocking. He dips his chin. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I wanted to say thank you.” I pause. “For letting me know I was on the wrong track.”

  “Anytime, darling.” His grin turns wolfish, and I grimace.

  “Do you always have to be such an arrogant asshole?”

  “Tends to spice things up a bit, no?”

  “Tends to make you look like a jerk,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “There are better ways to spice things up.”

  “Enlighten me.” His voice drops, sending a thrill coursing through my veins. A flush creeps up my neck, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I stare at the dancing flames, ignoring the innuendo.

  The Prince gets up, and I steal a glance his way. He moves to a small bar by the wall, fixing two glasses of dark alcohol. He stalks toward me, handing me one of the crystal tumblers.

  “Scotch,” he explains.

  I wrap my fingers around the cool glass and nod in thanks, then return to stare at the fire.

  The Prince takes his seat, then shifts in his chair. “Rowan,” he says in a low growl. “Look at me.”

  Damn him and his irresistible commands. I drag my eyes to meet his, ready for the assault of his gaze—but instead of hard, mocking eyes, I see softness.

  “October has been the hardest month of each of the past four years. I know I’m not always a nice person,” he starts, his mouth staying open for a moment as if he’s going to speak. I stare at him, seeing a crack in his hard exterior. His shoulders round and for a moment, his face is open. He’s thinking about his fiancée. I know it, and damn it, I’m jealous of a dead woman.

  I’m a freaking mess.

  Letting out a sigh, I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Hardness returns to his gaze, but I try to ignore it. He lifts the glass to his lips, taking a sip.

  I shake my head. “About your fiancée. For everything you lost. I’m sorry you have to relive it every year.”

  He sucks in a long breath, raking his eyes down my body and back up again. "This October hasn’t been so bad.” He shifts in his seat and for just a moment, I see him as a real person. A man who’s been hurt. Who thinks he’s failed.

  Turning to stare at the fire, we listen to it crackle for a few moments. Then the Prince speaks. “We were going to an event together,” he says. “There was a crush of reporters and paparazzi outside the venue, as usual. They went everywhere Abby went. She was everything they wanted in a new princess, and the media was relentless. So, she decided to get out and walk into the crowd to greet some young fans who had come to see her. I had no choice but to agree.” His eyes get a faraway look in them as he sips his drink, then continues. “She collapsed. Right there on the sidewalk beside me. I’ve seen the videos and photos of those moments, but I don’t actually remember any of it.” The Prince’s face contorts. “I just sat there, cradling her body. I didn’t do CPR. Didn’t do anything. I just held her as she died. I froze.”

  “Wolfe…” I whisper, afraid to talk.

  “She had a fatal arrhythmia. Her heart just…malfunctioned. They say there’s nothing anyone could have done, but…” He shrugs, then finishes his drink in one gulp. “Sometimes I think that’s a lie. There had to be something I could have done, you know?” I watch him stand up to pour himself another drink, then turn around and tilt his head. “What about you?”

  I glance at him, questioning. My throat is tight as I try to swallow, feeling the weight of his grief on my shoulders.

  He jerks his chin at me. “Have you ever lost someone you loved?”

  Usually, I’d shut this conversation down. I’d ignore any mention of death and grief, and I’d steer the conversation toward safer topics. Work. The weather. Architecture. Right now, though, my shoulders relax, and I find myself dipping my chin down. “My mother,” I reply. The Prince’s gaze meets mine, and all of a sudden, I want to tell him everything.

  13

  Wolfe

  I came to the Summer Palace to get away from the people I can’t protect. I came here to stop playing the hero when all I ever do is fail. I wanted to run away from the images of those moments, when my true weakness was on full display for the kingdom to witness.

  But Rowan dropped into my lap, and all I want to do is shelter her from the storm that rages outside. As I watch her fidget in her seat, my heart thumps. I love the faint blush that stains her cheeks, and the way her eyes flash when she looks at me.

  She knows pain. I can see it in the tension in her jaw and the way her eyes tighten when she mentions her mother.

  “What happened?” I ask, needing her to tell me. Needing some sort of connection that goes deeper than fealty.

  She leans back in the armchair, letting out a long breath. “My mother brought me to Farcliff when I was a baby, and you can probably imagine how difficult it was for a single mother with an infant child to get by.” She glances at me, tilting her head. “Well, maybe you can’t.”

  “I’m not so out of touch I don’t know how hard life can be, Rowan.”

  “Have you ever gone to sleep instead of eating because you had no food?”

  I stare at her, not answering.

  Rowan sighs, glancing at the fire again. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…” She waves a hand at the cottage. “Even somewhere as nice as this, we didn’t have it. Mom worked three jobs. Did everything she could to make sure I had a good life. She took no time for herself and I’m pretty sure she never even went on a date after my father.”

  “Who was he?” I ask. “Your dad.”

  “Fuck knows,” Rowan spits. “The only thing I know for sure is he didn’t want me.” She smiles bitterly, shaking her head. “From what I can gather, my mom was the other woman. He had a whole other family that was more important to him than we were. Mom didn’t know about it until she went down to Farcliff and found him, living with his perfect wife and perfect kids. I was a couple months old.”

  We’re silent for a while. The bitterness in Rowan’s voice hits me right in the middle of the chest. Yes, I enjoy making her angry. I enjoy seeing her cheeks turn pink when I frustrate her. But this is different. She understands what it means to suffer for a long time. Years. Decades.

  Finally, I speak. “How’d she die?”

  Rowan swings her eyes to me. “My mom?”

  I nod.

  “Cancer.” Rowan pinches her lips together. “She was a smoker. Had a lump in her neck. I finally convinced her to go get it checked out after three fucking years. When they opened her up to remove it, she was just…riddled with it. The cancer had spread everywhere. She died within six weeks of the operation.”

  I exhale slowly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” Rowan lets out a bitter snort. “I still feel like it’s my fault, you know? She worked to pay for me, for my architecture degree, for everything we had. She ignored her own health to take care of me when no one else would.”

  “Scotch and isolation,” I reply.

  She swings her eyes to me. “What?”

  “That’s how I dealt with grief.” I lift my g
lass. “Still do. You?”

  “Work,” she replies, pinching her lips into a smile. “I was twenty-three when she died. The day after the funeral, I went to work. Threw myself into it as if nothing else existed. Started my own business four years later. I blinked, and five more years had passed. I was sitting in my own office with my name on the door and a wall full of awards behind me, reading the email that awarded me the contract to redesign the Summer Palace. That was a year ago, and it happened to be the anniversary of her death.”

  There’s a heaviness in my chest. Rowan stares into the fire, tension rippling through her body. And I get it. I feel her pain the same way I feel my own. I understand the feeling of being in a tailspin, of latching onto anything that will make you feel any kind of normal.

  Rowan glances at me, letting out a dry snort. “I’ve never spoken of this to anyone.”

  “Not even your boyfriend?”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrects. “And no. Our relationship…I don’t think I ever really let him in.”

  “You broke up with him when you took on this project,” I say, remembering the file of information on her.

  “He gave me an ultimatum, and I chose,” she replies, shrugging.

  “Why wouldn’t he want you to come here?”

  Rowan chuckles, shaking her head. “He would’ve preferred if I stayed at home and popped out a couple of kids for him.”

  My brows twitch. I nod, doing my best to keep my face steady. “Ah. You don’t want kids.”

  “I don’t not want kids,” Rowan says. “I just…I want other things, too. I want to come here and see the Summer Palace in person. I want to have my name attached to it. I want to be a leader in my field.”

  “You want the glory.”

  Rowan sucks in a breath. “I don’t want to die alone in a shitty little apartment with cancer spreading through every organ because I didn’t have the time or opportunity to actually take care of myself. I don’t want someone else to be saddled with the responsibility of feeding me and clothing me and making sure I have what I need.”

  “I’m not sure being alone is the best way to accomplish that.” I arch an eyebrow, sipping my drink.

  Rowan stares at me and finally huffs out a laugh. “And I’m not sure running away every October is the best way to honor your fiancée’s memory.”

  “It’s survival.”

  “Exactly,” she replies, staring into my eyes. The air grows thick around us, and on some primal level, we understand each other. Being alone here, with her, as the storm batters the walls of the cottage, I wonder if she’s here for a reason. If she was sent here by some higher power.

  “Why did you take this project?” I ask in a low voice.

  “How could I refuse it?” She blinks, then lets out a sigh. “Maybe I just wanted to get away.”

  “From your ex?”

  “From my life.” Rowan’s eyes blaze, and something stirs in my core.

  How many times have I wanted to get away from my life? From my grief? From everything that makes me a prince?

  Rowan gulps. Her eyes shift back to the fire, and we sit in silence for a while. Nordish blood flows in her veins, but I still don’t feel like she belongs to this place. She says she understands why her design was wrong—but does she truly get it? It won’t fulfill her ambitions as an architect if she tries to bend this landscape to her will.

  The landscape doesn’t care. The arctic bends to no one.

  Just look at her first few hours here. Near death.

  “I want to do something more with my life than just be someone’s wife,” Rowan says softly. “Gerry was fine. He’ll be a good partner to a woman one day, but it’s not me. I need something…more. I need to see the world. Explore my career. Put my ideas on paper and see them come to life. I need to do something so that when I die, I don’t feel like I’ve wasted my life or been a burden to the people I’m supposed to help.”

  “What if you never find what you’re looking for?”

  Rowan blinks, then shrugs. “Then I guess I’m destined to wander until I die.”

  I’ve never met anyone like Rowan before. She’s giving up safety. Security. A stable relationship. For what? To explore the unknown? To carve her own path?

  Abby wasn’t like that. She had very few ambitions of her own and was content to follow me wherever I went. I thought it was because I’m a prince, and she had no noble blood, but when I stare at Rowan, I know I’m wrong. Abby didn’t have the fire, the will for life that Rowan has. She didn’t have the ambition or the independence to be on her own.

  Rowan leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stretches the graceful column of her neck from side to side. Her eyes have their own fire burning, and she’s propelled through life by some force I don’t understand. She doesn’t need a protector. She doesn’t need me—or any man—to save her from the dangers outside.

  Well—unless she decides to go for a walk in sub-zero temperatures with nothing but a thin jacket on.

  There’s a deep well of strength in her that sparks something inside me. It makes me pause. Pushing myself up to stand, I jerk my head toward the bar trolley. “Another drink?”

  Rowan nods. “Yes, please.” She stands with me and meets me at the trolley, extending her glass toward me.

  When I top up Rowan’s drink, her eyes flick up to mine. Warmth wraps around my chest and snakes lower through my stomach. This girl will be the end of me.

  She’s not afraid of me. Not intimidated. She looks me straight in the eye—and I like it. She’s the first person to treat me like a man and not a prince. The first person to listen to me talk about Abby and understand the pain, not just pity me for it.

  I take a sip of my drink as I watch her over the rim of my glass.

  Rowan meets my gaze and sticks out her tongue. “Do I have something on my face?” she asks, popping a brow.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” Pause. “Your Highness.”

  “Can you blame me?” I say, my voice dropping lower than I intended.

  Rowan blinks, biting her lip. Damn. I put my glass down and stand up, extending a hand toward her. She stares at it suspiciously, letting her gaze crawl back up to mine.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Take my hand, Rowan.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Take my hand and find out.”

  “You haven’t exactly proven yourself trustworthy so far, Your Highness.”

  I try to hide my grin. “Rowan, call me Wolfe. If you call me Highness one more time, I’ll—”

  “What?” She arches a brow. Cheeky girl. “What are you going to do?”

  Lifting my outstretched hand to her shoulder and letting my fingers curl around the nape of her neck, I brush my thumb over her cheek. “I’ll make you regret it,” I growl.

  Rowan’s breath trembles through parted lips as she blinks in rapid succession. Then, as if in a trance, she puts her tumbler down and takes a step toward me.

  “Okay. What do you want to show me?”

  I erase the distance between us, letting my chest brush against hers. There it is—her soft, hesitant breath. Yielding to me. Rowan lifts her eyes up to mine, staring at me through thick lashes. I let my fingers drift down the side of her body, resting them on her hip.

  “Do you get nervous when I’m close to you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “No,” Rowan says, her voice quivering ever so slightly.

  “Liar.” My fingers slide around to her back, pulling her body tight to mine. “I can feel your pulse hammering.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m nervous.”

  “What are you then?”

  A blush stains Rowan’s cheeks as she struggles to swallow. Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s nothing.” Rowan’s palm lifts up to press against my chest, and she flicks her eyes
up to mine. “Your heart is hammering, too.”

  “You make me nervous.” I grin.

  “Bullshit.” Her fingers slide higher, teasing the edge of my neck.

  My eyes drop to her lips, tracing every full curve as I imagine how she would taste. We’re frozen against each other. I can feel her pulse thumping. I can see the desire blooming across her face. Her pupils dilating. Lips dropping open.

  She wants this as badly as I do. We’re alone here. No servants. No staff. No media.

  Just Rowan and me.

  Would it be so bad to act on a few impure desires? To finally taste those lips and see if she’s still insolent when I’m inside her?

  “Your Highness,” Rowan whispers.

  My grip on her waist tightens, pulling her close. “What did I say about using my title?” I roll my hips against her, loving the way she gasps when she feels my hardness.

  Yes, I’m hard as rock.

  Yes, it’s for her.

  Yes, I’m struggling to think of even one reason why we shouldn’t do this.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” Rowan whispers, teasing my jaw with her fingertips.

  “Do what?” I lean down, letting my lips hover just an inch from hers.

  Rowan smiles, shaking her head. She’s so sweet when she’s like this. Pliable. When her tongue isn’t sharp and her smiles are easy. I want more. “Kiss, Wolfe. We shouldn’t kiss.”

  I nearly groan when she says my name. I thought I enjoyed the sass of her using my title. I thought I liked that she spat it at me like an insult.

  My name sounds so much better.

  “Why not, princess?”

  “I’m not a princess.”

  “And you didn’t answer the question.”

  “Because we’d regret it.” Her thumb brushes my chin, just under the curve of my lip.

  “I wouldn’t.” I growl, closing my eyes. How can her touch feel so good?

  “I would.” Her voice is so soft, I barely catch it. Pulling away, I look into her ocean-blue eyes. She gives me a sad smile, shaking her head.

  I frown, thinking about the past two weeks. Has there been a day, an hour, where I haven’t thought of Rowan? Has there been a night I haven’t snuck into the library to see if I’d find her sleeping? Has there been any other woman on my mind, or any question about what I want to do to her?