The Prince & the Mommy

by Mindy Neff

  But at what expense? In retrospect—and with a room’s length between them—she realized that the expense was way beyond her modest reach. She couldn’t allow herself to get in deeper with Antonio Castillo.

  She glanced over the top of her daughter’s head, her eyes meeting his.

  This man could break her heart.

  She had enough to deal with, her children had enough to deal with. She needed to remember that.

  Yet the sight of him hesitating in the doorway made it difficult.

  And even more so when Emily noticed him there, too.

  “Momma, can you and Antonio come and sleep with me so I won’t be scared?”

  Oh, dear. This was going to get sticky.

  Antonio came all the way into the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. When Emily unwound her arms from Chelsa’s neck and scooted next to him, Chelsa felt bereft, and a little jealous. At least she told herself that’s what she was feeling. She wouldn’t admit that the sight of her daughter now clinging to Antonio gave her hope wings.

  Wings of wanting and “what ifs” and wishes.

  Wings she’d better make a stronger effort to clip.

  “I do not believe the three of us will fit in this small twin bed, diosa. How about if I promise to sit right here until you fall asleep?”

  “But what if the bad dream comes back?”

  “It would not dare. There is a rule about bad dreams. Only one allowed a night. And I think we must make an addition to that rule and insist they will not be tolerated at all, on any night.”

  Emily giggled. “You can’t make rules about dreams, silly. They don’t have ears.”

  “They most certainly do. Cute little dainty ears. And they will listen if we speak to them just right.” He bent close, whispering in Emily’s ear.

  Chelsa felt as though a thousand tiny butterflies had taken flight in her stomach. Here was playboy prince soothing a little girl’s fears...banishing monsters like any loving father would do.

  She closed her eyes against both the sight and the thought.

  He wasn’t father material. He was a rolling stone. Carefree and out for fun.

  And she was terribly overwrought to be reading more into his actions than was actually there.

  Chapter 9

  The conversation at the breakfast table was lively, and Emily didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects from her nightmare.

  Chelsa couldn’t say she’d fared as well.

  She’d slept poorly, felt hot and sticky and, damn it, still humming with desire. If Emily hadn’t interrupted them last night, would she be dealing with the dreaded morning-after nerves?

  Good night, her mind was stuck in a groove. All she could think about was that she needed to shave her legs, cream her skin...take a cold shower!

  And therein lay her dilemma. Normally she didn’t lock the bathroom door and the kids came in and out at will. With a man in the house though—a man she was seriously attracted to—it wouldn’t do to have the door swinging open at inopportune moments.

  Still, she couldn’t leave the girls unattended.

  Wanting to reach out and touch that silky lock of dark hair that flopped sexily over Antonio’s brow, she linked her fingers together instead.

  “Uh...Antonio?”

  His gaze honed in on her, making her heart pound.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you, um...watch the girls for me while I shower?” Honestly, engaging a prince as a babysitter!

  He grinned. “Need help washing your back?”

  The girls thought that was hysterically funny. Thank goodness they were too young to realize the very real adult challenge in his tone.

  “I think I can handle it,” she said primly and fled. He hadn’t actually agreed, but she trusted him.

  When had that happened?

  Locking the bathroom door, she whipped her sleep shirt over her head. Running her palm over her legs, she nearly screamed in mortification. She’d been half-naked with a man last night and the hair on her legs resembled an overgrown forest. Well, a patchy meadow, maybe, but still.

  Armed with scented soap and a new razor blade, she stepped into the shower, telling herself she was exercising good hygiene for her own benefit—not out of anticipation of Antonio Castillo getting close enough again to feel the stubble on her legs!

  * * *

  Antonio poured a cup of coffee from the carafe. The kids were chasing Señor Gatito, giggling as the cat batted at the spongy ball they tossed back and forth for the feline’s entertainment.

  He paused in mid sip as Chelsa came into the kitchen, her enticing citrus scent filling the room, wrapping around him, making him ache to touch and taste her.

  Nothing smelled better, or was more alluring, than a woman right after a bath.

  He stepped closer, to enjoy, to appreciate, but the shrill of the phone thwarted his intentions—and sent his gut twisting into knots.

  ¡Dios! He wanted to jerk the instrument out of the wall, hated the way terror washed over Chelsa, the way her peaches-and-cream cheeks lost their color.

  “Let me,” he said quietly as the telephone gave another peal.

  She shook her head and reached for the receiver. She might have been caught off guard, but he could see the core of steel raising its shield, squaring her shoulders.

  He didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping, or that he was ready to take the phone from her if the call upset her. But by the tone of the conversation, he could tell it was a business call. He frowned. How many people had this number?

  Her parents, perhaps? The detective, certainly, as well as Cole. And his own family more than likely.

  In his opinion, that was too many and not at all safe.

  When she hung up, he waited patiently for her to share the caller’s identity. His curiosity surprised him. For a man who lived by the motto Live And Let Live, he’d become awfully embroiled in Chelsa Lawrence’s life.

  “That was my agent,” she said. A sort of ethereal excitement emanated from her, yet he could tell she was suppressing it.

  “I am wondering if it is wise to give out this number.”

  She shrugged. “I’m under contract, so it’s necessary, especially since there’s no cell reception here. Besides, Rick doesn’t know about my publisher, or Melody, my agent.”

  They hoped. “There is good news for you?”

  She licked her lips, causing his heart to slam against his ribs. Then she picked up a sponge and wiped at nonexistent streaks on the counter.

  “A tentative offer. A children’s TV network wants me to do a treatment for a new series they have in the works. An ongoing cartoon.”

  “This is a good thing, is it not?” Why wasn’t she leaping about the room? Why did he detect hesitation?

  “It could be. They’re offering big money, and that I can certainly use.”

  “But?” he asked, prodding her to voice her reserve.

  “But it’s not a good time for me. My life’s topsy-turvy at the moment. I have to think about the girls, about anonymity. I told Melody that I couldn’t commit right now, to stall them.”

  “This sounds like a wonderful opportunity for you. You have a gift, Chelsa. Think of all the children you could reach with your message of morals and honesty through the medium of television.”

  “It’s too risky.” She squeezed the sponge, then abandoned it altogether.

  “Are you certain it would draw undue attention to you?”

  “Any new venture that involves this kids’ network has the potential to wind up in the business section of the newspaper. Besides, I have to wonder if I could do a script justice with the turmoil my mind is in lately.” Her lips turned up in what should have resembled a smile. “Look at the trouble I’ve had with this latest book. I’ll have to add your name to the contract as collaborator if my ideas don’t start flowing soon.”

  “You are selling yourself short.”

  Her smile vanished. “No. What I am is scared.”


  He reached for her without thought, brought her to his chest and just held her. Madre de Dios, he wanted to shelter this woman, protect her, ease her burdens and pave her world with rose petals. Make it right. Fix it.

  That notion was so far removed from the person he’d known himself to be for the last twenty-nine—almost thirty—years, that it made him uneasy.

  “You cannot hide forever. Precautions are necessary, certainly, but you must live your life.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Chelsa stepped back from his hold. She’d wanted to jump on the offer; even now her stomach quivered with giddy excitement. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. “You’re not in my shoes. I’m not a wimp or a scaredy-cat. I’m responsible for my children. And if there’s any question over their safety, I won’t chance it. Not at any cost. And especially not to further my career.”

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but the loud whoop of a helicopter intruded. Adrenaline shot through Chelsa, making her dizzy. She snatched aside the kitchen curtains, her lungs feeling as though they were about to burst.

  Breathe, she ordered herself. Out, then in.

  Emily and Sophie abandoned their game of tag with Señor Gatito and charged into the kitchen, each grabbing a handful of Chelsa’s dress.

  “What is it, Momma?” Emily asked.

  Sophie simply held on, silent, her wide round eyes searching out Antonio.

  Although her hands trembled, she rested them on her daughter’s shoulders in reassurance. She hated the way the fear winged out of nowhere, paralyzing her, telegraphing itself to her children. Her job was to protect, to soothe, to remain calm, to shield these young innocents from unnecessary upset. Yet, at the same time, she needed to be smart, to be on guard.

  Dear God, how was a mother supposed to balance all those emotions? To hide her own human failings?

  Antonio was beside them in an instant, lifting Sophie into his arms and passing his palm gently over Emily’s soft cheek, tipping up the little girl’s chin. The warmth of his body pressed against Chelsa’s side. In one single move he had included the three of them in his protective circle, in the strength of his steadiness.

  “The helicopter bears the Valldorian crest,” he said softly. “They are my friends. Cole Martinez and his wife, Raquel.”

  “The one who made the water baby picture?” Sophie asked.

  “That is the one.”

  Chelsa watched as the rotors whipped up a cloud of sand that rained gritty little pings against the window.

  When the whine of the motor died and the blades twirled to a stop, a man and woman alighted. Tall and striking, with the dark good looks Chelsa decided every man in Valldoria must possess, Cole Martinez carefully lifted his wife out of the sleek chopper and kept her hand in his as they approached the bungalow.

  “Come,” Antonio said. “You will like my friends.”

  Chelsa followed him to the front door. He still held Sophie in one strong arm, and tenderly cupped Emily’s hand with his free one. The sight of the three of them made her eyes sting, made her long for a true family unit, something she’d desperately yearned for with Rick, yet had never had.

  The loving bickering and whirlwind of activity taking place between Cole and Raquel Martinez, though, captured Chelsa’s attention.

  “Slow down, spitfire,” Cole said to his wife as they mounted the porch steps. “You need to take it easy.”

  “I am merely pregnant, Cole. Not incapacitated.”

  Antonio grinned and accepted a warm embrace from Rocky that enveloped the children, as well. Since his hands were occupied with Emily and Sophie, he didn’t offer the traditional masculine greeting to Cole, but nodded instead.

  “Congratulations, amigo. I did not know you were to be a father.”

  “Neither did I until this morning.” He kept a cautious eye on his wife. “Help me out, Tony. Tell her she should be resting.”

  “Ah, no, my friend. Do not put me in the middle of this. I will, however, ask your permission to kiss the expectant mother.”

  Cole shot him a dark look. “I suppose you’re safe enough, since your hands are occupied. But only on the cheek.”

  “Oh, he is so stuffy,” Raquel said, giggling, pressing her lips in a sisterly fashion square on Antonio’s lips.

  Cole gave a long-suffering sigh.

  Antonio grinned.

  “And who are these lovely cherubs?” Raquel asked, touching each little girl’s cheek.

  “Sophie and Emily Lawrence.” Antonio set Sophie on her feet and stepped back, holding out his hand for Chelsa. “And this is their mother, Chelsa Lawrence.”

  Before Chelsa could even think about accepting Antonio’s outstretched hand, Raquel stepped between them, gathering Chelsa into an embrace that might have suggested they’d been longtime friends.

  “I am so happy to meet you. You must accept my personal gratitude for saving our wayward prince from a watery grave.”

  “Ah now, Rapunzel, you do exaggerate,” Antonio objected. “I am much too accomplished to end up at the bottom of the sea.”

  Raquel ignored him. To Chelsa, she said, “It is a wonder he can fit his ego within the walls of the bungalow.”

  Chelsa laughed, deciding right away that she liked this energetic woman. Raquel’s stunning beauty alone might have made Chelsa feel inferior, but the heiress’s verve and sweetness invited friendship and girl talk and an easiness not many could pull off.

  And what a contradiction she was. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was sleek and styled, with chunks of red highlights that caught the sun and turned it to fire. Spitfire, she’d heard Cole call his wife. The nickname fit. She wore skintight, pencil-slim capris that rode low on her hips and a halter top that hugged her breasts and exposed a flat stomach that hadn’t yet swollen with the signs of pregnancy.

  She was like an exotic, colorful bird, with plenty of sass that was tempered by unmistakable sweetness.

  “I’m happy to meet you, too,” Chelsa said. “I’ve wanted to compliment you in person on your work.”

  Raquel lit up. “You have seen it?”

  “I own a piece. Compliments of Antonio, that is. It’s the print entitled Hope.”

  “Ah, yes. That one is special to me.”

  “You have a good eye for babies.”

  “Yes I do,” she said without an ounce of modesty. “And your little ones are perfect subjects. It is a curse, I think, but I cannot look upon a child and resist the opportunity to photograph them. My mind simply takes off at will. And it is doing so now. May I have your permission to take Sophie and Emily outdoors?”

  Chelsa opened her mouth to object, an automatic instinct, but Raquel, impassioned and animated over her subject, barely paused for breath.

  “My cameras are in the helicopter and your children would be so perfect captured in print. Oh, those sweet, round cheeks. Please do not say no. I can already picture the shot of them building a sand castle.”

  Chelsa’s nerves screamed a warning. But hadn’t she just lectured herself on not transferring her fears to her children? The girls were looking intrigued by the prospect of having their pictures taken.

  “I suppose it would be all right. But...”

  Raquel laid a hand on Chelsa’s arm. “The photographs will be my gift to you alone,” she said gently. “Cole has told me of your troubles. I would not compromise your children’s safety by allowing their images to become public domain. However, when your bad time is over and forgotten, I might resort to begging for publication rights. I suspect these sweet darlings will be highly photogenic.”

  “Thank you. Let me just get some shoes.”

  “No.” Again Raquel stopped her with a hand on her arm. Her voice lowered. “My husband wishes to discuss business. It would be best if the niñas are not within earshot.”

  Chelsa glanced outside, feeling a sense of foreboding that set her on edge. She must have done a good job of hiding it, though, because Emily and Sophie perked right up, tripping ov
er themselves to accompany the beautiful heiress outdoors, each vying for the lion’s share of Raquel’s attention.

  Cole, however, picked up on her unease. “Your children will be safe, Mrs. Lawrence. Johnny Cruz is both my pilot and my second-in-command. He will watch over Raquel and the girls.”

  “Call me Chelsa,” she said absently, still feeling the need to stay within touching distance to her daughters. Just in case...

  “Chelsa it is, then. My wife is stubborn about following rules and remaining cooped up inside. And when inspiration strikes to take photographs, there is no stopping her. Johnny will guard them well. I would not take chances with my wife—nor your little girls.”

  His absolute sincerity and certainty finally broke Chelsa’s tension. “Okay.” She glanced at Antonio, noticing that he appeared watchful yet easy with the situation. Perhaps she was overreacting.

  “Besides,” Cole continued, “I truly believe she is dying for special photographs of your children, even if it is killing her soul not to be in here privy to our discussion.” He sighed and looked at Antonio. “Raquel has taken it into her head lately that she is part of the Royal Guard.”

  “Ah, amigo,” Antonio said. “You have my sympathies.”

  “I appreciate at least somebody being on my side.” He said it with so much forlorn masculine pride, Chelsa laughed. “It amazes me how quickly she can capture the perfect shot. You wait and see. She will give us only enough time to discuss basics before she returns.”

  Basics, Chelsa thought. Was there such a thing in connection to her problems? She didn’t think so.

  Antonio’s hand at her back was warm and reassuring as he steered her to the sofa. “Let us sit, querida.” To Cole he said, “What have you learned?”

  Cole chose to remain standing. Although he appeared to give them his sole attention, Chelsa could tell he kept a sharp eye on their surroundings and every movement going on outside.

  “You were right. Your ex-husband has been released from jail. And at the moment he is at large. He has failed to check in with his parole officer.”