Harlequin Romance February 2016 Box Set

by Barbara Wallace

  A belly that held his child.

  “If the trip is too much, we can go back to the palace.”

  “Only to have to reschedule it for tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  The guilt pressed down again. He glanced at her feet, pretty in her pink-toned sandals. Her whimsy in the choice of color made him smile.

  “You have an interesting fashion sense.”

  She gaped at him. “I have a wonderful fashion sense, Mr. White-Shirt-and-Tie-Everywhere-You-Go. You need to read Vogue every once in a while.”

  The very thought made him laugh.

  Her head tilted as she smiled at him. “It’s been a long time since I heard you laugh.”

  “Yeah, well, our saber-rattling sheikh is back and he isn’t the country’s only problem. It’s hard for me to laugh when I have business to attend to.”

  Her pretty blue eyes sought his in the back of the limo. “Is it really that difficult?”

  He turned his head to the right and then the left to loosen the tension. “Yes and no.” Oddly, he felt better. He could twist his neck a million times, sitting in the halls of parliament, and nothing. But two feet away from her and the tension began to ebb.

  “Ruling is mostly about paying attention. Not just to who wants what but also to negotiating styles and nonverbal cues. There are parliamentarians who get quiet right before they walk out of a session and spill their guts to the press. There are others who explode in session.” He caught her gaze again. “I’d rather deal with them.”

  She smiled and nodded, and the conversation died. But when he helped her out of the limo at Marco’s seaside coffee shop, she was all smiles.

  A reporter shouted, “Coming back to the scene of the crime?”

  She laughed. “If fainting was a crime, tons of pregnant women would be in jail.” She smiled prettily as she slid on the sunglasses that made her look like a rock star. “Just hungry for a cookie.”

  With his bodyguards clearing a path, they made their way into the coffee shop. Standing behind the counter, Marco beamed with pleasure.

  He bowed. “It is an honor that you love my cookies.”

  She laughed. “The pleasure is all mine. Not only do I want a cookie and a glass of milk for now, but I’m taking a half-dozen cookies back to the palace.”

  Marco scurried to get her order. Dominic frowned. “Don’t you want to hear what I want?”

  “Hazelnut coffee,” Marco said, clearly disinterested in Dominic as he carefully placed cookies in a box for Ginny. Antonella brought Dominic’s coffee to the counter.

  He pulled a card out to pay, but Marco stopped him with a gasp. “It is my honor to serve our princess today.”

  Dominic said, “Right.”

  Because Ginny didn’t faint this time, Dom could actually lead her out to the long deck that became a dock. He set her milk on the table in front of her, along with her single cookie. He handed the box of six cookies to a bodyguard.

  Ginny said, “There better be six cookies in that box when we get back to the palace.”

  Dominic’s typically staid and stoic bodyguard laughed.

  After a sip of coffee, he said, “They love you, you know?”

  She unwrapped her big sugar cookie as if it were a treasure. “Everybody loves me. But there’s a reason for that. It’s not magic. I’m a child of an alcoholic. I know everybody has something difficult in their life so I treat everyone well.”

  “I treat everyone well.”

  She lifted her cookie. “Yeah. Sort of.”

  “Sort of? I never yell at anyone. And if I reprimand, it’s with kindness.”

  “You’re still a prince.”

  “Dominic?”

  Dom glanced up to see his boarding school friend, Pietro Fonichelli. The son of an Italian billionaire and a billionaire several times over in his own right, thanks to his computer software skills, Pietro was probably better known around the globe than Dominic was. He was also on Dominic’s list of friends, the people his bodyguards were told to allow access to him.

  Dominic rose. “What are you doing here?”

  As he said the words, Dom noticed Pietro wore shorts and a big T-shirt.

  “Vacationing.” He faced Ginny. “And this is your lovely bride.”

  It was the first time Dominic was uncomfortable with the ruse. Engaging in a charade to help his subjects enjoy the birth of the country’s next heir? That was a good thing. Fooling someone he considered a friend? It didn’t sit well. Pietro had been at the wedding, but there had been so many people that at the time it hadn’t registered that he was tricking a friend.

  He politely said, “Yes, this is Ginny Jones.”

  Pietro laughed. “Ginny Jones? Is she so American that she didn’t take your last name?”

  Ginny rose, extending her hand to Pietro. “No. Dom sometimes forgets we’re married.”

  Laughing, Pietro took the hand she extended. Instead of shaking it, he kissed the knuckles.

  Something hot and fuzzy whipped through Dom. The custom in Xaviera was that a man had a choice. A handshake or a kiss. He should not be upset that his friend chose a kiss. It was nothing more than a sign of affection for the wife of a friend.

  Holding Dom’s wife’s gaze, Pietro said, “I’m not entirely sure how a man forgets he’s married to such a beautiful woman.”

  Ginny smiled as if she thought Pietro’s words were baloney, but Dom had never seen his friend so smitten before. Just as Dom had been tongue-tied and eager the day he’d met Ginny, Pietro all but drooled.

  Ginny said, “Dom’s a great husband.”

  “Yeah, well, if he ever isn’t—” he let go of Ginny’s hand and pulled out a business card “—this card has my direct line on it.”

  Ginny laughed, but Dom said, “What? Are you flirting with my wife?”

  “Teasing,” Pietro said. He pulled Dom into a bear hug, released him and said, “It was great to run into you.” He glanced at Ginny, then back at Dom. “We should do dinner sometime.”

  The air came back to Dom’s lungs and he felt incredibly stupid. He knew Pietro was a jokester. He knew his friend loved getting a rise out of Dom. It was part of what made them click. They could joke. Tease. “Yes. We should.”

  With his coffee gone and Ginny’s cookie demolished, they walked back to the limo, one bodyguard conspicuously holding a box of a half-dozen brightly painted sugar cookies.

  He helped Ginny into the limo, then sat beside her, realizing Pietro was the kind of man who wouldn’t care if her ex was a king. He would pursue Ginny. With the money to buy and sell loyalty, her connection to a king would mean nothing to him. Once Ginny was free of Dom, it wouldn’t even cross Pietro’s mind to care that she’d been his wife. He’d pursue her.

  His nerves endings stood on edge like the fur of a hissing cat. Not out of jealousy, he told himself. Out of fear for her. Pietro might be a great friend, but he wouldn’t be a good husband. Like Dom, he took what he wanted. Discarded it when he was done.

  His nerves popped, and he suddenly knew another consequence of this fake relationship. In two years, he was going to have to watch his wife with another man.

  * * *

  That night in bed, the tension that vibrated from Dom rolled through Ginny. She considered shifting away, going to her own side of the bed, but she couldn’t. Her baby would be born in thirty-two days, give or take a week for the unpredictability of first babies, and in two short years she would be gone. She wouldn’t give up one second of her time with him. Even if it meant she wouldn’t sleep tonight because the muscles of Dom’s arm beneath her head had stiffened to concrete.

  Finally, unable to take the tension anymore, she said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Right.” Knowing they weren’t going to get any sleep anyway, she ran her fingers along the thick dark hair on his chest and said, “So I’ll bet it was nice seeing your friend today.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Nice.”
>
  “You know he was only teasing.”

  “Yes. He’s a jokester and if he’d do something stupid at a bar, the press would love it and it could take the heat off of us.”

  “I don’t mind the heat.”

  He didn’t say anything for a second, then his arm tightened around her shoulders. “I know you don’t.”

  “So we don’t need for your friend to get punched out at a bar.”

  “Especially since I would like to have dinner with him. Actually, he’s somebody I’d like to have in the baby’s life. He started off wealthy, could have bummed around the world forever on his dad’s money, but he knew the importance of being strong, being smart. I might just make him the baby’s godfather so he’s here for more than the big events.”

  She nodded but tears came to her eyes as an awful scenario ran through her brain. In two years, she and Dom would be divorced, but Dom and the baby’s lives would go on—without her. She would come and go for those big events in the baby’s life. She’d even be a part of things, but not really. After her two years were up, she’d be an outsider looking in.

  “Are you crying?”

  Dom’s soft voice trickled down to her.

  She swallowed. “It’s just a pregnancy thing.”

  He sat up slightly and shifted her to her pillow so he could look down at her. “Is there anything I can do?”

  You could love me, she thought and wished with all her heart she could say the words. But she’d seduced this guy twice. She’d agreed to his plan to have their child born amid celebration. She was good to his family, good to his employees, good to the press and his subjects. She didn’t spend a lot of money, but she did spend enough that she looked like the princess he wanted her to be.

  And what did she get for her troubles? The knowledge that in two years she’d be nothing to him.

  She sniffed.

  Dominic’s eyes widened with horror. “Please. Silent tears are one thing. Actually crying will make us both nuts.”

  “Really? I’m fat. I’m hungry. I’m always hungry. I’m always on. I’ve been good to you, good to your family, good to your subjects and you can’t love me.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “It isn’t that I can’t love you.”

  “Oh, it’s just that you don’t want to love me. That makes it so much better.”

  He popped his eyes open. “It isn’t that, either.”

  “Then explain this to me because I’m tired but can’t sleep. And I’m hungry even though I eat all the time. And I just feel so freaking alone.”

  “We could call your friends.”

  “I want my husband.”

  “The Affectionate Prince.”

  “I don’t give a flying fig what the press calls you. This is our baby. Half yours. You should be here when I need you.”

  “I am here when you need me.”

  “Yeah. Right. You’re here physically, but emotionally you’re a million miles away.”

  “I rule a country.”

  She shook her head. “Your dad rules the country. You work for him. Technically you’re just the minister of finance.”

  “I need to be prepared for when I take over.”

  “Really? Your dad is around fifty-five. He’s nowhere near retirement age. You and I could have three kids and a great life before your dad retires.”

  He laughed. “Seriously?” But she could tell from his tone of voice that the thought wasn’t an unpleasant one.

  She sat up. Holding his gaze, she said, “Would it be so wrong to ease off for the next ten years?”

  He shook his head with a laugh. “First you wanted two years...now you want ten?”

  “Yes.” A sense of destiny filled her. The this-is-your-moment tug on her heart. There was something different in his voice. He wasn’t hard, inflexible, as he usually was. In some ways, his eyes looked as tired as hers.

  Could he be tired of fighting?

  “I’m asking for ten years, Your Majesty, if your dad retires at sixty-five.”

  Dom frowned.

  She plowed on, so determined that her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. “What if he works until he’s seventy? What if he’s like Queen Elizabeth, keeping the throne until he’s ninety? We could have a long, happy life.”

  Dom shook his head. “My dad won’t rule until he’s ninety.” He caught her gaze. “But he could—will—rule another ten years.”

  “Doesn’t ten years even tempt you?”

  “You tempt me.”

  “So keep me. See if we can’t figure this whole thing out together? See if we can’t learn to have a family—be a family—in ten years.”

  * * *

  It sounded like such a good plan when his heart beat slow and heavy in his chest from the ache of knowing he was about to lose her. He lowered his head and kissed her. Her arms came up to wrap around his shoulders and everything suddenly made sense in Dominic’s world.

  The buzz of the phone on his bedside table interrupted his thoughts. He didn’t want to stop kissing Ginny. Didn’t want this moment filled with possibilities to end. So he let the phone go, knowing it would switch to voice mail after five rings, only to have it immediately start ringing again.

  The call of duty was stronger than his simple human needs. He pulled away from Ginny with a sigh, but didn’t release her. Stretching, he retrieved the receiver for the phone and said, “Yes?”

  “One of our ports has been taken by the sheikh. We are at war.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DOMINIC DIDN’T JUMP out of bed; he flew. “I don’t know how much of this is going to hit the press or how soon, but the sheikh has taken one of our ports. He’s telling people we’re too weak to protect our waterways, so he’s taking over. Which means that port is the first step to all-out war.”

  Ginny sucked in a breath. On top of all the other odd things she was feeling tonight, having her husband go to war made her chest hurt. She grabbed his arm as he turned to find clothes and get dressed.

  “Where will you be? You don’t actually have to lead troops into battle, do you?”

  “No. There’s a war room. My father and I will direct the military from there.” He pursed his lips for a second as if debating, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be fine. It’s our military who will suffer casualties. Because we don’t want to attack our own facility, we have to try diplomacy first. Worst-case scenario happens if he tries to move farther inland or take another port. Then there will be battles, casualties.” He caught her gaze. “And then you might not see me until it’s over.”

  She nodded, but the tears were back. No matter how strange or odd she felt, she didn’t want to stop him from doing his duty. In fact, there was a part of her that was proud of him.

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “Go stop that guy.”

  He nodded, dressed and raced out of the room.

  Ginny lay in bed, breathing hard. Her stomach felt like a rock. Everything around her seemed out of control. So she did some of the breathing she’d been taught in the childbirth classes Sally had arranged for her. Even though Dom was supposed to be in the delivery room, he hadn’t attended the classes. But since most of it was about breathing and remaining calm, he really hadn’t needed to. Nobody could remain calm and detached the way Dom could.

  She breathed again, in and out, and her stomach relaxed. Knowing she wouldn’t sleep, she got out of bed and grabbed her book. Sitting on the sofa—with all her lights on because she was just a little afraid, and stupid as it sounded, the light made her feel better—she read until three o’clock in the morning. Her stomach tensed often enough that a horrible realization sliced through her. Still, with weeks until her due date, she didn’t want to think she was in labor. So she let herself believe these contractions would pass.

  But at seven, she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She picked up the house phone and dialed her mom’s extension. “I think I’m in labor.”

  “Oh, no! Ginny, sweetie...this is too early.”
>
  Her stomach contracted again and she doubled over with pain. “All right. I no longer think I’m in labor. I know I am.”

  “Did they tell you what to do?”

  “I have to call the doctor, but—” She doubled over again. “Oh, my God, this hurts.”

  “That’d be labor. Okay. I’m coming over. I’ll call Sally who will tell Dom.”

  “He’s in the war room. We’re at war.”

  Her mom was quiet for a few seconds, then she said, “Didn’t know if you’d been told, but, yes. I saw the news this morning. We’re at war.”

  “I don’t even know if Dom can come out for this.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, of course, he can. You just go get some clothes on so security can get you to the hospital. I will take care of calling Sally who will get Dom to the hospital.”

  Ginny did as she was told. The week before she’d been advised by her birthing coach to pack a bag for the hospital “just in case.” So after sliding into maternity jeans and a sweater, she lugged the bag from Dom’s room to the sitting area.

  Then pain roared through her stomach and she fell to the sofa. She tried to breathe, but the fear that gripped her kept her from being able to focus. Her new country was at war and she was in labor. Four weeks too early. She didn’t even want to contemplate that her baby might not be ready, but how could she not?

  When she was almost at the point of hyperventilation, her door swung open and her mom raced in. “I talked to Sally, who said she will talk to the king. She said not to worry. She’ll take care of everything.”

  She rose from the sofa, the pain so intense, tears speared her eyes again. “Good.”

  The doors opened again and Dom’s top security team ran in.

  “Ma’am? Can you walk?”

  She caught her mother’s hand. “Oh, jeez. Now I’m ma’am.”

  Her mother led her to the door. “That’s right, sweetie. Keep your sense of humor.”

  Her labor lasted twelve long hours. Every twenty minutes she asked where Dom was. Every twenty-one minutes her mother would say, “He’s been told you’re in labor. He’ll be here any minute.”

  She gave birth to a healthy, albeit tiny, baby boy. The happy, smiling doctor, a man who’d clearly gotten sufficient sleep the night before, joyfully said, “Can you tell me his name?”