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 wi
th 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
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.”
His Pregnant Princess Bride Page 2
