His Pregnant Princess Bride

by Catherine Mann

  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 over
heard 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.

  Four

  She was really doing it. Spending two weeks with Gervais in his mansion on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. She’d slept in his house and now that her luggage had been sent over from the hotel, she had more than a jersey to wear. She tugged at the hem, the fabric surprisingly soft to the touch, the number cool against the tips of her breasts.

  This was actually happening. Last night had been more than just an overnight fluke. True to his word, Gervais hadn’t been pushy about joining her here. But she felt his presence all the same.

  And she was here to stay. A flutter of nerves traced down her spine as she fully opened the pocket doors to get a better look at the guest suite. She crossed the threshold from the bedroom to the sitting room, clothes in hand.

  But she paused, toes sinking into the rich texture of the red Oriental rug. The way the light poured through the window in the sitting room drew her eye. Stepping toward the window, she took a moment to drink in the twinkled blue of Lake Pontchartrain.

  The morning sun warmed her cheeks, sparking prisms across the room as it hit the Tiffany lamps. Glancing at her reflection in the gilded-gold mirror that was leaning on the mantel of the fireplace, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Mind wandering back, as it had a habit of doing lately, to Gervais. To the way his eyes lingered on her. And how that still ignited something in her...

  But it was so much more complicated than that. She pushed the thought away, moving past the cream-colored chaise longue and opening the cherrywood armoire. As if settling her belongings in drawers gave her some semblance of normalcy. A girl could try, after all.

  Her hand went to her stomach, to the barely perceptible curve of her stomach. A slight thickening to her waist. Her body was beginning to change. Her breasts were swollen and sensitive.

  And her emotions were in a turmoil.

  That unsettled her most of all. She was used to being seen as a focused academic, a military professional. Now she was adrift. Between jobs. Pregnant by a man she barely knew and with precious little time to settle her life before her family and the world knew of her pregnancy. She had a spot reserved for her in a graduate nursing program this fall, and she wanted to take coursework right up until her due date. But then what?

  A knock on the door pulled her back to the present. She opened the paneled door and found a lovely, slender woman, wearing a pencil-thin skirt and silky blouse, tons of caramel-colored hair neatly pinned up. A large, pink-lipstick smile revealed brilliant white teeth.

  She extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Adelaide Thibodeaux. Personal assistant to Dempsey Reynaud—the Hurricanes’ coach. Gervais asked me to check in on you. I just wanted to make sure, do you have everything you need?”

  Erika nodded. “Thank you. That is very kind of you to look in on me.”

  “I’ve been a friend of Dempsey’s since childhood. I am happy to help the family.” She wore sky-high pumps that would have turned Erika into a giantess—exactly the kind that she enjoyed wearing when she wasn’t pregnant and less sure-footed.

  “Did you have my things sent over?”

  Adelaide’s brow furrowed, concern touching the corners of her mouth. “Yes, did we miss anything?”

  “Everything is perfect, thank you,” she said, gesturing to the room behind her. “The home is lovely and comfortable, and I appreciate having my personal belongings sent over.”

  “We want you to enjoy your stay here in the States. It will be a wonderful publicity boon for the team to have royalty attending our games.”

  Erika winced. The last thing she wanted was more attention from the media. Especially before she knew how she was going to handle the next few months.

  Adelaide twisted her hands together, silver bracelets glinting in the sunlight. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Of course not. It is just that I am not a fan of football, or competitive sports of any kind.” It was a half-truth. Certainly, no matter how she tried, she just didn’t understand the attraction of football. But she couldn’t tell Adelaide the real reason she didn’t want to be a publicity ploy.

  “And yet clearly you’re quite fit. You must work out.”

  “I was in the military until recently, and I do enjoy running and yoga, but I have to confess, team sports have never held any appeal for me.”

  “No?” Adelaide frowned. “Then I am not sure I understand why you are here— Pardon me. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business.”

  Erika searched for a simple answer. “Gervais and I enjoyed meeting each other in England.” Understatement. “And since there is a conference in the area I plan to attend, I decided to visit.” Okay, the conference was a lie, but one she could live with for now.

  “Of course.” Understanding lit her gaze, as if she was not surprised that Gervais would inspire a flight halfway across the world. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your checking on me. But I am independent.” She had always been independent, unafraid of challenges.

  “I wasn’t sure of the protocol for visiting royalty,” Adelaide said, her voice curling into a question of sorts. As if a princess couldn’t fend for herself. “You are a princess.”

  “In name only, and even so, I am the fifth daughter.”

  “You’re humble.”

  “I have been called many things, but not that. I am simply...practi
cal.”

  Pink lips slipped back up into a smile. “Well, welcome to New Orleans. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  “As do I.” She had a feeling she was going to get to know everyone exceptionally well. Erika’s thoughts drifted back to Gervais. She certainly wanted to get to know him better.

  Adelaide started to leave, then turned back. “It might help you on game days if you think of football as a jousting field for men. You were in the military and come from a country famous for female warriors. Sure, I’m mixing time frames here with Vikings and medieval jousters, but still, if you see the game in the light of a joust or warrior competition, perhaps you may find yourself enjoying the event.”

  The door closed quietly behind her.

  A joust? She’d never considered football and jousting. Maybe...maybe she’d give that a shot.

  Her gaze floated back to the window, back to Lake Pontchartrain. It stretched before her like an exotic promise. Reminded her she was in a place that she didn’t know. And it might be in her best interest to find any way into this world.

  To make the most of these days here, to learn more about the father of her child, she would need to experience his world.

  And that meant grabbing a front-row seat.

  Yet even as she plucked out a change of clothes, she couldn’t help wondering... Had Adelaide Thibodeaux welcomed many other women into this home on Gervais’s behalf?

  * * *

  Today was quite the production. Gervais watched the bustle of people filling the owners’ suite at Zephyr Stadium for a preseason game day. Tickets for special viewing in the owners’ box were sold at a premium price to raise money for a local charter school, so there were more guests than usual in the large luxury suite that normally accommodated family and friends.

  His sister-in-law Fiona Harper-Reynaud was a renowned local philanthropist, and her quarterback husband was the golden boy of New Orleans, which added allure to her fund-raising invitation. Henri—beloved by fans as the Bayou Bomber—was the face of their franchise and worth every cent of his expensive contract. He was a playmaker with the drive and poise necessary to make it in the league’s most closely dissected position.