A shiver trembled along her skin, and she reminded herself it was just the pregnancy making her so susceptible to him. It had to be. No man could mesmerize a woman so thoroughly otherwise. Her hormones simply conspired against her.
“I guess your family does qualify as American royalty.” She held up her end of the conversation, hoping he could not see the effect he had on her. “So that is one thing we have in common. Just minus the crowns.”
“True. No tiaras here.” His head dipped closer to speak in her ear again. “Although thinking of you in a tiara and nothing more—that’s an image to die for.”
She knew he joked. That did not stop her from imagining being naked with him.
“An image that will have to remain in your mind only, since I do not pose for pictures. After what happened to my sister because of the sex tape with the prime minister,” she said, shuddering, “not a chance.”
Gervais almost missed a step, though he recovered quickly enough.
“Your sister was in a sex tape?”
“You must be the only person in the world who did not see it.” That snippet of footage had almost ruined her family. The publicity was all the more difficult to deflect, since their monarchy was both defunct and not particularly wealthy. They’d had precious few resources to fight with.
“Never mind.” Gervais shook his head, dismissing that conversation. “That’s beside the point. First, I wasn’t speaking literally. And second, I would never, never let you be at risk that way.”
Her neck craned to look at him, eyes scanning his face. There was no amusement in her eyes. “Perhaps more to the point, I will not put myself at risk.”
“You’re an independent princess. I like that.”
“Technically, I am a princess in name only. The monarchy doesn’t have ruling power any longer.”
“Fair enough.”
Gervais spun her away from him. There was a moment before she returned to the heat of his body that left her with anticipation. She wanted him to keep touching her, to keep pressing his body against hers.
After they resumed their rhythmic swaying, he said softly into her ear, “You are pretty well-adjusted for someone who grew up in a medieval castle surrounded by servants and nannies.”
“What makes you think we had servants and nannies?”
A smile played with his sexy mouth. “That princess title.”
She rolled her eyes. “The castle was pretty crumbly and we had some maintenance help, since we opened part of the palace to the public, and tutors volunteered just to have it on their résumé that they’d taught royalty. But definitely no nannies.”
“Your parents were the involved types.” Somehow they had gotten closer, lips barely a breadth away from each other. The thought of how close he was made it hard for Erika to concentrate. So she pulled back a bit, adjusting her head to look out over the crowd, toward the band.
“Not really. After class we had freedom to roam. We were quite a wild pack of kids. Can you imagine having your own real-life castle as a playground? We had everything but the unicorn.”
“You make it sound fun.”
“Some days it was fun. Some it was lonely when I saw the kids on tour with their parents.” She hesitated. The last thing she wanted from Gervais was sympathy. She’d accepted what her family was and was not a long time ago. So she continued, “And some days were downright dangerous.”
“What do you mean?”
“My sisters and I wanted a trampoline for Christmas.” Which sounded perfectly normal. Except for the Mitras clan, there was no such thing as normal.
“Okay. And?”
“You do not get those on royal grounds. It does not fit the historical image, and without the tours we didn’t have money. So, we made our own.”
“Oh, God.” A look of horror and intrigue passed over his face.
“We pulled a couple of mattresses down the stairs, stacked them under a window... And we jumped.”
Gervais’s eyes widened. “From how high?”
She shrugged. “Third story. And the ceilings were high.”
“You’re making me ill.”
“It was only scary the first time when one of my sisters pushed me.” And, later, when another sister broke an arm and the game ended for good.
“Pushed you?” Disbelief filled his voice. Surely his brothers had done equally dangerous things as forms of entertainment when they had been younger.
She’d seen the Reynaud males up close, and there was an air of confidence and arrogance about all of them that didn’t exactly coincide with a sheltered upbringing.
“I was the test dummy,” she informed him. “As the youngest and the lightest, it was my job to make sure the mattress had been placed correctly and had enough bounce.”
“And did it?”
“We had to add some duvets and pillows.”
“So it hurt.”
“Probably no more than playing football without shoulder pads.”
Tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, he whispered, “You’re such a badass. I expected a story like that from a family of boys, but not girls.”
Not all girls were the descendants of female warriors. And that was usually the justification for their shenanigans as children. “We considered it our gym class. It was more interesting than lacrosse.”
“Lacrosse, huh? I didn’t expect that.” He brushed his lips across her temple, his breath warm, his brief kiss warmer.
Her body even warmer still with want.
Just when she thought she would grip his lapels and melt right into him, he stepped back.
“I should get you home, Princess. It’s late.”
And just like that, the fairy-tale book was closing. She felt close to him all evening, physical distance aside. And every time it seemed as if there was something more between them, he pulled back.
While part of her was relieved that he’d stopped pushing for more, a larger part of her wanted him. She had to weigh her options. Had to be strong for her unborn children and make the wisest decision possible. It wasn’t just her life in the balance.
* * *
After a sleepless night dreaming of Gervais’s touch, Erika hadn’t awoken in the best of moods. And now she had to make the phone call she had been dreading. The one that had sent her on edge all morning long until she found her courage and started dialing.
Erika sat on the chaise longue in the guest room as she hugged the device to her ear and listened to the call ring through on the other side of the world. She needed to speak with her parents and tell them that she was pregnant. With twins. There was no sense in avoiding the inevitable any longer.
Her mother answered the phone. “Hello, my love. What brings about this lovely surprise of a call?”
“Um, does there have to be a special reason for me to call you?”
“There does not have to be, but I hear a tone in your voice that tells me there is a reason. Something important perhaps?”
Her mother’s surprise intuition tugged at her already tumultuous emotions.
“I am pregnant. With twins.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had even had a chance to respond to the pleasantries with her mom.
So much for the long speech Erika had outlined and perfected. Glancing down at the piece of paper in front of her, she noted that her talking points were basically for show. There was no going back now.
Silence fell from the other end of the receiver for what seemed like an eternity.
“Mother?” she asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
“Twins, Erika? Are you certain?”
She nodded, as if her mother could see. “Yes, Mother. I’m certain. I went to the doctor two days ago and heard the two distinct heartbeats with my own ears. The tradition of twins lives o
n in the Mitras family.”
“Who is the father?” Her mother’s interest pressed into the phone.
“Gervais Reynaud, the American football team owner—” she began, but her mother interrupted.
“A son of the Reynaud shipping empire? And Zephyr Cruise Ships? What an excellent match, Erika. American royalty. The press will love this.”
“Right, but, Mother, I wanted to—”
“Oh, darling, have you considered what this could mean for the family? If you have boys, well...the royal line lives on. This is wonderful, my love. Hold on, let me get your father.”
Rustling papers and some yelling came through over the phone. Erika’s stomach knotted.
“Your father is on speakerphone. Tell him your news, my love.” Her mother cooed into the phone, focused on all the wrong things.
“I’m going to have twins, Father. And I’m just—”
“Twins? Do you know what this means? You could have a boy. Maybe two.”
Erika nodded dully into the phone, the voices of her parents feeling distant. As if they belonged in someone else’s life. The way they had when she was a child. The image of the royal family always seemed more important than the actual well-being of the family itself.
They weren’t interested in hearing what she had to say but were already strategizing how to best monetize this opportunity. The press was about to have an all-access pass to her life before she even knew how she was going to proceed.
“Mother, Father,” she said, interrupting their chatter, “I’ve had quite the morning already.” They didn’t need to know how much it taxed a woman to daydream about Gervais just when he’d decided to pull back. “Do you mind if I call you later, after I’ve rested?”
Tears burned her eyes for a variety of reasons that shouldn’t make her cry. Pregnancy hormones were pure evil.
“Of course not, my love.”
“Not at all, my dear,” her father said. “You need your rest if you are going to raise the future of the royal line. Sleep well.”
And just like that, they were gone, leaving her cell phone quiet as the screen went dark. They had disconnected from the call as abruptly as they often did from her life, leaving her all alone to contend with the biggest challenge she’d ever faced.
* * *
“Well, we’re surprised to see you so early, that’s all,” Dempsey said from a weight bench, his leg propped up on a stool. He pressed around his knee, fidgeting with the brace. An old injury that had cost him his college football career. It was flaring up again. Most days, it didn’t bother him. But then there were days like today.
Gervais understood Dempsey’s position. He’d been sidelined from the field, as well. One too many concussions. But quite frankly, he enjoyed the business side of owning the Hurricanes.
There were new challenges, new ways of looking at the game and new styles of offense to develop as players came up stronger and faster than ever before. And he was still involved in football, which had been his ultimate goal anyway. This had just been another way to get at the same prize.
As an owner, he would not only strategize how to field the best possible team, he would also make the Hurricanes the most profitable team in the league. Corporate sponsorships were on track to meet that goal in three years, but Gervais had plans that could shorten that window to two. Maybe even eighteen months. The franchise thrived and the city along with it.
“I’m not sure what you two find so fascinating about my night out with Erika.” Gervais curled the dumbbells, sweat starting to form on his brow as they worked out in a private facility within the team’s training building.
The team lifted in a massive room downstairs, but Gervais had added a more streamlined space upstairs near the front offices.
“We just want to know what’s going on in your life. With the baby. And you,” Henri, their father’s favorite, added. Theo had high hopes that Henri would one day wear a Super Bowl ring for the Hurricanes and continue in the old man’s footsteps as a hometown hero.
The whole family was here, with the exception of their father and their brother Jean-Pierre, who played for a rival team in New York and didn’t get to Louisiana much during the season.
And while Henri technically worked out with the team, he never minded putting in some extra hours in the upstairs training center to try to show up his older brothers in the weight room.
“That offer still stands, by the way, if you want it to,” Henri said, his voice low enough so only Gervais could hear. Gervais knew that things had been hard for Henri and his wife since they hadn’t been able to conceive. It affected everything in their marriage. But Gervais wasn’t about to give them his unborn children. He wanted to raise them, to be an active part of their lives. To be the opposite of their father.
“Hey now, secrets don’t make friends,” Dempsey snapped, his face hard. Henri rolled his eyes but nodded anyway.
“So, Pops—” Dempsey shot him an amused grin “—have you decided what you are going to do?”
“Yeah, how are you going to handle fatherhood in the public eye with a princess?” Henri teased, huffing out pull-ups on a raised bar.
“I told you both, I’m taking care of my children.” And Erika, he added silently. His main goal as they got ready for the game in St. Louis was to show her that they could be together. That they were great together. An unconventional family that could beat the odds. He was prepared to romance her like no other. And he might have shared that with Henri and Dempsey, if not for the man that rounded the corner, stopping in the entrance to the weight room.
From the door frame, a familiar booming drawl. Theo. “I’m here to meet the mother of my first grandchild.”
Eight
As the limo driver faded from view, Erika sped into the Hurricanes’ office building. She moved as fast as her legs would carry her, feeling less like royalty and more like a woman on a mission.
Twenty minutes ago, Gervais had called her. Urgency flooded his voice. He needed her in the office stat.
Pushing the heavy glass door open, she took a deep breath, feeling ever so slightly winded. The humidity was something she had yet to fully adjust to, and even small stints outside left her vaguely breathless. The rush of the cool air-conditioning filled her lungs as she crossed the threshold, a welcome chill after the New Orleans steam bath. Striding beneath the black-and-gold team banners hanging overhead, she struggled to figure out what was wrong that he needed her here.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she made it to the second floor and hung a right. Headed straight for the glass wall and door with an etched Hurricanes logo.
The secretary smiled warmly at her from her desk. Adjusting her glasses, she stood. “Princess Erika, Mr. Reynaud is expecting you—”
Extending a manicured hand, she gestured to another door and Erika didn’t wait for her to finish. Hurrying forward, she reached the polished double doors made of a dark wood. And heavy. She gave one side a shove, practically falling into the huge office of the team owner.
Currently an empty room.
Erika looked around, heart pounding with nerves. And, if she was being honest, disappointment.
Spinning on her heel, she practically ran into the secretary. Grace was not on her side today.
“My apologies, ma’am,” the secretary started in a quiet voice. “Mr. Reynaud will be back in a few minutes, but please make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything while you wait? We have water, soda, tea. And of course enough Gatorade to fill a stadium.”
“Thank you.” As the words left her lips, she settled down. Slightly. “I’m just fine, though.”
“Of course.” The secretary smiled, exiting the room and closing the door with a soft click.
So she was here. In his office without him. While not ideal, it did give her a chance to fe
el out what sort of man he was. At least in the business sense.
A bank of windows overlooked the practice field below, the lush green grass perfectly manicured with the white gridiron standing out in stark contrast. Silver bleachers glimmered all around the open-air facility with a retractable dome. Funny they didn’t have the stadium roof on today when it was so beastly hot outside, but perhaps the practice had been earlier in the day as there were no players in sight now.
Turning from the wall of windows, she paced around the office. She noted the orderly files, the perfectly straightened paper stacks on the massive mahogany desk. The rows of sticky notes by the phone. The walls were covered with team photos and awards, framed press clippings and a couple of leather footballs behind glass cases. The place was squared away. Tight.
Not too different from the way she kept her own living quarters, either. Impersonal. Spit-shined for show. They might not have done a lot of talking in London, but clearly they had gravitated toward each other for reasons beyond the obvious. After last night she felt as if they had more in common than they realized.
A tightness worked in her chest. So desperately did she want to trust him now that they found themselves preparing to be parents together. But trust came at a high cost. It wasn’t a commodity she candidly bestowed. It was earned—her most guarded asset. Years of being royalty had taught her to be suspicious.
Shoving her past aside, she approached a picture on the farthest corner of his desk. It was different than the rest. It seemed to have nothing to do with the Hurricanes. Or football, for that matter.
The photograph was faded, old—probably real film instead of digital. But she would have recognized him anyway. Gervais. His brothers. A woman. His mother, she assumed. But no Dempsey. Which struck her as odd.
She would have continued to stare at the picture as if it could give her the answers she was after if she didn’t hear a man clearing his throat behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder, through the blond strands of her hair. Gervais stood in the doorway. And he looked damn sexy.
He was disheveled. Not nearly as put together as his office. His hair was still wet from a shower, and his shirt was only half buttoned. For the quickest moment she had the urge to finish undoing it. To kiss him—and more.
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