Man...Mercenary...Monarch (Royally Wed)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  “Good morning,” she said. “We’re both awake before Jeremiah. That’s a first.”

  “Back up to the sad sigh,” John said. “What’s wrong, Laura?”

  “Nothing. I was just…just scolding myself for waking up earlier than I needed to, that’s all.”

  “Mmm,” he said, sliding his hand across her stomach. “I woke up, too, you realize. I think this is one of those unspoken message things.”

  “Oh?”

  Laura shivered as John moved his hand upward, slowly, tantalizingly, to find one of her breasts. He began to stroke the nipple in a steady, maddening rhythm.

  “Yep,” he said. “You know, like when you pass me the salt before I ask for it. Or when you turn on the radio to a country-western station just as I was about to get up and do it.”

  “Me?” Laura said, her breath catching as desire thrummed hotter and hotter in her body.

  “You know me better than I know myself at times, Laura. You anticipate my wants, my needs…which is why you woke early, then somehow told me that you were awake.”

  “Well, I…Well…John, I can’t think when you do what you’re doing.”

  John threw back the blankets and rolled on top of her.

  “Don’t think,” he said, close to her lips. “It’s against the law to think this early in the morning. Just feel. Just want…me.”

  “Oh, I do,” she said, sinking her hands into his thick hair. “I want you, John.” I love you, John Colton.

  He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, and passion exploded within them, consuming them instantly.

  Laura, John’s mind hammered. He would never get enough of her. Never. It was as though she’d become a part of him, his other half, her mere presence making him complete, whole.

  What did it all mean?

  Laura whimpered with need and all rational thought fled from John’s mind. He broke the kiss to move lower, drawing one of Laura’s breasts into his mouth, laving the nipple with his tongue.

  Laura’s hands fluttered restlessly over John’s broad back, soft fingertips dancing on taut muscles. She savored the sensations surging through her, the heat, the incredible heat, the feel of John’s powerful body pressed against her.

  Now. Please. John, please, she whispered in her mind. She wanted him. She needed him. Now.

  “John,” she said, her voice a near-sob.

  He raised his head to look directly into her smoky-green eyes, then nodded, his breathing rough.

  He left her only long enough to reach in the night-stand drawer for a foil packet, then moments later returned to enter her, filling her, groaning with masculine pleasure as she received all of him.

  The rocking rhythm began, slowly at first, then increasing in tempo, harder, faster. Ecstasy. Coils of heat tightened within them as they soared higher, anticipating the moment of exquisite release.

  “John!”

  “Laura, my Laura.”

  Rainbows, Laura thought, from a faraway place. There they were, the multitude of beautiful rainbows.

  They floated back like feathers caught in a gentle breeze, then settled, holding fast to each other.

  “Oh, my,” Laura whispered.

  John buried his face next to Laura’s head on the pillow, catching his weight on his forearms.

  “Mmm,” he said, his voice muffled. “Oh, yes.” He paused. “Let’s go back to sleep, then wake up and do this again.”

  “Mmm,” Laura said dreamily.

  “Dada. Mama,” Jeremiah yelled in the distance, then began to cry.

  John chuckled and raised his head. “So much for that great idea.”

  “Our master’s voice,” Laura said, smiling. “My sister claims that baby’s say dada and mama before they actually know the meaning. Those are just easy sounds for them to make. But if that’s true, then why does Jeremiah yell dada and mama when he wants to get up? Oh, well, the day has officially begun.”

  “To answer your mama-dada question, it’s because Jeremiah is a genius. And, no, the day began the moment I opened my eyes and saw you. You’re very nice to wake up to, Ms. Bishop.”

  “So are you, Mr. Colton,” she said. So are you, Prince James Wyndham of Wynborough. Darn it, where had that come from? John’s true identity and all the complexities it brought were still being kept outside the tightly locked door of the cabin.

  Jeremiah’s wail increased in volume.

  “He’s pitching a fit,” John said. “I’ll get him up while you shower and dress. Then you can finish feeding him his breakfast while I get decent.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Laura said.

  “We’re a good team.” John brushed his lips over hers. “In fact, there are a few things we are terrific at doing together, ma’am.”

  John moved off the bed, tugged on a pair of jeans, then headed for the bedroom door.

  “I’m hustling, Jeremiah,” he called. “Keep your wet diaper on, sport. I’m on my way.”

  Laura smiled, her heart nearly bursting with love for John and for the baby who was eagerly waiting for his daddy to appear.

  After breakfast, Laura cleaned the kitchen, then entered the living room just as John was closing the screen on the fire he had made in the hearth. Jeremiah was standing at the sofa, reaching for a ball on one of the cushions.

  “There we go,” John said, getting to his feet. “Toasty warm.”

  At the sound of his father’s voice, Jeremiah turned and extended one little hand toward John. In the next moment he lifted the other hand from the sofa and started forward tentatively.

  “Oh, my,” Laura said. “John, look. Jeremiah is taking his first steps alone.”

  John spun around, then dropped to one knee, holding out his arms to a teetering Jeremiah.

  “That’s my boy,” John said. “Come on. You can do it, sport.”

  One step. Two. Three.

  Jeremiah lost his balance and began to fall backwards. John leaned forward and scooped him up, rising in the process and hugging the baby.

  “Did you see that, Laura?” John said, beaming. “Jeremiah walked. He did it!”

  Laura smiled and nodded, unable to speak as tears filled her eyes and closed her throat.

  “Man, what a terrific thing to witness,” John said, his hold on the baby tightening. “His first steps. I…Whew.” He shook his head as his emotions swamped him.

  Laura crossed the room and patted Jeremiah gently on the back.

  “What a big boy you are,” she said, tears still shimmering in her eyes. “I’ll never forget this moment. Never.”

  Jeremiah began to wiggle, protesting the restricting hold his father had on him. John walked to the playpen and placed Jeremiah among the toys. He stared at his son, then turned to meet Laura’s gaze.

  “It’s really hitting me,” he said, his voice raspy, “that I might never have known that Jeremiah existed. That’s a…a terrifying thought, Laura.

  “We just saw him take his first steps. Think of all the firsts he has yet to discover as he grows up. I could have been in a stinking jungle halfway around the globe, not even aware that I had a son.”

  “Don’t dwell on that, John,” Laura said, her voice trembling. “You’re here with Jeremiah now, and you’ll be with him until he’s grown and ready to take on the adventures waiting for him as a man. You’re together, just as you should be. You’ll see all his…his firsts.”

  But she wouldn’t, she thought, struggling against more threatening tears. She would be gone. When reality pounded on the door of the cabin too loudly to be ignored, the magical world she was living in within those walls would be over. Her rainbow wish would be shattered into a million pieces.

  John went to the hearth and stared into the leaping flames, his hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. A heavy silence fell over the room.

  Laura sank onto the sofa, her gaze on John’s broad back, wondering what he was thinking. Jeremiah played quietly in the playpen.

  Seconds ticked into minutes.

  �
��Do you think,” John said finally, his voice low and gritty, “that the Wyndhams saw me take my first steps before…before they believed I…I was dead?”

  “Oh, John,” Laura said, a sob catching in her throat.

  He pulled his hands free of his pockets and turned to look at her, raw pain radiating in the depths of his blue eyes.

  “My, God, Laura,” he said, “the agony those people went through, the horror. What if Jeremiah was suddenly ripped out of our lives, just disappeared? What if we didn’t know where he was, or what was happening to him? Then the word comes that he’s dead. He no longer exists. He’s gone…forever.”

  “No,” Laura whispered. Two tears spilled onto her cheeks and she dashed them away with shaking fingertips. “Oh, no, no.”

  “That’s what they suffered through…the Wyndhams,” John went on. “Because I have Jeremiah, I’m beginning to understand what they endured.”

  He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, willing his raging emotions under control, then he looked at Laura again.

  “And now?” he said. “They’ve discovered that their son isn’t dead. He’s alive, a man grown, a living, breathing entity. James, their son, is alive.”

  “Yes,” Laura said, crying openly, “you are alive. They need to see you, touch you, hear your voice, drink in the very essence of you.”

  “Yes.” John shifted his gaze to Jeremiah. “But…” He shook his head.

  Laura took a shuddering breath. “But…what?”

  John met her gaze again. “I’m their son in the biological sense, Laura, but I’m not Prince James Wyndham of Wynborough. I’m John Colton of…of nowhere. I understand now, I truly do, their need to see me, but I can’t be for them what they’ll be expecting me to be.”

  “You can’t possibly know what their expectations might be.”

  “Come on, Laura, get real,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m the only son, the heir to the throne or whatever. Hell, do you honestly believe their minds haven’t jumped into fast forward, envisioning me as part of the royal family, performing in the role of a damnable prince?”

  “I don’t know what they’re thinking,” Laura said, flinging out her arms, “beyond the pure, heart-felt joy of realizing that you’re alive.

  “Oh, John, can’t you just agree to meet the Wyndhams so they can see you with their own eyes?”

  “I have to protect my son,” John yelled. “Jeremiah is their biological grandson. What if they attempt to stake a legal claim on him? They have the power and the money and…No, he’s mine. Jeremiah doesn’t belong to anyone but me.”

  Pain sliced through Laura like the blade of a hot, sharp knife. She wrapped her hands around her elbows and leaned her head on the top of the sofa, closing her eyes.

  Jeremiah doesn’t belong to anyone but me, her mind echoed. All those things that John had said meant nothing. We just saw him take his first steps. What if Jeremiah was suddenly ripped out of our lives? What if we didn’t know where he was?

  We. Our.

  Jeremiah doesn’t belong to anyone but me.

  Reality had intruded with all its stark, cold truths, Laura thought miserably. The door to the cabin had been battered down.

  She raised her head and looked at John, feeling as though her heart was breaking.

  “No one can take your son from you, John,” she said quietly. “You and Jeremiah will make a life together wherever you choose it to be. You’ll be a family, the two of you, and it will be up to you who will be included in your lives.”

  She got to her feet, praying her trembling legs would support her.

  “You’ll realize you have nothing to fear from the Wyndhams once you calm down and think about it,” she said. “Now I need to get something out of the freezer to defrost for dinner.”

  Laura hurried from the room.

  John frowned as he watched Laura disappear from his view.

  Was Laura upset? he wondered. She seemed tense all of a sudden. Yeah, well, who could blame her? She was probably fed up with his neurotic fears about the Wyndhams possibly staking a claim on Jeremiah, his reluctance to meet his birth parents while at the same time realizing how much they needed to see him, and on the list went.

  John slouched onto the sofa, then visually followed the flying path of a red block that came sailing out of the playpen, accompanied by Jeremiah’s chortle.

  It was all closing in on him, John thought. All that was waiting for him beyond this cabin was demanding its due. This idyllic week with Laura and Jeremiah was coming rapidly to an end.

  Damn.

  It had been good, more than good. It had been wonderful. Just Laura and his son, living, laughing, loving. The three of them had been a…a family, during these stolen hours. A family in which he really belonged, was accepted just as he was.

  But it was all a fantasy encased in a bubble that was about to burst.

  Laura was ready for this cooped-up existence to be over, that was for sure. She’d laid it all out, how he and Jeremiah would be together, just the two of them, wherever he chose to establish a home.

  He could have sworn that Laura had been happy during the days…and nights…they’d shared here. So, okay, maybe she had been content, but it was because she knew it was temporary. They’d been acting out roles…father, mother, baby. A family.

  And he’d liked it.

  Hell, he’d more than liked it. It had been as close to perfection as life could get. Waking up each morning next to Laura, tending to Jeremiah with her during the day, making love with her in the darkness of night—fantastic, all of it.

  But it was about to be over.

  John leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees and rested steepled fingers against his lips.

  Laura was going to walk out of his life, he thought, frowning deeply. The Wyndhams were going to put in an appearance at The Rocking C, no doubt about it. They’d either tell Laura to report back to duty on the island of Wynborough, or release her from her position and send her on her way.

  She’d be gone.

  He’d never see Laura Bishop again.

  He’d never hold her, kiss her, hear her whisper his name in the heat of passion, never again see her smile as she played with Jeremiah.

  Damn, he would miss her. The mere thought of her not being by his side was causing a chill to course through him. There would be a void, an emptiness, in his life with nothing—no one—to fill it.

  Whoa, Colton, John told himself. Get a grip. He was sounding like some sappy guy who was head over heels in love, for crying out loud. Ridiculous. He wasn’t in love with Laura. No way. Sure, he cared for her, very, very much, but love? Not him.

  No, he was a loner. Always had been, always would be. He’d shifted emotional gears to make room for Jeremiah in his life, but that was as far as he went.

  He’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of this past week, that was all. But it was exactly that…a fantasy. There were no everyday pressures of jobs, and bills, and whose turn it was to give the kid a bath at the end of a long, grueling day.

  It had all been a play, and the curtain was coming down on the final act.

  Laura would leave, get on with her life. He would make decisions regarding his future plans with Jeremiah. That would be that.

  “Mama,” Jeremiah called from the playpen. “Mama.”

  “She’s in the kitchen, sport,” John said quietly, looking over at the baby.

  But she wouldn’t be for long. Very soon now they’d have to leave this cabin, close the door on the empty rooms and forget it. Forget everything that had transpired within these walls.

  He could—would—do that.

  No problem.

  Right?

  “Right,” John said, getting to his feet.

  “Rii,” Jeremiah said merrily. “Rii, rii.”

  John chuckled as the baby attempted to repeat what his daddy had said, then spun around as a knock sounded at the cabin door.

  Go away, he mentally yelled. Whoever you are, just pa
ck it up and go away. You’re not welcome here. Not yet. Damn it, not yet!

  The knock was repeated.

  Man, he was losing it, he thought, crossing the room. It was probably Betty. Hey, maybe she was delivering some hot-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls.

  John opened the door and felt a cold fist tighten in his gut.

  “Mitch,” he said.

  “Hey, little brother,” Mitch said, smiling. “Long time, no see. Welcome home.” He paused. “May I come in?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” John stepped back so Mitch could enter the cabin, then closed the door. “It’s good to see you, Mitch.”

  The brothers shook hands, then exchanged a quick, male hug that included punches on arms. Mitch shrugged out of his jacket, set it on the back of the sofa, then balanced his Stetson on the top of the coat.

  “A hell of a lot has happened since the last time we were together, wouldn’t you say?” Mitch said. “It’s almost unbelievable.”

  “No joke,” John said, dragging one hand through his hair. “That’s the word for it, all right.”

  “Dada,” Jeremiah yelled, pulling himself up to stand in the playpen. “Up.”

  “Hey, there’s my nephew.” Mitch crossed the room and lifted Jeremiah into his arms. “Hello there. I understand your name is Jeremiah. I’m your uncle Mitch. And you are a carbon-copy picture of your daddy.”

  John joined the pair and ruffled Jeremiah’s hair.

  “He took his first steps alone this morning,” John said. “Laura and I saw him do it. It was awesome.”

  “He’s a fine-looking boy, John,” Mitch said, “and you’re obviously a proud father. Man, I can hardly wait until our baby is born.”

  “Congratulations on getting married, and expecting a baby and the whole bit,” John said. “You, I can picture as a natural father. Me? I’m still winging it with Laura’s help.”

  “Where is Laura?” Mitch said, as Jeremiah tweaked his nose.

  “I’m here,” Laura said quietly, stepping into the living room. “I’m delighted to see you again, Mitch,” she added, producing a small smile.

  No, she wasn’t, she thought. She wanted him to go back out that door and take reality with him, to allow her to restore the rainbow fantasy within these walls to what it had been. But it was too late for that. Too late.