The Princess Is Pregnant!

by Laurie Paige

  “I don’t think I’m going to let you go, selky,” he murmured lazily, his gaze narrowed as he studied her. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to.”

  His soft laughter confused and thrilled her. Breathing deeply, she tried to control the hunger that roamed her blood and lit fires at unexpected spots throughout her body. She almost moaned with the force of it.

  “Do you want me half as much as I want you?” he continued in a thoughtful vein.

  She glanced at him, startled.

  “Ah, yes,” he said in a near whisper.

  The leaping flames became the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. She kept her eyes on the fireplace as if her life depended on its heat.

  “Would you have come out into the storm had I not returned to your light when I did?” he asked, running his foot along her thigh.

  “You could have gotten lost. Or fallen. The ridge is considered dangerous for hikers in the best of weather.”

  “So it is,” he agreed, his eyes never leaving her.

  Clenching her hands together, she desperately tried to think of another topic. “I wonder who sold our news to the original tabloid who printed the first story.”

  “Your maid.”

  “I thought so, but the tabloid would have known it was me in that case.”

  “Unless she was scared to give a name that could be traced to her.”

  “The final story broke before she could have known, but it must have been someone in the palace who overheard us or my sisters and I discussing the problem.”

  He looked mildly surprised. “You’ve discussed the pregnancy with your sisters?”

  “Not exactly, but Meredith knew something was going on between us. She, uh, arrived at some of the truth.”

  “You didn’t simply deny everything?”

  She met his gaze squarely. “No. I find it hard to outright lie, and Meredith knows me too well to believe a lie, anyway.”

  His feet continued with their wayward caresses as they speculated on the palace leaks. She couldn’t summon the words or the will to stop him. As he’d noted, they were already paying the consequences of their foolish actions. Another night couldn’t change the future.

  Quickly, as if her longing might give her away, she rose from the sofa and stood in front of the fire.

  Jean-Paul came to her. “What ails you, fair selky?”

  “Us. Being alone. Everything,” she confessed with a laugh that wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking she was happy at the moment.

  “I know,” he whispered, moving closer. “It’s confusing to be tugged one way by hunger, and another by common sense. I have a suggestion.”

  She looked questioningly at him.

  “Let’s pretend for tonight that there is no past or future to worry about, that no ties of blood or loyalty come between us, that you are not a royal and I am not of the peerage of another country.”

  “What would we be?”

  “A man and a woman who have met and loved. Who are together after a long separation not of their choosing.”

  “A fairy tale.” She clenched her hands on the mantel above the hearth and wished with all her heart it could be true.

  “We can pretend that the only bonds that bind us are those that we choose, that we have chosen each other to love and that it will last for all time.”

  When she opened her mouth, he laid a finger over her lips and shook his head.

  “For one night,” he requested softly. “One night, selky. Will you not give me this before you return to the sea and your destiny there?”

  She closed her eyes as pain rent her soul. “I want to,” she admitted. “So very much.”

  “Then come. Take my hand.”

  Still she hesitated.

  “Choose me,” he urged softly. “Choose me, selky. As I do you.”

  Unable to resist no matter what sorrow the next day might bring, she slowly stretched out her hand. He didn’t move. She laid her hand in his and swayed toward him as her legs suddenly grew weak.

  He caught her to his chest. “You’re mine now.”

  “For tonight.”

  His eyes glittered with a determined light. “Perhaps,” was all he said, then he swept her up, took two steps and laid her on the sofa. “Perhaps you’ll want to stay,” he said mysteriously as he bent to kiss her.

  All else was drowned in the tumult of their kiss, and Megan forgot the enigmatic words.

  She touched him desperately, wanting nothing between them. “Take it off,” she said impatiently and tugged at his sweatshirt.

  He stripped it over his head and tossed it aside. His hands then slid under her top and pushed it out of the way. With quiet laughter, he nipped at her breasts until they were tighter than a new rosebud.

  Tugging the fleecy garment over her head, she tossed it to the floor next to his, then ran her hands all over his powerful torso, loving the feel of his skin and bone and muscle, loving his touch, loving everything they did…loving…him?

  Opening her eyes in alarm, she stared into eyes that were icy blue and hot with the flames of their mutual desire. His gaze trapped her, held her transfixed.

  “If you’re thinking of running, you’ll not get away,” he told her fiercely. “Not tonight.”

  “I couldn’t go,” she confessed. “I want you too much.”

  He watched her another moment, then he threw back his head and laughed. From that point, their lovemaking changed, becoming more playful but not less serious. She felt the passion in him, but also the absence of a tension that had been present.

  Had he really thought she could go?

  Sighing, she did as he bid and took everything he gave—and he was generous and considerate of her needs—and tried to give back all that he wanted from her.

  When kisses were no longer enough, he rose and stripped the rest of their clothing away, built up the fire once more, then returned to her. Lying over her, his weight on his elbows, he instilled a sense of protection and caring in her that she’d never known with another, as if his spirit watched out after hers.

  “It’s odd,” she murmured, laving kisses along his neck, “to find this…this fire…the wonder of it. It burns me to ashes, but doesn’t hurt. Except for a little, deep inside somewhere. I can’t explain…”

  He caught her face between his strong, gentle hands. “I know, selky. I know this fire.”

  Content that he felt it, too, she gave herself to the hunger and the passion of the moment. The wildness of the storm couldn’t penetrate the sweet cocoon of bliss that enveloped her or compete with the tempest that raged between them as he rose slightly, then joined them as one.

  “So perfect,” she said on a rapturous sigh. “How can it be so perfect?”

  “Because,” he said urgently. “Because it is.”

  For some reason, she understood completely.

  Friday morning Megan woke in her lover’s arms for the second time. They were on the sofa, a down comforter over them. The fire had burned to ashes and the lodge was cold.

  Jean-Paul’s eyes were open and on her when she lifted her head. Pushing her hair back, she smiled when he did.

  “Did it snow last night?” he asked in amusement.

  “It’s cold for June,” she agreed, shivering until he pulled the cover over her shoulder and tucked her against his side again.

  He chuckled. “This weather would be cold for January, I think. Stay put.”

  She watched him rise and don the green sweatsuit before adding paper and kindling to the fireplace. The paper caught from the embers and soon a merry little flame was growing. He went outside and brought in an armload of wood, added it to the fire, then made three more trips to insure a good supply to heat the great room.

  “I’ll make breakfast,” she volunteered.

  “I will.”

  “You did it yesterday.”

  “Let the room warm up first then. I’ll put on the coffee.” He strode to the kitchen.

  While he was busy, she made
a dash for the bathroom. There, she decided to take a quick shower. Goose bumps appeared all over her as she undressed and stepped into the warm flow of water. Ahh, that felt better.

  She’d just finished rinsing her hair when she heard the door open and a cool breeze swirl through the steam.

  “Mind if I join you?” Jean-Paul asked, then did so without waiting for a reply.

  Before she hardly knew what was happening, his hands were on her waist and his lips had found hers. While he kissed her, he soaped his hands then rubbed them all over her back and down her hips.

  Megan couldn’t breathe as slowly he traveled up her sides to her armpits. He lifted his head and drew back slightly, his eyes dark and sexy as he covered her breasts and drew whirls of lather over each one.

  After lathering her hands, she rubbed them over his chest and along his lean waist and down his hips to his thighs. She used the soap again and slowly gathered his erection into her hands and laved him there.

  “Enough,” he muttered after a few seconds.

  Catching her hands, he brought them to his shoulders and held her close once more. Gently he washed her, then quickly washed himself. He dried them off on a huge bath towel, then used the blow dryer on her hair and his.

  Finished, he handed her clean sweats, light blue in color, from her duffel, and slipped into the green ones he’d put on for only a few minutes the previous night.

  “The coffee should be ready,” he said huskily when they emerged from the steamy bathroom. “There’re frozen waffles in the freezer. How about some of those?”

  She nodded, trying not to notice how he filled out the sweats. His quiet laughter brought her eyes to his.

  “A man has a hard time concealing his needs,” he admitted. “Women are able to be more discreet.”

  She put waffles into the toaster. “I thought, after last night, I mean…”

  He poured them each a cup of coffee. “Once is not enough.”

  “Huh. What about twice?” she demanded, reminding him that the night had been deliciously long and ardent.

  Cocking his head at a challenging angle, he said, “The third time should be the charm. Shall we find out?”

  She held up both hands in defense. “Not until I’ve had breakfast.”

  His grin warmed her clear through. She’d never teased with a lover before, had never played these kinds of games. Love play was quite exciting, she found, in all its forms.

  The waffles popped up. He buttered hers and his, then poured two glasses of milk. “Ready,” he said.

  They carried their plates to the sofa and sat on the hearth rug. He brought over maple syrup. Megan felt they dwelt inside a warm cocoon of enchantment as they ate in front of the friendly crackle of the fire.

  The silence that lapsed between them didn’t feel at all awkward, merely companionable, as if they’d done this often, as if they’d been lovers forever and were content in each other’s company.

  “It’s nice—” She stopped, not sure he would share her sentiments.

  “It is.” He reached over and caressed her bottom lip, then sucked the drop of syrup off his thumb. “Just us, with the world far away so it can’t intrude.”

  Happiness bubbled in her at the contentment in his eyes. She could grow used to this sweet intimacy with him. Fear darkened the bubble of joy.

  “What makes you so thoughtful, fair selky?” he demanded, turning her face with a finger under her chin when she gazed into the fire. “I’m jealous,” he continued softly. “I want all your thoughts this morning.”

  She summoned a smile. “I was thinking of you. Of us.” But she wouldn’t tell him of her suspected feelings nor the fears thus generated—that he didn’t, couldn’t, return those feelings.

  Making love with her was a novelty to him, different because she was different from his usual lover, but newness wore off. What would take its place?

  No answer came to her.

  “You’re sad,” he said with unexpected insight.

  “No. Not really,” she amended when he raised a skeptical eyebrow. She sighed, already sensing the nostalgia of missing him when he was gone. “I was wondering if it’s better to take what’s before one, no matter the cost, or if, by rejecting bliss, one is able to avoid the loss and the pain that would come later.”

  “When the bliss is gone?”

  “Yes.”

  Instead of laughing at her whimsical question, he appeared in deep thought. Finally he gave her a level glance. “I would never have given up our time together, even knowing I’d suffer hell forever after.”

  Her heart throbbed painfully. “But why?” she whispered.

  He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is.”

  Running his hand into her hair, he cupped her head and brought her mouth to his. The kiss was deep, exquisitely gentle and sweet. She closed her eyes and gave herself to the embrace, ignoring the odd desire to weep.

  Falling in love was as new an experience for her as making love. Real or imagined, both played havoc with her emotions. Or perhaps it was carrying his child that did that.

  “It’s so confusing,” she murmured when he released her mouth but continued to run his thumb along her jaw.

  “What is?”

  “This. Us.” She gestured helplessly.

  “Then we need to continue until we totally understand everything.” His tone was mocking but his manner was moody, thoughtful and enigmatic.

  She wanted to ask what things he thought they should comprehend, but he didn’t give her time. Clearing a space around them and laying her on the down comforter, he made love to her again. It was as wild and magical as the night had been.

  Jean-Paul watched Megan busy herself about the place. She washed his wet sweats from his sojourn in the storm last night, plus their other clothing and towels. He smiled as she became quite domesticated with a feather duster or vacuum cleaner in her hands.

  But he knew her real nature. She was as untamed as the mythic selky he accused her of being.

  Smiling, he waited until she’d folded the dried items—a washer and dryer had been hidden behind folding doors next to a linen closet—then he turned the tape player on. Soft music filled the room. He bowed to her and held out his arms in invitation.

  Without hesitation, she walked into them.

  They danced for an hour, moving slowly, sinuously to the music as if they were one. She followed his steps easily, something he recalled she’d done at her older sister’s birthday ball.

  Odd that he remembered so much about her and that night. Had it been an omen of things to come?

  “You’re smiling,” she accused.

  “I was thinking of the first time we danced.”

  “At Meredith’s birthday ball.”

  “Ah, so you remember, too.” That pleased him, but it also made him wonder at the nuances between them.

  She stopped moving abruptly. “The sun,” she said. “Look, the sun.”

  Going to the window, he stood behind her while the clouds parted and sunshine bathed the mountains in gold and caused sparkles to dance on the sea.

  “The world looks new, all clean and fresh and lovely,” she said, quiet happiness in her voice.

  He looked at her beautiful face. “Yes,” he agreed huskily and felt a heaviness inside. He knew what was coming.

  In midafternoon, the familiar sound of an approaching helicopter confirmed his premonition. They were being rescued from their mountain aerie.

  Duke Carson Logan didn’t accompany his men this time. The captain saluted smartly when Jean-Paul went out to greet the officer. “Ready to return, sir?”

  “Yes.” He smiled grimly, knowing the queen would expect some resolution between him and her daughter. He would have to tell Her Royal Majesty that they hadn’t gotten around to discussing the future. There had been too many other things claiming their attention.

  His blood stirred lustily.

  Shaking his head at this sign of unabated hunger, he went to collect Megan for th
eir return to reality. “It’s time,” he said.

  “I know.” She hesitated, then gazed at him levelly. “Thank you for making things pleasant.”

  He questioned her with his eyes as he gathered the two duffels.

  “Some men would have greatly resented being abducted and forced to endure hours trapped in a mountain lodge. It could have been very uncomfortable…”

  Her voice trailed off as he smiled. “I can think of no better way to wait out a storm. I hope we can do it again.”

  He liked the pink that highlighted her cheeks and the way she returned his smile in her candid way. A treasure, his selky was, he decided. Their two days at the lodge had been very enjoyable, beyond any he’d ever known.

  “Your Royal Highness,” the captain said with a crisp bow to Megan when they went outside. He took the bags from Jean-Paul and stored them in the rear area while a soldier helped Megan aboard.

  When they were all belted in, the chopper lifted above the peaks and turned south. In little more than thirty minutes, he and the royal princess were back at the palace.

  “The queen wishes to see you,” Candy reported as soon as they were in the family residence. She gave the couple a quick perusal, then stared at the floor.

  “I’ll change and go at once,” Megan said. She paused at her door and looked at him.

  “I’ll go, too. Wait for me?” he asked.

  She nodded, then disappeared inside her chambers.

  Jean-Paul quickly changed to formal day wear, which was the diplomatic uniform of his country. Stopping by Megan’s rooms, he found her ready in a day outfit of soft pink.

  “You’re more beautiful than a rose,” he whispered before they reached the queen’s door.

  They were admitted at once by a maid, who quickly disappeared when they were inside the parlor. Tea was ready on a wheeled cart. Queen Marissa bustled in.

  He bowed while Megan dropped into a curtsy.

  “You’re here. Good.” The queen stripped formal gloves from her hands and tossed them on a table along with a hat that matched her royal blue shantung suit. “Megan, would you serve the tea while I wash up?”

  She disappeared into the bedroom. Jean-Paul gave Megan a quick assessment as she took her place behind the tea cart. Her face was impassive, as if no emotion existed within her slight frame.