Royals: For Their Royal Heir: An Heir Fit for a King / The Pregnant Princess / The Prince's Secret Baby (Mills & Boon M&B)

by Abby Green

  She gave a high, smothered cry as the shock reverberated through her system, and though she wouldn’t remember it later, her back arched and her hands came up to plunge into his thick hair and hold him closer. Her fingers flexed and kneaded his scalp and he dragged one hand away from her back to begin working at the buttons of her blouse until he’d freed enough that he could pull the fabric aside and lift her breast free of her bra.

  His mouth on her bare flesh was yet another shocking wonder. How could she have forgotten this? Logical thought receded and she gave herself to the hot magic flowing between them, her knees giving way so that she sank to the thick carpet, pulling him down as she went. Within minutes, they were sprawled in a needy tangle of limbs struggling to remove clothing even as they explored newly bared skin.

  When he had removed the bikini panties that still fit beneath the bulge of her belly, Rafe sat back on his heels for a long moment, studying the changes in her form since the last time they’d been together. Under his intense scrutiny she blushed, raising a knee and covering her breasts with her arms.

  He gave a quiet chuckle, then stretched his length beside her, propping himself on an elbow and laying a hot, hairy leg over hers, gently but inexorably tugging until she relaxed her arms from their defensive posture. Bending his head, he touched a light kiss to the crest of the nearest breast.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said almost reverently. “Before, in the dark, I wished I could see you better.” He placed his open palm at her throat and slowly smoothed it in a long, slow glide down the midline of her body, dragging it through the valley between her breasts, down past her navel and finally stopping when his big palm covered the place where their child was sheltered.

  She raised her own hands to his broad, bare shoulders, exploring the muscular flesh with gentle fingers, running her hands up to cradle his stubbled jaw, marveling at the differences in a man’s body. Oh, she was no naive schoolgirl. She knew a lot about what happened between men and women, courtesy of many gossipy, giggly late-night sessions with the girlfriends her parents made sure were a part of their daughters’ lives.

  And she’d had that one wondrous, magical night with Rafe…when everything had seemed dusted with magic and moonlight, and her inhibitions had slipped away into the shadows under his expert handling.

  He leaned over her then, kissing her deeply, caressing her silky skin until she was arching against him, small whimpers escaping each time his hand ventured into sensitive territory. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think. She only wanted to feel, to savor every brush of his fingers, every inch of his body against hers.

  His hand slipped lower and lower over her belly and into the warm thatch of curls below, and she gave a strangled cry of shock as he deliberately pushed on. One long finger slid between her soft folds, spreading the moisture he found there in ever-widening circles until her nails were digging into his shoulders and she tugged at his lean hips, trying to drag him closer.

  He answered her wordless plea with his body, moving atop her and settling himself in the space she willingly made between her thighs. She could feel him, throbbing and silky against her belly and she slipped a hand between them, needing to feel the proof of his desire for her. He groaned as she cupped him and his hips thrust involuntarily at her, then he captured her hand and kissed her fingers before anchoring both hands above her head with his own.

  Slowing, he drew back, allowing his heavy flesh to find its home between her thighs, nudging at her gently but insistently until the slick channel he’d prepared for himself opened. He thrust forward in one strong stroke then, pushing into her in the ultimate joining while he kissed her again and again, hard, stinging kisses that spoke more clearly than words of the control he was exerting. She wriggled beneath him to lodge him even more firmly in place, then rocked her hips lightly, savoring the slippery movement of flesh in flesh.

  Looking up at his chiseled features, she felt her heart swell with love. It was ridiculous to deny it. Oh, she might never tell Rafe, but it was silly to pretend she didn’t love him, had begun to lose her heart when their eyes had met across a ballroom. She’d loved him since that night, the one night he’d been all hers without any of this baggage between them muddying feelings and relationships.

  He kissed her again as if he would never stop, and she closed her eyes, wanting to impress every memory into her mind, to save these precious moments for the long, lonely days that she feared were ahead. She didn’t know what the rest of her life might hold; she only knew that Rafe wouldn’t be there, and she doubted she’d ever feel about another man the way she felt about him. It had happened for her parents—mutual, instantaneous love that defied social class and expectations, and she’d been raised to respect the sacred joining of two souls. Marriage shouldn’t happen unless there was love between the parties involved.

  Rafe drew back, then pushed forward again, and the sensations his body produced where he moved within and over her were so exquisite that she couldn’t prevent the soft sound of need that escaped.

  “I thought of you.” His voice was a rough confession in her ear. “So many times, I nearly hopped on a plane and came to find you.”

  It was the first time she’d had any indication that he might have been as affected by their night of lovemaking as she had been, and it was the most powerful aphrodisiac she’d ever known.

  “I wish you had,” she whispered. Then she shifted her legs higher, clasping his lean waist, and gave herself to the moment. As he began to move heavily against her, she turned her face into his chest and moved in counterpoint, meeting his thrusts. He unclasped her wrists and drew his hand down to brace himself, and she laid her palms over the smooth muscles of his shoulders, feeling the heat and sweat, feeling a throbbing tension drawing taut at the point where his body slammed into her over and over. She’d noticed an increased sensitivity in her breasts and other places as her pregnancy progressed, and the rhythmic thrusting was quickly more than she could take.

  With an incoherent cry, she convulsed in his arms, writhing as climax ripped through her. Rafe followed almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her and she wrapped her arms around him, dimly feeling the pulses of his own release flooding warmly within her, awareness slowly returning as ecstasy receded into a lethargic satisfaction.

  She yawned against his chest and felt a chuckle rumble through him. He started to shift away, but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Stay.”

  “I’m planning to.” He lifted a hand and smoothed her hair back from her face, lingered over the curve of her cheek. “But I have to move. I don’t want to hurt you or the baby.”

  Reluctantly, she relaxed her grip, hating the moment when he pulled away from her, but nearly as quickly he slid to her side and shifted her so that he lay on his back with her cuddled against him. His arm was hard around her and the hair on his chest was tickling her nose. She’d never been so content in her entire life. Heaving a sigh that made him chuckle again, she closed her eyes and slipped into sleep, safe in his embrace.

  Two hours later, Rafe stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Quietly he walked through the bedroom, and, as the knock he’d been expecting sounded at the door, he quickly pulled it open before the man standing on the other side could knock again.

  “The things you requested, sir,” the valet said. The man pushed a garment cart with several bagged items hanging from it into the room, then efficiently dealt with the bags piled on its bottom rack. As Rafe watched, all kinds of toiletries and accessories appeared: a shaving kit, a selection of makeup, the ladies’ maternity underclothes he’d specified, perfume and men’s cologne and more, right down to a handbag and pretty, low-heeled sandals for his sleeping beauty.

  Rafe signed the bill the man discreetly presented, adding a generous tip before he ushered him out, closing the heavy door quietly. Elizabeth was still sleeping on the bed where he’d carried her after their lovemaking, and he suspected she needed a little
more rest before their evening began. She was going to be hard enough to handle when she found out what he had planned; no point in having her tired and cranky as well.

  He’d sworn he would never wind up like his parents, and now he was doing nearly the exact same thing.

  The bitter thought tore through his mind and he felt compelled to defend his decision. He was not doing the same thing his parents had done. Well, not exactly. His parents’ marriage had been a power deal and his mother hadn’t been pregnant at the time of the ceremony. Although it certainly hadn’t been long before she was.

  The thought boggled the mind. He couldn’t imagine two people less likely to indulge in hot, sweaty, draining but delightful bouts of sex than his parents. Victor and Sara were the least passionate people he’d ever met.

  Unless you were talking prestige or finances, he thought with a bitterness that hadn’t subsided over the years. His father lived to ingratiate himself with the royalty of every European nation that hadn’t gotten rid of the archaic idea of a ruling class. Anyone who dared to thwart Victor in one of his never-ending attempts to link himself with yet another royal name found out just how passionate he could get.

  As a child, Rafe had learned quickly that protocol and etiquette were the keys to success in his home. One didn’t run to one’s mother for a kiss upon her return from a trip, or cry over a skinned knee. His father’s favorite phrase, without doubt, was “stiff upper lip.”

  And Rafe was damned if his child was ever going to hear it.

  He pulled on the black evening trousers and slipped into the shirt, fastening the studs and adding the formal bow tie before working on the cuff links he’d had sent up with the other accessories. Then he crossed to the little writing desk in the living area and quickly penned a note for Elizabeth before slipping into new Italian leather shoes and the rest of his tux and letting himself out of the suite.

  He had a lot of things to do if he was going to get married tonight.

  She knew he was gone when she woke.

  Rafe was an overwhelming presence; if he were still in the suite, she would know. She stretched and immediately a thousand small sensations reminded her of his lovemaking. Though there was no one there to see, she smiled a slow, happy smile of contentment. At least physically she was sure that he wanted her.

  Slowly she sat up, then rose from the bed and padded into the bathroom. Donning one of the luxurious robes that were compliments of the casino, she used the facilities and washed her face, then went to the mini-bar and got a large bottle of spring water.

  On the bar lay a note. The first time she had seen Rafe’s handwriting, she’d been privately amused. She could have predicted the bold, aggressive strokes like these in which he explained that he’d had clothing and accessories sent up, that she should go ahead and dress and he’d be back by…oh, heavens!

  The clock on the wall told her she had little more than twenty minutes before his return. If she wanted to be beautiful, she’d better get moving. She snatched up the toiletries and cosmetics and headed for the bathroom.

  She took the quickest shower on record. As she was slipping into the strappy little sandals that were in one of the boxes, she heard the door of the suite open. Hastily she crossed to the vanity area and picked up her bag, applying a quick dash of lipstick. Then with a nervousness she didn’t entirely understand, she started for the door leading to the living room.

  Before she could get there, the door opened.

  Rafe seemed to fill the doorway, and she was struck by his size, as she always was when she saw him after an absence. His shoulders were so broad, they blocked the light behind him.

  “Sleep well?” His voice was warm as he started across the room.

  “Yes, I—Rafe!”

  He’d seized her by the waist and pulled her up against him. Her protest was purely a formality because already she was winding her arms about his neck and relaxing into his embrace. He put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face up to his, then cupped her jaw as he set his mouth on hers and parted her lips with his, invading the tender depths with his tongue until she curled against him in restless surrender.

  When he lifted his head, he was smiling complacently, a purely male expression of satisfaction. “I’d like to keep you naked in bed for the rest of the evening, but I’d better feed you, for the baby’s sake.”

  She stepped back, smoothing her dress as a warm feeling of hope spread through her. He sounded so tender and concerned…maybe there was a chance he could come to care for her the way she wanted—no, needed—him to.

  He linked his fingers through hers and held her hands wide. “You look beautiful.” Then he grinned. “I’ve seen pictures of your mother at your age and you’re a dead ringer.”

  She shrugged, smiling. “Strong genes, I guess.”

  “No wonder your father says he never had a chance.” Then his face sobered and his gaze slid down to the gentle curve of her abdomen barely noticeable in the unbelted pale pink dress. “If this baby’s a girl, I’m going to have to lock her up to keep the boys away.”

  Her smile faded as he escorted her out the door and they turned down the hallway to the elevators. “I don’t want my child to be as shielded from the world as I was. Until I was ten or so, I thought everyone’s parents employed bodyguards around the clock.”

  Rafe nodded. “I can see why your father is so overprotective, though.”

  “Yes.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Sam Flynn, the man she was going to look up when she got back to Phoenix—the man who might be her brother. She’d been neglecting her duty—it was time to call and see if he had returned to work. She made a private vow to do exactly that first thing in the morning. But instead she said, “Mother and Father were devastated when James was kidnapped.” She shuddered and put a hand protectively over her stomach. “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like.”

  “No.” Rafe’s face was grim. “I’m sure losing his only male heir was devastating to your father, especially since he never had another son.”

  She glanced up at him, frowning. “Losing his child was devastating to my father.”

  “It was a terrible thing,” he agreed. The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open. “Shall we go, my pretty princess?”

  First they walked out to the front of the hotel, where he secured her a place at the rail in front of the volcano. Despite the warmth, it still got dark relatively early and already the sun was gone. After a short wait, the volcano erupted.

  Elizabeth was delighted by the display. Then he hustled her down to Treasure Island just in time to watch the British man-o’-war engage the pirate ship in battle. She clapped when the cannons flashed, and when the British ship finally sank with its captain bravely going down with his command, she gasped at the sight of the lone tricorne floating on the waves. When the ship rose again after a long, tense wait, and the actor portraying the captain spouted a stream of water high into the air, she laughed herself silly.

  Next, he took her to a chic French restaurant which boasted burgundy leather seats, quaint low-lit lamps and wildflowers on tables covered in lace-edged linens. After seating her and allowing the maitre d’ to unfurl napkins edged in matching lace across their laps, he smiled across the table at her. “It seems a crime to come to a place like this and not drink wine, but you aren’t permitted to have alcohol.”

  “One small glass would be acceptable,” she said. “Nutritional value, you know.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Umm-hmm. If you say so.”

  They chatted over dinner, the small, getting-to-know-you rituals that couples on a normal date would enjoy. Because he seemed so fascinated, she let him draw her out, telling him story after story of the scrapes she and her sisters had gotten into as children.

  They both declined dessert and while Rafe drank strong coffee and she had a cup of decaffeinated tea, she seized an opening in the conversation to ask him a few questions. It was like pulling teeth with a pair of twee
zers, but finally he told her about completing Oxford and deciding to study architecture at Harvard, a move which had appalled his father. Though Rafe didn’t elaborate, she sensed there was a great deal more to the story.

  “So how did you get from Harvard to owning a Phoenix construction company?”

  He shrugged. “I decided I wanted to design unique structures. But I also wanted to see them built to the standards I envisioned, so creating my own company seemed a logical next step.”

  “This can’t have made your father happy.” She thought about the Grand Duke she knew. “He’s big on tradition. Doesn’t he want you nearby, taking over the reins from him one day?”

  A heavy silence fell over the table. “My father’s plans for my life are irrelevant,” he finally said in a tone that indicated discussion was at an end. “He threatened to disown me when I wouldn’t fall in line, though he hasn’t resorted to that yet. Periodically he stops in Phoenix or calls just to browbeat me, thinking I’m going to get less bull-headed as I age. So if your father hoped to cement his relationship with Thortonburg through me, he made a major miscalculation. He’d have done better to throw you at my younger brother.”

  The words were such an unexpected attack that she felt as if he’d leaned across the table and struck her. Very slowly, she set down her teacup with trembling hands. “I’ve told you before, my father isn’t the least interested in arranging marriages for any of his daughters. My parents fell in love and married, and they have given us the same opportunity.”

  Rafe snorted. “My father and your father made an agreement decades ago to marry one of you off to me. I expected it would be the eldest—”

  “Alexandra.”

  “But for some reason they must have decided you would be more suitable.” He chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. “Obviously, they had no idea just how well we suit each other or they’d never have left us alone.”