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 dropped her briefcase and bag, set the flowers on the counter and went to him. He wrapped those strong little arms around her neck, smearing spaghetti sauce on her cheek when he gave her a big smacker of a kiss. “How’s my boy?”

  “I fine, thank you.”

  “Me, too.” She hugged him harder. “Now that I’m home with you.” He smelled of tomatoes and meatballs and baby shampoo—of everything that mattered.

  At two, he was quite the talker. As he picked up his spoon again, he launched into a description of his day. “We swim. We play trucks. I shout loud when we crash.”

  “Sounds like fun.” She whipped a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped the red sauce off her cheek.

  “Oh, yes! Fun, Mama. I happy.” He shoved a meatball in his mouth with one hand and waved his spoon with the other.

  “Use your spoon for eating,” Lani said from over by the sink.

  “Yes, Lani. I do!” He switched the spoon to the other hand and scooped up a mound of pasta. Most of it fell off before he got it to his mouth, but he only gamely scooped up some more.

  “You’re early,” said Lani, turning to glance at her over the tops of her black-rimmed glasses. “And those roses are gorgeous.”

  “They are, aren’t they? And as to being early, hey, it’s almost the weekend.”

  “That never stopped you from working late before.” Lani grabbed a towel and turned to lean against the sink as she dried her hands.

  Her full name was Yolanda Ynez Vasquez and she was small and curvy with acres of thick almost-black hair. She’d been working for Sydney for five years, starting as Sydney’s housekeeper. The plan was that Lani would cook and clean house and live in, thus saving money while she finished college. But then, even after she got her degree, she’d stayed on, and become Trevor’s nanny, as well. Sydney had no idea how she would have managed without her. Not only for her grace and ease at keeping house and being a second mom to Trevor, but also for her friendship. After Ellen O’Shea, Yolanda Vasquez was the best friend Sydney had ever had.

  Lani said, “You’re glowing, Syd.”

  Sydney put her hands to her cheeks. “I do feel slightly warm. Maybe I have a fever….”

  “Or maybe someone handsome sent you yellow roses.”

  Laughing, Sydney shook her head. “You are always one step ahead of me.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Rule.”

  “Hmm. Very … commanding.”

  “And he is. But in such a smooth kind of way. I went to lunch with him. I really like him. He asked me to dinner.”

  “Tonight?” Lani asked.

  She nodded. “He invited me to meet him at the Mansion at Turtle Creek. Eight o’clock.”

  “And you’re going.” It wasn’t a question.

  “If you’ll hold down the fort?”

  “No problem.”

  “What about Michael?” Michael Cort was a software architect. Lani had been seeing him on a steady basis for the past year.

  Lani shrugged. “You know Michael. He likes to hang out. I’ll invite him over. We’ll get a pizza—tell me more about Rule.”

  “I just met him today. Am I crazy?”

  “A date with a guy who makes you glow? Nothing crazy about that.”

  “Mama, sketti?” Trev held up a handful of crushed meatball and pasta.

  “No, thank you, my darling.” Sydney bent and kissed his plump, gooey cheek again. “You can have that big wad of sketti all for yourself.”

  “Yum!” He beamed up at her and her heart felt like it was overflowing. She had it all. A healthy, happy child, a terrific best friend, a very comfortable lifestyle, a job most high-powered types would kill for. And a date with the best-looking man on the planet.

  Sydney spent the next hour being the mother she didn’t get to be as often as she would have liked. She played trucks with Trev. And then she gave him his bath and tucked him into bed herself, smoothing his dark hair off his handsome forehead, thinking that he was the most beautiful child she had ever seen. He was already asleep when she tiptoed from the room.

  Yolanda looked up when she entered the family room. “It’s after seven. You better get a move on if you want to be on time for your dream man.”

  “I know—keep me company while I get ready?”

  Lani followed her into the master suite, where Sydney grabbed a quick shower and redid her makeup. In the walk-in closet, she stared at the possible choices and didn’t know which one to pick.

  “This.” Lani took a simple cap-sleeved red satin sheath from the row of mostly conservative party dresses. “You are killer in red.”

  “Red. Hmm,” Sydney waffled. “You think?”

  “I know. Put it on. You only need your diamond studs with it. And that garnet-and-diamond bracelet your grandmother left you. And those red Jimmy Choos.”

  Sydney took the dress. “You’re right.”

  Lani dimpled. “I’m always right.”

  Sydney put on the dress and the shoes and the diamond studs and garnet bracelet. Then she stood at the full-length mirror in her dressing area and scowled at herself. “I don’t know …” She touched her brown hair, which she’d swept up into a twist. “Should I take my hair down?”

  “No. It’s great like that.” Lani tugged a few curls loose at her temples and her nape. Then she eased the wide neckline of the dress off her shoulders. “There. Perfect. You look so hot.”

  “I am not the hot type.”

  “Yeah, you are. You just don’t see yourself that way. You’re tall and slim and striking.”

  “Striking. Right. Still, it would be nice if I had breasts, don’t you think? I had breasts once, remember? When I was pregnant with Trevor?”

  “Stop. You have breasts.”

  “Hah.”

  “And you have green eyes to die for.”

  “To die for. Who came up with that expression, anyway?”

  Lani took her by the shoulders and turned her around so they faced each other. “You look gorgeous. Go. Have a fabulous time.”

  “Now I’m getting nervous.”

  “Getting? Syd. You look wonderful and you are going.”

  “What if he doesn’t show up?”

  “Stop it.” Lani squeezed her shoulders. “Go.”

  Rosewood Mansion at Turtle Creek was a Dallas landmark. Once a spectacular private residence, the Mansion was now a five-star hotel and restaurant, a place of meticulous elegance, of marble floors and stained-glass windows and hand-carved fireplaces.

  Her heart racing in mingled excitement and trepidation, Sydney entered the restaurant foyer, with its curving iron-railed staircases and black-and-white marble floor. She marched right up to the reservation desk and told the smiling host waiting there, “I’m meeting someone. Rule Bravo-Calabretti?”

  The host nodded smartly. “Right this way.”

  And off she went to a curtained private corner on the terrace. The curtains were pulled back and she saw that Rule was waiting, wearing a gorgeous dark suit, his black eyes lighting up when their gazes locked. He rose as she approached.

  “Sydney.” He said her name with honest pleasure, his expression as open and happy as her little boy’s had been when she’d tucked him into bed that night. “You came.” He sounded so pleased. And maybe a little relieved.

  How surprising was that? He didn’t look like a person who would ever worry that a woman might not show up for a date.

  She liked him even more then—if that was possible. Because he had allowed her to see he was vulnerable.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said softly, her gaze locked with his.

  Champagne was waiting in a silver bucket. The host served them.

  Rule said, “I took the liberty of conferring with the chef ahead of time, choosing a menu I thought you might enjoy. But if you would prefer making your own choices …”

  She loved that he’d planned ahead, that he’d taken that kind of care over the meal. And that he’d asked for her prefe
rence in the matter. “The food is always good here. Whatever you’ve planned will be perfect.”

  “No … dietary rules or foods you hate?” His midnight gaze scanned her face as though committing it to memory.

  “None. I trust you.”

  Something flared in his eyes. “Fair enough, then.” His voice wrapped around her, warm and deep and so sweet. He nodded at the host. “Thank you, Neil.”

  “Very good, then, your—” Neil paused almost imperceptibly, and then continued “—waiter will be with you shortly.” With a slight bow, he turned to go.

  “Neil seems a little nervous,” she whispered, when the host had left them.

  “I have no idea why,” Rule said lightly. And then his tone acquired a certain huskiness. “You should wear red all the time.”

  “That might become boring.”

  “You could never be boring. And what is that old song, the one about the lady in red?”

  “That’s it. ‘Lady in Red.’“

  “You bring that song to mind. You make me want to dance with you.”

  How did he do it? He poured on the flattery—and yet, somehow, coming from him, the sweet talk sounded sincere. “Thank you for the flowers.”

  He waved a lean hand. “I know I went overboard.”

  “It was a beautiful gesture. And I hope you don’t mind, but I shared them—with the data entry girls and the paralegals and the crew down in Human Resources.”

  “Why would I mind? They were yours, to do with as you wished. And sharing is good. You’re not only the most compelling woman I’ve ever met, you are kind. And generous, too.”

  She shook her head. “You amaze me, Rule.”

  He arched a raven-black eyebrow. “In a good way, I hope?”

  “Oh, yeah. In a good way. You make me want to believe all the beautiful things that you say to me.”

  He took her hand. Enchantment settled over her, at the warmth of his touch, at the lovely, lazy pulse of pleasure that seemed to move through her with every beat of her heart, just to be with him, to have her hand in his, flesh to flesh. “Would you prefer if I were cruel?”

  The question shocked her a little. “No. Never. Why would you ask that?”

  He turned her hand over, raised it to his lips, pressed a kiss in the heart of her palm. The pulse of pleasure within her went lower, grew hotter. “You fascinate me.” His breath fanned her palm. And then, tenderly, he lowered their hands to the snowy tablecloth and wove his fingers with hers. “I want to know all about you. And truthfully, some women like a little more spice from a man. They want to be kept guessing. ‘Does he care or not, will he call or not?’ They might say they’re looking for a good man who appreciates them. But they like … the dance of love, they revel in the uncertainty of it all.”

  She leaned closer to him, because she wanted to. Because she could. “I like you as you are. Don’t pretend to be someone else. Please.”

  “I wouldn’t. But I can be cruel.” He said it so casually, so easily. And she realized she believed him. She saw the shining blade of his intention beneath the velvet sheath that was his considerable charm.

  “Please don’t. I’ve had enough of mean men. I …” She let the words trail off. The waiter was approaching their table. Perfect timing. The subject was one that desperately needed dropping.

  But a flick of a glance from Rule and the waiter turned around and walked away. “Continue, please,” Rule prompted softly. “What men have been cruel to you?”

  Way to ruin a beautiful evening, Syd. “Seriously. You don’t need to hear it.”

  “But I want to hear it. I meant what I said. I want to know about you, Sydney. I want to know everything.” His eyes were so dark. She could get lost in them, lost forever, never to be found. And the really scary thing was that she almost felt okay with being lost forever—as long as he was lost right along with her.

  “What can I say? There’s just something about me …” Lord. She did not want to go there. She tried to wrap it up with a generalized explanation. “I seem to attract men who say they like me because I’m strong and intelligent and capable. And then they get to work trying to tear me down.”

  Something flared in his eyes. Something … dangerous. “Who has tried to tear you down?”

  “Do we have to get into this?”

  “No. We don’t. But sometimes it’s better, I think, to go ahead and speak frankly of the past.” Now his eyes were tender again. Tender and somehow completely accepting.

  She let out a slow, surrendering sigh. “I lived with a guy when I was in law school. His name was Ryan. He was fun and a little bit wild. On the day we moved in together, he quit his job. He would lie on the sofa drinking those great big cans of malt liquor, watching ESPN. When I tried to talk to him about showing a little motivation, things got ugly fast. He said that I had enough ambition and drive for both of us and next to me he felt like a failure, that I had as good as emasculated him—and would I get out of the damn way, I was blocking his view of the TV?”

  Rule gave one of those so-European shrugs of his. “So you got rid of him.”

  “Yes, I did. When I kicked him out, he told me he’d been screwing around on me. He’d had to, he said. In order to try and feel at least a little like a man again. So he was a cheater and a liar, too. After Ryan, I took a break from men. I stayed away from serious entanglements for the next five years. Then I met Peter. He was an attorney, like me. Worked for a different firm, a smaller one. We started going out. I thought he was nothing like Ryan, not a user or runaround or a slacker in any way. He never formally moved in with me. But he was … with me, at my house, most nights. And then he started pressuring me to get him in at Teale, Gayle and Prosser.” She said the name of her firm with another long sigh.

  “You weren’t comfortable with that?”

  “No, I wasn’t. And I told him so. I believe in networking, in helping the other guy out. But I didn’t want my boyfriend working at the same firm with me, especially not if he was hired on my say-so. There are just too many ways that could spell trouble. He said he understood.”

  Rule still had his fingers laced with hers. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “But he didn’t understand.”

  “Not in the least. He was angry that I wouldn’t give him ‘a hand up,’ as he put it. Things kind of devolved from there. He said a lot of brutal things to me. I was still an associate at the firm then. At a party, Peter got drunk and complained about me to one of the partners. By the time he and I were over, I …” She sought the right way to say it.

  He said it for her. “You decided you were through with men.” She glanced away. He caught her chin, lightly, gently, and guided it back around so that she met his eyes again. “Are you all right?” He sounded honestly concerned. She realized that her answer really mattered to him.

  She swallowed, nodded. “I’m okay. It’s just … when I talk about all that, I feel like such a loser, you know?”

  “Those men. Ryan and Peter. They are the losers.” He held her gaze. “I notice you haven’t told me their last names.”

  “And I’m not going to. As I said, it’s long over for me, with both of them.”

  He gave her his beautiful smile. “There. That’s what I was waiting to hear.” He let go of her hand—but only to touch her in another way. With his index finger, he traced the line of her jaw, stirring shivers as he went. He caught one of the loose curls of hair that Lani had pulled free of her French twist, and rubbed it between his fingers. “Soft,” he whispered. “Like your skin. Like your tender heart …”

  “Don’t be too sure about that. I’m not only prickly, I can be a raving bitch,” she whispered back. “Just ask Ryan and Peter.”

  “Give me their last names. Ryan and Peter and I will have a long talk.”

  “Hah. I don’t think so.”

  He touched her cheek then, a brushing caress of such clear erotic intent that her toes curled inside her Jimmy Choos. “As long as you’re willing to give men another chance.”


  “I could be. If the right man ever came along.”

  He took her untouched champagne flute and handed it to her. Then he picked up his own. “To the right man.”

  She touched her glass to his, echoed, “The right man.” It was excellent champagne, each tiny bubble like a burst of magic on her tongue. And when she set the glass down again, she said, “I always wanted to have children.”

  He answered teasingly, “However, not nine of them.”

  Suddenly, it came to her. She realized where she’d been going with her grim little tale of disappointed love. It hadn’t really been a case of total over-sharing, after all.

  “Actually,” she said. “This is serious.”

  “All right.”

  “There’s something I really do need to tell you.”

  His expression changed, became … so still. Waiting. Listening. He tipped his head to the side in that strangely familiar way he had. “Tell me.”

  She wanted—needed—for him to know about Trevor. If learning about Trev turned him off, well, she absolutely had to know that now, tonight. Before she got in any deeper with him. Before she let herself drown in those beautiful black eyes. “I …” Her mouth had gone desert-dry. She swallowed, hard.

  This shouldn’t be so difficult, shouldn’t matter so very much. She hardly knew this man. Holding his interest and his high regard shouldn’t be this important to her.

  Yet it was important. Already. She cared. A lot. Way, way too much.

  He seemed too perfect. He was too perfect. He was her dream man come to vivid, vibrant, tempting life. The first minute she saw him, she’d felt as though she already knew him.

  Yes, she should be more wary. It wasn’t like her to be so easily drawn in.

  And yet she was. She couldn’t stop herself.

  She thought of her grandmother, who had been a true believer in love at first sight. Grandma Ellen claimed she had fallen for Sydney’s grandfather the first time she met him. She’d also insisted that Sydney’s father had fallen in love with her mother at first sight.

  Could falling in love at first sight be a genetic trait? Sydney almost smiled at the thought. She’d believed herself to be in love before—and been wrong, wrong, wrong.