by Maisey Yates
Suddenly his left ring finger felt bare. It was a strange thing to be conscious of since he’d taken his wedding band off after Selena’s funeral. He hadn’t wanted to carry the reminder of his marriage with him.
“We have to work something out,” he said softly. “For the baby’s sake. That means compromise, not blackmail.”
She turned her head and broke their contact. “Why do I get the feeling the commoner will be doing all of the compromising?”
His lips turned up. “Now, cara, you misjudge me. I’m a very reasonable man.”
“I’ll have to conduct an interview of the people you’ve had thrown in the royal dungeon once we get to Turan,” she said, a slight bite still evident in her resigned tone.
“They aren’t allowed to speak, actually, so your interviews will be short.”
He could see a reluctant smile pull at the corners of her mouth. It made something that felt a lot like pride swell in his chest.
“I’ll have to call the office to try to arrange for the time off.” She took a shaky breath and pushed that lovely strawberry hair off her shoulders. “When do we leave?”
Alison regretted her decision to go with his royal highness almost the moment she agreed to it, but no matter how much she turned it over in her mind, no matter how much she wanted to run from it, she knew she couldn’t.
Standing in the first-class lounge and waiting for his majesty to arrive she tried to calm her nerves, and her morning sickness, by gnawing on a saltine and pacing the length of the room. There was plenty of plush, very comfy looking seating, but she was much too nervous, too edgy, to think about sitting down.
How had everything become so complicated? For the past three years she’d done nothing but plan for this. Everything had been geared toward this, toward the pregnancy. She’d saved her paychecks obsessively, driven a junky car, lived in the smallest, cheapest apartment she could find, in the hopes that when she had her child she could buy a house and stay home with him or her for the first few years. She’d quit her high-stress job at a prestigious law firm in order to better prepare her body for pregnancy. She’d even started a college fund for the baby, for heaven’s sake!
And one phone call had annihilated all of it. When Melissa had dropped the bomb about her receiving the wrong sperm from a donor with missing medical records, everything had shattered into a million pieces.
She had been so determined to be smart, to ensure that the father of her child wouldn’t put the baby’s health at risk. She hadn’t wanted to give up her anonymity, hadn’t wanted to involve the father in any way, and she certainly hadn’t wanted the father to be a man who would claim the baby for himself. It was the worst-case scenario as far as she was concerned.
Maximo had been nice enough to her yesterday, but she sensed ruthlessness in him simmering just beneath that aura of power and sophistication. Even when he was being nice his every command was just that: a command. He was a man who did not ask permission.
He was being civil to her now, working with her, and yet she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to play on every advantage he had if it came to it. But she would, too. He may hold more cards by virtue of his wealth and position, but she wasn’t a doormat. Far from it.
For now, though, civility seemed to be the order of the day, and she was willing to try to work something out with him, even if it was about the last thing she wanted to do. He had a right to his baby, whether or not she liked the idea of sharing custody. He was as much a victim in the circumstances as she was. He was a widower, a man who had already endured loss and heartbreak. As much as she wished she could go back and change her mind about telling him, she wouldn’t be a part of hurting him again.
Alison looked out of the heavily tinted windows that gave the lounge a view of the terminal below. She watched as the automatic doors opened and Maximo strode in, security detail and photographers on his tail. Even with the massive entourage of people, every eye was drawn straight to him. He was as big and fit as any of the men on his security team, his chest broad and muscular, the outline of his pecs visible through the casual white button-down shirt he wore. The sleeves were scrunched up past his elbows, revealing muscular forearms and deliciously tanned skin.
He disappeared from view and a few moments later the door to the lounge opened and he strode in, minus the photographers and security detail.
She couldn’t stop herself from taking a visual tour of his well-built body. His slacks hugged his thighs just enough so she could tell they were as solid as the rest of him. And, heaven help her, she was powerless to resist the temptation to sneak a peek at the slight bulge showing at the apex of those thighs.
She lowered her eyes, embarrassed by her uncharacteristic behavior. She honestly couldn’t remember ever looking at a man there before. Not on purpose, anyway. She tried to tell herself it was nerves making her heart pound and her pulse flutter. She couldn’t quite convince herself.
Maximo approached her and took his sunglasses off, tucking them in the neck of his shirt. Again, totally without permission, her eyes followed the motion and she was transfixed by the slight dusting of dark hair she could see on the tanned slice of chest that was revealed by the open collar of his shirt.
“Glad to see you made it,” he said. He seemed totally unruffled by the fact that he’d just had a team of photographers taking his picture. He was maddeningly self-assured. If she’d had camera lenses stuck in her face she would have been worried that she might have had a poppy seed in her teeth from the muffin she’d eaten earlier.
“I said I would be here,” she returned frostily. “I keep my word.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. You’re feeling all right?” He took her arm, the gesture totally sexless, more proprietary than anything else, and yet it made her heart jump into her throat. He was so much bigger than she was, so much stronger. Something about that masculine strength was so very appealing. It was easy to want to sink against him, to let him shoulder some of the stress, to bear some of her weight.
And the moment she did that she could almost guarantee he would abandon her, leaving her half crippled and unable to support herself any longer.
She ignored the little flutters in her stomach and tried to focus on the nausea. Anything was preferable to this strange sort of attraction that seemed to be taking over the portion of her brain that housed her common sense.
“Actually I feel horrible, but thank you for asking.”
A slight grin tilted his lips. “You can bypass airport security,” he said. “My plane is waiting on the tarmac. One of my security agents will escort you out and I will join you in a few moments. We aren’t looking to create a photo-op.”
She shook her head. The image of herself, pale as a corpse, plastered over a supermarket tabloid was enough to make her shudder.
One of the bodyguards came in and Maximo gestured for her to follow him out. She bowed her head as she crossed the wet tarmac and headed toward the private plane. She thought she might have seen the flash of a camera from the corner of her eye, but she kept her head down, determined not to seem interesting in any way.
She followed the guard up the boarding platform and into the lavishly furnished private jet. It was massive, its plush carpet and luxurious furnishings making it look like a trendy urban penthouse rather than a mode of transportation. But she’d been to Maximo’s house and she’d seen the kind of lifestyle he was accustomed to. She really shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t do anything by halves. He was the prince of one of the world’s most celebrated island destinations, a country that rivaled Monte Carlo for high-class luxury and entertainment. Maximo was simply adhering to his national standard.
The bodyguard left without so much as a nod to her and she stood awkwardly just inside the door, not really feeling as if it was okay to sit down and make herself comfortable.
Ten minutes later Maximo boarded, his expression grim. “There was one photographer hanging out on the tarmac. But since we didn’t board together it’s
likely you might be mistaken for a member of my staff.”
She nodded, not quite able to fathom how dodging the press had suddenly become a part of her life. “Are we the only ones flying on the plane today?” she asked, looking around the space.
“Well, you and me and the pilot. And the copilot. And the flight crew.”
“That’s awfully wasteful, don’t you think?”
His dark eyebrows winged upward and she experienced a momentary rush of satisfaction over having taken him off guard. “Scusami?”
“Conducting an overseas flight for two people, who could easily have flown commercial, and employing an entire staff to serve them. Not to mention the greenhouse gas emissions.”
He offered her a lazy grin that showed off straight, white teeth. It transformed his face, softening the hard angles and making him seem almost approachable. Almost. “When the U.S. President ditches Air Force One, I’ll rethink my mode of transport. Until then, I think it’s acceptable for world leaders to fly in private aircrafts.”
“Well, I imagine it’s hard to get through the security lines at the airport with all that gold jingling in your pocket.”
“Are you a snob, Alison?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice.
“Am I a snob?”
“An inverse one.”
“Not at all. I was simply making a statement.” To keep him at arm’s length and annoyed with her if she could help it. There was something about Maximo, something that made her stomach tighten and her hands get damp. It wasn’t fear, but it was terrifying.
She had never wanted a relationship, had never wanted to depend on someone, to love someone, open herself up to them only to have them abandon her. She had been through it too many times in her life to willingly put herself through it ever again. First with the loss of her beautiful sister. She knew she couldn’t blame Kimberly for dying, but the grief had been stark and painful; the loss felt like a betrayal, in a way. And then her father had gone, abandoning his grieving wife and daughter. As for Alison’s mother, she might not have left physically, but the person she’d been before Kimberly’s death, before her husband had walked out, had disappeared completely.
Through all of that she’d learned how to be completely self-sufficient. And she had never wanted to take the chance on going back to a place where she might need someone else, where she might be dependent in any way.
But she did want to be a mother. And she’d set out to make that happen on her own. Now somehow Maximo had been thrown into her perfectly ordered plans. Everything had been so carefully laid out. It hadn’t seemed as if there was a possibility anything could go wrong. And now those idyllic visions she’d had for her future were slipping through her fingers.
Her baby had a father, not just some anonymous donor of genetic material. Her baby’s father was a prince. A prince whose arrogance couldn’t be rivaled, and whose dark good looks affected her in ways she didn’t want to analyze. So much for the best-laid plans.
“You seem to have a statement for everything,” he said, settling into the plush love seat that was positioned in the middle of the cabin.
Alison took her seat on the opposite side of the cabin, settling primly on the edge of a cream lounge chair. “I’m a lawyer. Making statements is an important part of my job.”
Max couldn’t help but laugh at her acerbic wit. She wasn’t like the women he was used to. She didn’t cling or simper or defer to him in any way. Some men might be bothered by a woman like her, threatened by her strength and intelligence. He enjoyed the challenge. And it helped that he was certain he held the upper hand in the situation. Now that he had coaxed her into coming to Turan with him the power balance would be shifted completely in his favor.
It wasn’t his plan to force Alison’s hand in any way; on the contrary he planned to make her an offer that was too good to pass up, once he figured out exactly what he wanted to do. He could tell that Alison would defend their child to the death if she had to, could see that she would lay everything aside for the sake of her baby. But he would do the same. There was no way he was taking the chance that she might disappear with their baby.
It was a strange thing to him that a woman would be so resistant to the idea of having his baby. He wasn’t a conceited man, but he was pragmatic in his view on things. First and foremost, he was royal and extremely wealthy. He was to be the next king of his country and along with that would receive an inheritance worth billions, coupled with the personal fortune he’d amassed with his hugely successful corporation. His chain of luxury hotels and casinos were popular with the rich and famous, both on the island of Turan, and in almost every other major tourist spot in the world.
In the eyes of most women he would be the golden chalice. A ticket to status and riches beyond most people’s imaginations. And yet Ms. Alison Whitman had acted as though carrying his baby was equivalent to being sentenced to the royal dungeon—which they did not have at the Turani palace, regardless of what she thought.
“And your job is very important to you?” he asked, still unable to understand where a child was supposed to fit into this cool businesswoman’s schedule.
“Yes. My job is important. I’m a court-appointed advocate for children. My law firm does the work pro bono with funding from the government. The pay isn’t what it could be, but I put in some time at a more high-profile law firm and quickly found that handling the divorces of the rich and petulant isn’t very rewarding.”
“You’re an advocate for children?” That didn’t mesh with the picture he’d been developing of her in his mind. He’d imagined her to be a toothy shark of a lawyer. With her sharp wit and obviously keen intellect, combined with her cool beauty, he had a hard time imagining her as anything else.
“It’s what I’ve been doing for the past year. I wanted to make a difference, and I knew that if I was going to get ready to have a baby I couldn’t be pushing myself the way we were expected to at Chapman and Stone. Corporate cutthroat doesn’t really suit me anyway.”
“Then why did you get into law in the first place?”
“It pays well,” she said simply. “I’m good at it…It just doesn’t suit me. But I worked in the industry as long as I could stand, and then I moved into an area of law that was a much better fit. Children shouldn’t have to stand in court and face those who made victims of them. I speak for them. I won’t allow those who defend abusers and pedophiles to revictimize a child so that they can line their pockets with a little more cash.” She offered him a rueful smile. “I am a lawyer, but sometimes there isn’t anyone I hate on the planet more than another lawyer.”
Alison’s cheeks were flushed, the passion that she felt for her job, for her calling, evident in the way she spoke of it. The woman who was carrying his baby made her living advocating for children. Could he have selected better? It was a turnaround from how he’d felt about her before. Instead of seeing a hard-as-nails career woman, he now saw a defender, willing to fight for the right thing, a woman who dedicated herself to the service of others. It only cemented in his mind what he’d already been considering.
Marriage was not a part of the plan for his life. He’d been married. He’d loved his wife. But not even love and respect had made them happy in the end. It hadn’t erased their problems. He hadn’t been able to fix it, and ultimately, his wife had spent that last months of her life in misery. That was something he would bear for the rest of his life.
But Alison was carrying his child and duty demanded that he do the honorable thing and make her his wife. Perhaps there was a different protocol when a woman had conceived through means other than sex, but it felt the same to him.
A heavy ache pulsed in his groin area, reminding him that it wasn’t the same at all. And yet he couldn’t have felt more responsible if the baby had been conceived in his bed rather than a lab. He felt responsible for Alison in much the same way, as though they had made their baby the good old-fashioned way.
And the fierce attraction he felt for her was a
n added bonus. He hadn’t intended to remain a monk for the rest of his life, but neither had he felt ready to enter the world of casual dating and one-night stands again. He’d been married for seven years and it had been more than nine years since he’d been with any woman other than his wife. It was safe to say his little black book was outdated. And at thirty-six, he felt far too old to reenter that world anyway.
In that respect, a marriage between Alison and him would be beneficial. The ferocity of his attraction to her was shocking, but that could easily be attributed to the long bout of celibacy. Men simply weren’t made to deny their sexual needs for that long and it didn’t really come as a surprise to him that now his libido had woken from hibernation it was ravenously hungry.
The beautiful temptress sitting so primly across from him with her milk-pale skin and flawless figure was what he craved. She was different than his wife. Selena had been tall, her curves slight, but the top of Alison’s head would rest comfortably beneath his chin. And her curves—they were enough for any man. Her breasts were lush enough to fill his hands to overflowing. Lust tightened his gut and he shifted to relieve the pressure on his growing arousal, and to hide the evidence of his arousal from Alison. He didn’t relish the idea of being caught like an adolescent boy who had no control over his body.
“So you like children?” he asked.
She nodded, a shimmering wave of strawberry hair sliding over her shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother.”
“Not a wife?”
She shrugged, and he couldn’t help but notice the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. “Relationships are complicated.”
“So is parenthood.”
“Yes, but it’s different. A child depends on you. They come into the world loving you and it’s up to you to honor that, to care for them and love them back. With relationships, with a marriage, you’re dependent on someone else.”
“And you find that objectionable?”
