Prince of Montez, Pregnant Mistress

by Sabrina Philips

  Cally untangled her legs and swung them over the edge of the sofa, horrified at the thought. Then she froze again. On some unconscious level, did she want his baby? Suddenly an idyllic image popped into her brain: Leon and her in the water teaching two children how to swim, a boy with dark blond hair like his father’s, a girl with little red pigtails. Quickly, she forced herself to snap out of it. She didn’t even like the man, and he no doubt took the same view of children as he did of marriage. Which was perfect, because she’d known for years that she was neither wife nor mother material, and that suited her just fine—even if at this precise moment she couldn’t for the life of her remember why.

  Because it allowed her to focus on her career, she recalled despondently, staring up at the paintings and then down at the rolled-up newspaper below them, remembering she had a whole other set of worries to occupy her mind on that front. Worries that were far more palatable than why she had never known making love could be that good until now, or why she wanted to crawl back into his embrace and stay there for as long as he’d have her.

  Worries like whether she even still had a job, she thought, abruptly realising that she was still sans clothes, and that if she didn’t think fast she was not only in serious danger of being fired but of being fired in the nude. The horrifying thought spurred her into action, and she quickly slipped from the sofa to locate her clothes, not noticing the way Leon’s nostrils flared in arousal as he watched her dismiss the complicated hooks and ribbons of her underwear and throw on the dress without it.

  Cally tiptoed across to where the newspaper lay pitifully beside the fallen lamp and picked it up. She took one more look at the offending page and then folded it away, trying not to think about how much she still wanted to scream at him for being so unreasonable. She understood now that it would do her no good.

  Leon watched through heavy-lidded eyes as she reacquainted the light with its shade. Her hair was mussed from their lovemaking, her expression so misty-eyed that he was reminded of the first time he had seen her at the pre-auction. It seemed strange that he should be reminded of the moment he had suspected her of being the kind of woman to cloud things with emotion, when she had come to him dressed to seduce. It was perfectly obvious that it had all been an act, that what she really wanted was the kind of no-strings affair she was no doubt accustomed to. After all, why else would she be on the Pill, or have casually got up to retrieve her dress, instead of trying to embrace him afterwards, the way emotional women always did?

  It didn’t please him as much as it ought to have done. Instead it made him wonder, irrationally, how many men she had gone to like that, straddled and used the sum of her obvious feminine wiles to get her own way with? Yet she hadn’t climaxed. For the first time in his life he was struck by a momentary fear of sexual inadequacy, but he dismissed it just as quickly. She had been about to come, and she had fought it on purpose. In some attempt to show him that she was in control? he wondered angrily, irritated that he hadn’t been able to hold off his own orgasm.

  ‘I will speak to Jen first thing in the morning, make sure she understands the paintings should never have been mentioned,’ Cally said quietly, feeling his eyes upon her. ‘And you have my word that I will never find myself in danger of breaking your law again.’

  A shadow darkened his face at the note of disapproval in her voice. ‘It’s not my law. The royal family of Montéz has always been forbidden territory to the press. And with good reason. Being followed around like the stars in some hideous reality TV show can only interfere with our work on the island.’

  ‘But your brother—’

  ‘My brother upheld exactly the same law until he met Toria.’

  Cally raised her eyebrows and looked directly into his eyes for the first time since she had moved away from the sofa, disturbed as much by the discovery that a reasonable principle lay behind the law as by his glorious nudity. ‘She got him to change it?’

  ‘In a word, yes.’ It didn’t cure the look of curiosity on Cally’s face. Leon drew in a short, frustrated breath, not sure why he felt so impelled to explain. ‘Toria came to Montéz to star in a low-budget movie one summer when I was serving in the Marine Nationale. She had no talent, but she was desperate for fame and incredibly attractive. When she heard that the Crown Prince favoured a low profile over celebrity status, she thought it was preposterous and decided to seek him out. Girard was fifteen years her senior, lonely and flattered.’

  He made a pattern with his fingernail on the arm of the sofa, not looking up. ‘By the time of my next visit home, she had convinced him to marry her, and by the time of the wedding she had persuaded him that the media exposure was vital to her career. Which wouldn’t have been so detestable if she had accepted even one role after he had given her the exposure she craved. She told him she was waiting for the right part, whilst all the time dragging him to photo shoots for magazines, movie premieres, A-list parties. All the time Montéz was suffering, and Girard was growing more and more exhausted. Eventually it came to a head.’ Leon’s expression turned as dark and foreboding as the night outside the window. ‘They had been invited to a high-profile awards ceremony in New York on the same day as the private memorial service held annually to mark the anniversary of our mother’s death. Toria demanded he go with her.’ He looked stricken with guilt. ‘I told him I would never forgive him if he did.’

  ‘He went with her,’ Cally breathed, recalling that the tragedy had taken place in the States.

  ‘No. He decided to try and do both.’ Leon gritted his teeth, remembering that, for all his faults, Girard’s peacekeeping skills had been second to none. ‘Toria went ahead without him. He stayed for the memorial, vowing to meet her at the awards ceremony as soon as he could. And he would have made it—but he fell asleep at the wheel on the stretch between JFK airport and the auditorium.’ Leon’s eyes glazed with pain. ‘When Toria called to give me the news, all she could ask was why he hadn’t been using a chauffeur.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cally whispered, wanting to tell him not to blame himself, seeing in his eyes that he did. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Very few people did. Toria adored the press, and the press adored her. After his death everyone wanted to interview the poor, grieving widow.’ He gave a bitter, broken laugh. ‘It was the best performance of her career.’

  Cally could only imagine what it must have been like to deal with that in every newspaper and on every news channel, having just lost his brother and been thrust into the role of prince. ‘So you reinstated the law?’

  She saw him hesitate, and instantly his expression became shuttered. ‘It was around that time, yes.’

  ‘And Toria?’

  ‘Never forgave me for denying her the media circus here in Montéz. So she moved to New York. She still turns up occasionally with a mouthful of idle threats.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cally repeated, understanding now why he had automatically assumed that she wanted to use her work here to feed off his fame, that she had planned the article. Somehow, the revelation made her feel even closer to him than she had done when they’d been making love. She looked down at the newspaper she was still holding and clutched it tighter. ‘And I meant it when I said that nothing like this will ever happen again.’

  She didn’t see Leon’s gaze drop to her hand, the look of distaste which shaped his mouth, as if he was a soldier who’d just realised he was inadvertently fraternising with the enemy. ‘Good,’ he replied, reaching for his jeans. ‘Because as my mistress I require your absolute discretion.’

  Cally’s head jerked up in disbelief. ‘Your what?’

  ‘My mistress,’ he said in a clipped tone which suggested he found having to repeat himself an inconvenience.

  She stared at him in horror, suddenly feeling like a trapeze artist who thought she’d caught the bar in her hands but was suddenly plummeting towards the ground. ‘And when exactly did I agree to be that?’

  Leon shook his head. She had to be kidding. Surely sh
e didn’t expect him to buy the holier-than-thou charade now? ‘I rather think your actions did the talking, don’t you? Unless you’re going to tell me that that little outfit and those moves are all part of some new and innovative conservation technique.’ He dropped his head to one side. ‘Although, it was certainly revitalizing, I’ll give you that.’

  The rant she’d been preparing collapsed under the weight of hurt and shame. ‘No wonder you insist on never being quoted in the press. You’re so crude, your people would question your royal blood.’

  For a second an acute sharpness, almost a wince, cut across his face—but then as fast as it had come it was gone.

  ‘I thought you liked your men to tell it like it is. Don’t tell me sex has made you sentimental?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Cally turned away, fighting the tears that pricked behind her eyes.

  ‘Then I suggest you spare me the lecture and come and have something to eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Really?’ he goaded. ‘Or is it simply that you can’t swallow that I was right all along?’

  ‘Right about what?’

  ‘That you only accepted this job because you wanted to go to bed with me.’

  Cally’s hurt caught fire, transforming into white-hot fury. ‘Is your ego so gigantic that you can’t accept that after years studying art restoration, and months of preparing to work on the paintings before we even met, that maybe they were the reason?’

  ‘Of course I can accept that, chérie. All women who forge a career do so with gusto until they get whatever it is they really want. Fame, sex, whatever. Now you have sex, you may drop the pretence.’

  ‘So, because your brother’s wife was a manipulative bitch who wasn’t interested in having a career once she’d seduced your brother, in your eyes the entire female population is guilty of the same crime?’

  Leon raised one derogatory eyebrow at her hackneyed analysis. ‘On the contrary, I’ve based my assumptions entirely on you. You’d barely touched the paintings before this little—how would you like me to phrase it delicately for you?—episode. And I hardly think touching them is your top priority now.’

  Cally averted her eyes as he looked down at his body, as if he was remembering where she had trailed her hands, her lips. Why the hell had he still not put on his flaming T-shirt? ‘They are my only priority, they always have been. Every job takes a while to settle into. You employed me because I am the best person to do it, and I still am. I’m not some virgin priestess who’s lost her gift because I’ve lain with a man!’

  ‘Oh, I think we both know you’re not that, Cally, don’t you?’ he said silkily, his gaze raking over her with renewed desire. ‘Just like I think we both know that your being capable of the job is only half the reason I employed you.’

  ‘What?’ Cally felt her whole body tense.

  With a look of unconcern, Leon reached for his T-shirt. ‘Don’t sound so surprised, Cally. Do you suppose I employed you, despite the fact that you proved yourself indiscreet in London, purely because of your skills? I employed you for the same reason that you accepted—because we both knew that the sex between us would be incroyable.’

  Cally wouldn’t have thought it possible that her body could wind itself any tighter, but it did, so tight she felt faint. Clamminess broke out at the nape of her neck, between her breasts, behind her knees, heat pouring over her in a wave. It had been incredible, and it was incredible that he thought so too. But after everything she had worked for, fought for, clung to…He had only given her the job because he wanted to have sex with her? Cally felt sick. She had supposed there was no greater blow than the gallery losing the paintings that night at the auction, believed there was nothing more mortifying than his subsequent rejection, then discovering that he had lied. But this was even worse.

  ‘I hate you.’

  For a second Leon looked slightly taken aback. Only for a second. ‘And yet you still desire me.’ He shook his head condescendingly. ‘Reason is always at such a disadvantage when paired with that.’

  ‘Not any more,’ she answered, willing it to be true. ‘We shared an attraction, and we saw it through to its natural conclusion, but—’

  ‘So that was the euphemism you were looking for.’ He nodded slowly, as if she were one of a new species whose peculiar habits he was coming to learn. ‘Attraction, natural conclusion…’

  ‘But now it’s over,’ she concluded abruptly, catching sight of the Rénards. ‘So, if you will just kindly confirm whether I may continue with my work…?’

  ‘Do you really suppose that our shared attraction is something that has ceased to exist because we have given into it once?’ He stalked across to where she was standing. ‘Desire is an animal. We set it free, it cannot be tied up again.’

  It can be, Cally thought. It has to be. She bit her lip, her mind traitorously filling with the erotic image of Leon tied up.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I think the animal has run off,’ she said, so loudly that she gave herself away.

  Leon laughed, the sound so deep and low it sent a vibration through her body. ‘You still want to pretend you don’t feel it, chérie? Be my guest, continue with your work. I give you a week at most before you’re begging me to take you again, because if I don’t you’ll die of longing.’ He stopped at the door, one eyebrow cocked. ‘Unless, of course, you want to be done with the whole pretence and join me for dinner right now?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ he mocked. ‘Just like you weren’t thirsty that night in London.’ And with that he turned on his heel and left her once more.

  Over the next few days Cally did everything she could to forget how it had felt to make love to Leon Montallier. She tried to excuse away that night as a single moment of recklessness she had simply been due for a while, like last February, when she’d got a sore throat and had conceded that she couldn’t go any longer without succumbing to a winter cold. She relabelled her desire for him as nothing more than curiosity about his body which had now been satisfied. But, no matter how hard she tried, it was impossible not to think about the incredible way he’d made her feel, about the sensations which she’d never experienced before in all of her twenty-six years.

  Which ought to have been crazy, because she wasn’t a virgin. Yes, she might have only ever slept with one other man, but sex was sex, wasn’t it? No, Cally thought, apparently it wasn’t. What she’d just experienced with Leon had felt like exactly the kind of lovemaking she’d read about, whereas with David…Well, from the very first day he had talked her into it, she’d never really enjoyed their forays in the bedroom department. They had been rushed, uncomfortable, and had always left her feeling somehow inadequate—not least on the night when she had finally plucked up the courage to ask him if they could try kissing a bit more first, because she wasn’t sure it felt exactly the way it was supposed to for her. He had told her not to be so absurd, and that if she didn’t like it as it was then she was obviously just lacking the right gene.

  In her naivety, she had always supposed she did lack something. Now she understood that she had simply been lacking the right sexual partner. But ‘right’ only in that sense, she thought grimly; Leon might have altered her perception on sex, but he’d confirmed that Prince Charming only existed in fairy tales. Which was why she had to forget him and get on with the paintings.

  It felt a little like trying to push rocks through a sieve—never more so than during the hours in which he insisted on silently watching her work, as if it was an endurance test he was waiting for her to fail—but slowly, slowly, she began to make progress. In fact, after she had completed the cleaning of the first painting and begun work on the infill, she almost felt her old focus return. Almost, because to her surprise she found that, on the few occasions she became completely absorbed in the paint work, she would find herself drifting off into thoughts about two things in particular, neither of which were things she might h
ave expected to find herself thinking about.

  The first was that she was repeatedly and inexplicably struck with a burning desire to begin working on a painting of her own, to the extent that one afternoon, when she’d known she had the palace to herself, she had begun sketching the remarkable view from the studio window onto a piece of spare canvas. She didn’t have the faintest idea why, because she hadn’t painted anything of her own since her split from David, and it seemed incomprehensible that she should do so now when she was finding even her conservation work a struggle, but something impelled her to.

  The second distraction was Leon, but not in the sexual way that haunted her whenever she closed her eyes. When she was busy on the paintings what she’d catch herself thinking about most frequently was the conversation they’d had immediately after their lovemaking, when he had told her about his brother. And to Cally that seemed even harder to forget. Aside from Leon revealing that his insistence against media attention wasn’t just a dictatorial whim, she couldn’t help wondering if it was significant that he, the man who insisted on such confidentiality, had told her something so private about his family. But, just as quickly as such thoughts came, she would dismiss them. After all, he had followed it up with the assumption that she would become his mistress, for goodness’ sake, and it didn’t come much more meaningless than that. Besides, even if they had been in some parallel universe and his doppelgãnger had declared it was significant, she’d walk away anyway. Wouldn’t she?

  Cally’s eyelids fluttered down to meet her cheeks in a moment of mortification as she envisioned turning back and walking willingly into his arms. But that was just because in the parallel universe he’d be the complete opposite of who he was, not a heartless prince, not a lying bastard, she told herself at the exact moment he entered the room, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine.

  ‘I’m actually on a really tricky bit. Do you mind not watching today?’ she said quickly without turning around.