Prince's Pregnant Princess

by Ana Adams

  She pinched her eyes shut.

  “Dearie, did you hear me?”

  Georgia snapped her eyes open, swiveling to face Martha. “I’m sorry?”

  “I said, could you please take this back in to Niccolo? It’s the budget statement he dropped off before I got here. This can be sent through now.” She slid the paper toward her.

  Georgia nodded, voice sticking to her throat. She rose slowly, measuring each step like she was on her way to the chopping block. She paused at the doorway and pushed it open, catching a glimpse of him in his high-backed chair facing the city.

  She cleared her throat but he didn’t turn. She stepped inside cautiously, eyes riveted to the edge of the desk where he’d gripped her ass while he eased himself inside her so slowly that she might not ever be able to forget it. The entire memory played on repeat in the back of her mind, just below the conscious level, like a movie left on in the living room.

  “Niccolo?”

  He swiveled, a phone pressed to his ear, and surprise streaked his face. He straightened, murmured something into the phone in Italian and then set it down. “Yes?”

  She offered him the paper. “Here. Martha told me to give this to you.”

  He received it without meeting her gaze. “Thank you.”

  She stood watching him, gnawing at the inside of her cheek, desperate to allay some of the anxiety inside of her. In a low voice, she said, “Please don’t fire me.”

  His gaze jerked up to meet hers. “I wouldn’t.”

  She sagged with relief, smoothing the front of her skirt. There was a lot more she’d like to add, but Martha was just beyond the doorway.

  “There’s no need to share what happened.” He studied the desktop. “Is there anything else you need?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll get back to work now.” She spun on her heels and hurried back out, the weight of their quiet conversation heavy on her mind.

  They’d both pretend like nothing had happened. That was for the best. Everything depended on it. Niccolo’s regret was palpable, so thick she almost choked on it, and she could almost say the same thing.

  Except for the small part of her that was desperate for their office dalliance to happen again.

  ***

  Niccolo was a man of finely delineated compartments. Employees went into one file, family and friends into another, and finally leisure occupied its own tightly controlled space. People had their spot, and they remained there. It was the way of things.

  But after two weeks working alongside Georgia, it seemed she had a foot inside every door, no matter how hard he tried to relegate her to one compartment only.

  Under Martha’s tutelage and strictly controlled transition, Georgia’s succession went off without a hitch. Martha’s going-away party was full of tears and delicious food, but one thing was certain: Georgia was equipped to handle the work.

  Her professionalism and work ethic—first day snafus aside—weren’t just admirable, they kept him on his toes. Helped erode that insistent longing inside him that begged for just one more evening with her inside his office, or maybe even somewhere else, like back at his house, or inside the quiet comfort of a luxury hotel.

  But it was forbidden. Georgia made it very plain she only saw him as a boss; at best he was an acquaintance, if their slowly-warming conversations indicated anything.

  Her memory was reserved only for inside the glassy walls of his home shower, where he’d fisted himself to orgasm every morning since their illicit welcoming party on the side of his desk.

  Niccolo rubbed at his face, trying to massage away the thoughts, like it might break up some of the roots that clung to his brain that constantly brought his mind back to the way her pussy lips looked just before he pushed himself inside. Would he ever forget? At the onset, she’d been simply gorgeous, with an energy that crackled between them like water on live wire. But now, after working by her side, her spirit and work ethic were equally as fascinating.

  And on a Friday afternoon, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to her for the entire weekend. He wanted just a little bit more of her…and he knew precisely how to get it.

  Niccolo sprang to his feet, perfecting the casual saunter into the waiting area outside his office. Georgia didn’t even glance at him, absorbed in something on the computer. A few people filed down the hallway, waving to him as they left for the day. Every Friday was early-out, but it looked like Georgia was planning on staying awhile.

  “You almost done?”

  She jumped, looking up at him guiltily. “I didn’t realize you were standing there. Wow. Uh, yeah, just finishing up some more of the details for the masquerade ball benefit next month. Do you need me to leave?”

  He shook his head. “No, not necessarily. I do have a work request for you, though.”

  She nodded—of course she’d accept whatever work task he threw her way. It was ingrained in her DNA. “What is it?”

  “I need you to attend a dinner tonight.” He sat in the chair in front of her desk, squeezing the arm rests.

  “When is it?” She reached for her phone.

  “In a couple hours.” He paused, admiring her slender fingers swipe over the screen of the phone, presumably as she checked her calendar. “It’s a five-star restaurant appointment. Excellent food. Wine, if you want it. Can you attend?”

  She nodded, eyes still on the phone. “Yep, I think I’m free.” She yanked her gaze up to meet his. “Who will be attending?”

  He smiled. “A donor.” He cleared his throat, pushing to standing. “And myself.”

  There was no donor, but she didn’t need to know that now. A cleverly orchestrated business meeting seemed the only viable option to satiating his need for a little bit more of Georgia.

  “Great.” She smiled. “Where should I meet you, and what time?”

  “We can go straight from here, if you’d like. It might make more sense than taking the train all the way home, only to have to return again.” He paused. “The restaurant is here in Manhattan. Why don’t we just go together when we’re done here?”

  Nervousness streaked across her face, and some part of him was glad for it. Maybe he could get under her skin now, the way she’d gotten under his. In his almost forty years, Niccolo was used to being the one who not only played the game, but controlled the game. Until Georgia, that was. She made him, the reigning tomcat of the neighborhood, feel like the little, lost, desperate mouse.

  And he intended to change that. Starting tonight.

  Chapter Six

  Georgia took a little bit too much time wrapping up work for a Friday afternoon, editing a press release for the third unnecessary time. Truth be told, she had no plans that Friday evening and merely wanted to look important by consulting her calendar before blindly agreeing to anything the handsome charity God might suggest.

  She swore to herself, backspacing to correct her typo. The mere thought of his taut muscles, hidden under his neatly-ironed suits, could make her forget the English language.

  So she had to mentally prepare for their business meeting. Even though a donor would be there, that didn’t mean the donor would be there long. She’d have to practice the way she’d navigate out of the dinner, repeat the words enough to herself so they’d come out of her mouth at the appropriate time, even if she desperately wanted the opposite.

  Really sorry, but I have to head home… She’d look apologetically at her watch, which, shit—she hadn’t worn one. Her phone, then. My roommate has a concert that I absolutely can’t miss.

  No, Niccolo would tear that to shreds. One glance from him would make that excuse dissolve entirely.

  My grandmother’s on bed rest and I have to go watch over her for a few hours. Maybe that stood a chance. But then she’d be committing her grandmother to an unsavory fib.

  What about just saying you want to go home? She laughed to herself, X’ing out of all the programs on her computer. That would never fly. Because around him, she’d never want to go home.
>
  “Niccolo, I’m ready.” She cleared her throat, flipping off her computer, tidying the work space before stepping out into the waiting area to greet him. A moment later, he emerged from his office, flicking the light off, tugging the door shut behind him. Freshly spritzed cologne wafted toward her, making her knees weak. Damn him and his fancy smells.

  “Great.” His smile looked genuine, like something he might reserve for an actual date, gaze sweeping up and down appreciatively. “You look great.”

  She creased a brow, looking down at her clothes. “I’ve been wearing this all day.”

  “Right. Well now, I can tell you.” He tapped at his watch, implying that the after-hours nature of the compliment somehow made it fine.

  She smiled a little, slinging her purse over her shoulder, following him down the hall and into the elevator. The door slid open quickly and they stepped inside, a tense silence following them. Georgia’s mind reeled as she struggled to decide the best course of action: chit-chat? Staunch silence? Uber-professionalism? Nothing seemed quite right. Keeping up her guard around him was so taxing; she just wanted to let loose.

  But the job…the award…

  Niccolo led the way out of the elevator, striding a few steps ahead of her toward the main doors. A black Hummer waited at the curb. Niccolo guided her to the back seat, holding the door open for her.

  “Thanks.” She smirked up at him and clambered inside, greeted by a pleasant waft of leather. The driver nodded at her as she sat down. A moment later, Niccolo got in the other side. The brutish car took off without another word.

  “Is this yours?” She smoothed her hand over the empty space between them. “Or the company’s?”

  “This is my personal vehicle, personal driver,” he said, shifting in the seat to face her better.

  “Wow.” She clucked her tongue. “Have you ever taken the train?”

  A smirk crossed his face. “A few times.”

  She laughed, forcing her gaze off him and to the passing sights of Manhattan outside the window. From in here, it was truly a dream. Like watching a movie, star struck by the fascinating blur of New York City. Nothing at all like trudging down the sidewalk, flats biting into her heels, making her resent the upcoming mile of walking she had to do to get to Brooklyn and her overcrowded apartment.

  It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the restaurant. The driver pulled up to the valet entrance of a first-story restaurant, main doors flanked with shiny silver. Above the entryway, the name glittered in big platinum letters: Ensconce.

  She sucked in a breath. This place had been reviewed last month in The New Yorker, and she’d read the review while drooling at the descriptions of their food. She hopped out of the car, accepting Niccolo’s arm when he offered it, enchanted equally by the promise of the five-star experience and by the heat rolling off this man in waves.

  She pinched her eyes shut as she repeated the mantra to herself: Go home early. Don’t get drunk. And for God’s sake, don’t let this man woo you again.

  ***

  An hour later, beaming at each other over steaming plates of food, Niccolo felt the time for confession had arrived.

  They’d downed half a bottle of wine between them, and after enough banter and laughter, things felt loose enough to tell her the truth: that donor who had dipped out of the meeting had been a ruse.

  Georgia poked at her elaborately arranged meal—a version of shrimp etouffee served in a conch shell, topped with mango crisps. “I definitely need to take a picture of this.”

  He fought a grin as she did it, then gestured to his. “Get mine too.”

  She snapped a picture of his meal, perfectly square cuts of meat arranged in a semi-circle, drizzled with a variety of Peruvian sauces. Tucking the phone away, she lifted her glass. “Thanks for the failed donor outing.”

  He grinned, clinking his wine glass to hers. “To failed donors.”

  After a healthy sip, he set his glass down, smoothing his napkin over his lap. “Georgia, I have to tell you something.”

  “Hm?” She arched her brow, eyes on the inside of her conch shell.

  “There was no donor.”

  She stopped scraping at the sides, her gaze jerking up to meet his. “What?”

  “I just wanted to take you out to dinner.”

  She held his gaze for an abnormally long time, blinking profusely. “Why did you want to do that?”

  Where to begin with that question? He cleared his throat, eyes stuck on the fascinating red arc of sauce connecting the tenderloin square to the pork square. “Because I enjoy your company.”

  She straightened, reaching for her glass. After a gulp of wine, she met his gaze. “I enjoy yours too.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  She shook her head, scooping etouffee into her mouth. After chewing, she added, “I do feel punked, though. Like this was a reality show where you trick your coworkers on live television.”

  He grinned. “This would be a pretty bad edition of the show if that were the case.”

  “Yeah, I suppose there are worse things to lie about.” She nodded toward her plate. “I at least get a free meal.”

  Niccolo furrowed a brow. “I thought you were paying.”

  Shock crossed her face, but it only lasted a second before it dissolved into laughter. “Punked again.”

  A pleasant silence settled between them as they ate some of their meal. After a few appreciative moans, Georgia pushed her plate toward him. “Try this.”

  He hesitated, fork hovering in the air. “Are you sure?”

  “I told you to, so yes.”

  He reached over the table and scooped up some of her food. A moan escaped him as he tasted it. “That’s fantastic. Here, try mine.”

  He pushed his plate toward her, watching eagerly as she stabbed a piece of meat onto her fork. He never shared food with work colleagues, or even on the first date. Not that this was a first date—even though the idea didn’t sound totally bad.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and the look that crossed her face while she chewed made his cock stir.

  “Wow.” She set her fork down, eyes on his plate. “Wow.”

  He smirked, forking another bit into his mouth, chewing haughtily.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Let me try another one. I didn’t quite get a good enough taste.”

  “Oh no. You’re not going to swindle me out of this plate.”

  She laughed. “Was I that transparent?”

  A waiter passed by them, carrying a beautiful plate of oysters. Her gaze followed the waiter, and then she said, “Are oysters really an aphrodisiac?”

  He dabbed the napkin at his mouth, hiding the mischievous grin that crossed his face. “Why don’t we find out?”

  Her eyes widened slightly, a fascinating cocktail of expressions crossing her face. “D-Do you…what do you mean?”

  Niccolo set his napkin down and waved to get their waiter’s attention, who walked nearby. He came over immediately. “Yes, sir?”

  “Can you get us that fancy plate of oysters? The lady would like to try them.”

  The waiter nodded and hurried off. Niccolo eyed her, wishing he could kiss those plump lips again. Maybe later…after more wine. But still, she was forbidden. The fake-donor-date night was the most he could push it. Anything else would become gratuitous and obscene.

  “You really didn’t have to order them,” she said, scooping more etouffee onto her spoon. She met his gaze hesitantly. “I won’t even be hungry.”

  “But there’s an experiment to perform.” He lifted a brow, draining his wine glass. He filled their cups again, emptying the bottle. “And we should get more wine, don’t you think?”

  She blushed, and he knew exactly what was running through her mind.

  This dinner was leading exactly to where they both hoped it would end.

  Chapter Seven

  A full plate of oysters and second bottle of wine later, Georgia felt giddy and horny. Niccolo never asked about the aphrodi
siac aspect, so she didn’t mention it—better to avoid that sinkhole as long as possible. Because as soon as one of them fired the starting shot, they would be off to the races.

  While they waited for the bill, Georgia twirled her wine glass between two fingers. “Do you love charity work?”

  Niccolo appraised her with narrowed eyes, sipping at his wine. “Honestly? It’s my passion.”

  Her brows shot up. “Really?”

  “I don’t know why, or how. But ever since I was a little boy, I’ve always been setting up benefits of some sort.” He smiled wistfully, eyes on the white linen tablecloth. “It started with puppet shows. I’d put them on and donate the proceeds to orphanages.”

  Georgia laughed, but she covered her mouth. It was so sweet it hurt. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “Yep. That was almost thirty years ago. From there, I directed my efforts toward things I was interested in…things my parents told me about…and then issues that affected my daily life.”

  “Like what?” Her brain struggled to do math while he spoke, to calculate his age on the fly, but it failed. Not with so much wine.

  “Well, the organization is a direct reflection of all those areas.” His grin was devilish. “Everything we do comes from some aspect of my family’s or my interests. I think that’s the best way to keep it pure. To make it mean something.” He trailed off, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. “I was born very privileged. It’s my duty to share that privilege with the world.”

  She clenched her thighs under the table, feeling moisture stain her panties. God, all he had to do was talk charitably and she was this close to getting off. She’d tear his clothes off in the restaurant if she could. “You’re amazing.”

  His grin stole her breath. “You think?”

  She nodded, heat cresting her cheeks. “Definitely. Even though I thought you hated me at first.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’ve never hated you. I just…”

  “What?”

  He leveled her with a dark gaze, one that made her belly flop. “I knew from the start you’d be trouble for me.”

  She let his words circulate inside her a few times before swallowing back the yelp of excitement. Could this man be any hotter? She wanted him to growl that from on top of her while taking her from behind. “Trouble how?”