Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection

by Lilian Monroe

  “More than that.” Sam glances around the kitchen. We’re alone at our end of the table, so she lowers her voice and continues. “His ex wrote this tell-all book that became a bestseller. It had all kinds of crazy details about him—even their sex life.”

  My eyes widen. “Really? I don’t remember that.”

  “Uh huh. The King had the book banned, but it still sold like crazy. Prince Gabriel went nuts one day, when he was mobbed by the press about it.”

  “Is that when he was knifed?”

  Sam nods gravely. “In the street. His ex was having a press conference, accusing him of stealing her baby. He was accusing her of neglecting the Princess and keeping his daughter away from him…” She shakes her head. “It was messy. I think there’s still video of it on the Internet.”

  “This must not have made international news, because I don’t remember any of this.”

  Sam shrugs. “It was a big deal in Farcliff.”

  “Maybe I was too focused on trying to pay my bills.”

  Sam leans in toward me. “Apparently, the ex left the baby at home unsupervised. A three-month old! Who does that? Prince Gabriel found out, took the Princess into his care, and confronted his ex about it.”

  “Holy shit.”

  Sam shakes her head. “He’s crazy about that little girl. Like I said, Jo, I’d stay away from her if you value your job—and your life.”

  Bertrand appears in the doorway, and we both straighten up. I feel like a guilty child, caught doing something I shouldn’t have done. My cheeks burn as the Prince’s butler swings his eyes over to me.

  “Miss Beaumont, the Prince would like to see you.”

  Silence falls over the kitchen as all eyes turn to me. Even the scraping of utensils over plates stop.

  I swallow the last bite of food in my mouth. “Me?”

  Bertrand nods, gesturing to the door. I wipe my mouth on my napkin and pick up my plate, but Sam stops me.

  “I’ll clear it,” she whispers. “You should go.”

  “What’s going on?”

  My friend shrugs. “I don’t know. This doesn’t usually happen.”

  My heart thumps as I push my chair back. I jerk up to stand and bump the table, sending the water in Sam’s glass sloshing over the edges.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “It’s fine. Go.”

  I smooth my hands over my legs and take a quick breath. As I follow Bertrand down the hallway, I pick at the skin around my fingernails and try not to trip over my own feet. My limbs feel heavier than usual, making every movement clumsy.

  Why would the Prince want to see me? Am I going to be fired? My father would be devastated. Is this because of the Princess? Does he know that she’s been coming to the cottage since my father and mother were here?

  I knew I should have refused to follow her to her chambers—Sam told me the East Wing was forbidden—but she was so insistent and so proud of her little library. How could I refuse? She’s royalty, too.

  I clear my throat and Bertrand glances at me. He says nothing to calm me down, and my mind spins out of control. My movements become even jerkier. I run my fingers through my hair and rub the back of my neck as sweat starts to gather under my arms and between my shoulder blades.

  Bertrand comes to a stop outside a set of double doors. We’re not far from Flora’s room, just the other side of the hallway. The doors are less grand than the library, but the sight of them fills me with terror.

  This is the end of me. I’m done. I’ll be fired, disgraced, and I’ll have to go back to Farcliff with my tail between my legs. I’ve only just started my new book—based on Flora—and I feel like I’ve found a new family and a new home.

  I can’t leave now. It would kill my father—literally. Every time I talk to him on the phone, all he wants to know about are the roses. If I ruined this for him…

  The Prince’s butler knocks on the door, and then pushes them open. He bows deeply, and my eyes flick to the end of the room, where the Prince sits at a small desk.

  “Thanks Bertrand,” the Prince says, putting a bundle of papers down and turning to face us. He waves a hand. “Leave us.”

  The butler arches an eyebrow, but says nothing. I stumble inside the doors, and they close behind me silently. Suddenly, the room is stifling. I can’t breathe. I don’t know where to look. The Prince’s eyes are glued on me, and I just want to disappear.

  I can’t move. I can’t even curtsy, or bow, or whatever the heck I’m supposed to do. I just stand there and sweat. The room is small, with a desk and a couch opposite each other. Another set of double doors leads to a massive bedroom. I’m in the Prince’s chambers.

  “Miss Beaumont,” the Prince starts. His voice reverberates through my body, and I gulp.

  I don’t feel sassy or confident right now. I feel completely, utterly terrified.

  “Your Highness.”

  The Prince stands up from his chair and walks toward me. Every step he takes makes my nerves crank tighter. He keeps his hands folded behind his back. His brow is dark as he surveys me.

  “The East Wing is forbidden,” he growls.

  This is it. I’m going to be fired, or arrested, or worse. My life is over. Done. Finished.

  The Prince arches an eyebrow. “You told me you weren’t a rule breaker.”

  “I… I’m not,” I stammer. “The Princess asked me…”

  “What my daughter says shouldn’t supersede the rules of this castle. She’s a child.”

  I say nothing, inhaling sharply as Prince Gabriel takes a step toward me. His eyes are dark and stormy, his face impassive. He’s so broad—so strong.

  Is it wrong that I’m still attracted to him? Even when I see the darkness inside him. Even when he’s angry and imposing. Even when I know I can never have him.

  I close my eyes. I can’t look at him. Every time I stare into his face, a lump forms in my throat and he steals the words from my lips. The only way I’ll be able to say anything is if I’m not looking at him.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “You should be,” he growls.

  With my eyes closed, I can sense every movement he makes. The Prince takes another step, and I can smell his cologne. I can feel the heat of his body just inches from mine.

  I’ve ruined everything. I won’t get to take care of the roses for my father, I won’t get to finish my new book. I’ve failed again, just like I always do. At least I’m consistent, right? If I can count on anything, I can count on my ability to fuck something up.

  “Look at me,” the Prince commands.

  I take a breath and force myself to open my eyes. Prince Gabriel is standing just inches away from me, in all his towering glory. I’ve never met a man like him before. The danger in his eyes is tantalizing, and he makes me melt. He makes me think about everything naughty, everything wrong, everything right.

  “I should have you fired…”

  “Your Highness…” My breath hitches.

  “… but my daughter seems to like you.” He tilts his head, his eyes flicking down to my lips.

  Fire burns in my veins and I waver on my feet. I can’t speak, or think, or move. I just soak up his presence and try to stop my head from spinning.

  The Prince steps toward me, and I step back. His lips tug at the corners, and he takes another step. I move back.

  It’s not that I want to move away from him. Quite the opposite, actually. I want to throw my arms around him and kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone before. I want to give myself to him—mind, body, and soul. I want to surrender to this feeling inside me and never look back.

  But he’s royalty.

  And who am I? I’m just the gardener’s daughter.

  Once more, he steps toward me. This time, when I take a step backward, my back hits the door. The Prince grins, bringing his hands up to cage me in against it.

  My pulse hammers. He leans in toward me, his breath tickling the base of my neck. The Prince’s lips brush the skin
just below my ear, and a growl rumbles in his chest.

  My fingers act of their own will, curling themselves into his shirt and pulling him closer. Torturously slowly, the Prince moves his lips up my neck and over my jaw. Everywhere he touches sends sparks flying over my skin. His body cages me against the wall and I submit to the desire inside me.

  I arch my back toward the Prince, pressing my chest against his. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close to me. His lips tease me, trailing over my jaw and across the corner of my lips.

  When I roll my hips toward him, Prince Gabriel chuckles.

  “Jolie,” he chides. “You are a rule breaker.”

  “What rule am I breaking now?”

  I lift my eyes to his, and the tension between us heightens. His lips part, but I don’t wait for his response. I lean toward him and press my lips to his.

  I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not usually this forward. I didn’t come here to kiss him.

  It’s just that his aura is engulfing me, and I can’t resist any longer. I pull him closer to me, fusing my body against his. Swiping my tongue across his lower lip, I part my lips as I kiss the Prince of Farcliff.

  For the briefest of moments, I can feel his hesitation. He pauses, feeling my lips against his as his body traps mine against the door.

  It’s only a moment, though, and then something inside him snaps. It’s almost an audible shift in the energy between us, like thunder breaking overhead.

  Sweet, irresistible thunder.

  Prince Gabriel roars, slamming his body against mine as he crushes my lips with his kiss. His hands move from the door to my hips, and then around to my ass. He pulls me closer, grinding his hips to mine as he deepens the kiss.

  It’s electric. It’s animalistic. It’s wild.

  He claws at my body, lifting me up so I wrap my legs around his waist. I hook my arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely as I moan into his mouth.

  His hands slip under my shirt. The feeling of his bare hand against my skin sends red-hot shivers coursing through my body.

  I can feel the fire burning inside him. I can sense the wildness just beneath the surface, and it makes my heart hammer against my ribcage. My fingers curl into his blond locks and I swipe my tongue into his mouth.

  Prince Gabriel tastes like danger. He smells so intoxicating it feels immoral to be this close to him. I moan again, and he kisses me harder. His hips roll toward me, and I feel his length. He’s hard—for me. I moan into his mouth and he grinds himself against me again.

  It’s better than I’d imagined. Desire consumes me whole, and I give myself over to him.

  I’m ready.

  I want him.

  I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care about anything except what’s happening right here, right now…

  …but just as suddenly as it starts, it’s over. The Prince pulls away, unwrapping my legs from his waist. I drop to my feet and he takes a step back.

  “Go,” he says, his eyes flashing.

  “But, your Highne—”

  “Leave!” He howls, and fear spikes through me.

  I scramble for the door, my hands shaking as I tear it open. I don’t even take the time to close the door again. I just run down the empty hallway, straightening my clothing as tears sting my eyes. My cheeks burn and shame coats the inside of my mouth.

  I run all the way to the Gardener’s Cottage, not speaking a word to anyone. I don’t stop moving until I’m safely inside with the lock bolted.

  Then, and only then, do I break down and cry.

  14

  Gabriel

  I slam the door shut and stand in the middle of my anteroom, panting. My blood pumps hot and fast through my veins. My chest heaves. My legs tremble.

  Fuck.

  I shouldn’t have done that. I brought her here to fire her—and instead, I kiss her?

  No, that was more than a kiss. I was seconds away from losing control. If she’d stayed a moment longer, I’d have torn her clothing to shreds and fucked her senseless. I’d have given in to the beast and lost control.

  Slumping down onto my chair, I let out a sigh.

  I shouldn’t have screamed. I shouldn’t have kicked her out. I saw the tears fill her eyes when I yelled, and the frantic edge to her movements. I heard her footsteps running away from me.

  And she should run away from me, the demons whisper. Everyone should.

  Charlie wants me to do charity? He wants me to re-enter the royal life? How could I possibly do that, when I can’t even control my own urges?

  My face feels hot, and there’s a tickle in my throat. I crumple away from the door, slouching in my chair as I struggle to come to terms with my own behavior.

  She’s just like Paulette—or is she? The kindness in her eyes is genuine. Jolie is good. I know she is.

  Would it be that bad to sleep with her, just once? To give in to these urges a single time?

  I inhale sharply, rubbing my palms against my eyes. Something has shifted inside me, and I don’t know how to fix it. Does it need to be fixed?

  To want someone as badly as I want Jolie—is that a bad thing, or a good thing? What does she want? Why would she kiss me? Why would she break every rule in the castle, and then shatter my defenses with one bat of her eyelashes?

  She’s going to destroy me—but destruction feels too good to say no.

  The echo of her footsteps in the hallway rattle in my mind, and I let out a sigh. I shouldn’t have treated her that way. What did she do to deserve it, except show kindness to my daughter?

  My mind pulls me in a thousand different directions, but in the end, my body wins. My feet carry me out of my chambers and down the hallways. My footsteps follow hers as I walk out of the castle and across the lush, green lawn toward the Gardener’s Cottage.

  There’s a tingling in my fingertips and a hollowness in my chest and all I can see is the small building at the edge of the grounds. My steps are hurried as I make my way across, and all I can hear is the rushing of blood in my ears. My mouth tastes bitter and I inhale deeply as I step onto the flagstones that lead to the cottage’s front door.

  Twice, I’ve stood here before—and twice, I’ve hesitated.

  Not today.

  Without pausing, I bring my fist up and knock on the door.

  “Jo!” I call out, leaning toward the door.

  I can hear rustling on the other side of the door, but it doesn’t open.

  “Jolie,” I call out again, a little more quietly. I knock once more, then pause.

  Her footsteps come closer, and I think I hear her inhale. The lock scrapes open, and the door swings inward. Jolie stands in the opening, her eyes shining and her mouth set in a thin line.

  “Your Highness?”

  She’s stunning. More than stunning. She’s the embodiment of everything I want, from her thick, wavy hair, to her willowy body. Even the hostility in her face doesn’t put me off.

  I take a deep breath. “Can I come in?”

  She doesn’t react for a moment, watching me. Then, with a sigh, she opens the door wider. “I guess it’s as much your cottage as it is mine.”

  When I’m inside, Jolie closes the door behind me and takes a step away from me. Her eyebrows arch in question.

  I take a step toward her, but she holds up her hand.

  “Not this again.” She shakes her head, averting her gaze.

  “Not what again?”

  “You. Not you, your Highness.” She raises her gaze up to mine, and the determination in her face nearly knocks me back. She continues: “You can’t kiss me like that and then scream at me to leave. You can’t treat me like a toy that you can pick up and put down again. If you want me to leave Westhill, I will—but I won’t be treated like that.”

  Her shoulders tremble.

  “I’m sorry.” I say the words softly, and to my surprise, I mean them. I don’t remember the last time I apologized to someone and actually meant it.

&nb
sp; She swallows thickly. “Thank you.”

  Neither of us moves, and I feel like I’m being torn apart. All I want to do is wrap my arms around her again. I want to feel her body pressed up against mine again, taste her lips, curl my fingers into her hair. I want to devour her, ravage her, and ruin her until she begs me for more.

  But an invisible wall stands between us, and I know that I’m the one who put it there.

  “I’m not used to this,” I say.

  “To what?”

  “To wanting someone like I want you.”

  Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and I can see the pulse thumping in her neck.

  “I’m just here to take care of the roses until my father is better,” she responds quietly.

  “What about the kiss?”

  “What about it?”

  “I know you want me, Jolie. No one kisses like that unless they want you.”

  “What does it matter if I want you?” She shakes her head, scoffing. “Of course I want you. How could I not? Look at you! But I don’t want to be yelled at or treated like a cockroach whenever you feel like you’ve had enough of me.”

  My heart squeezes. I exhale slowly, raking my fingers through my hair. “I’m messed up in the head, Jolie,” I say softly. “I have been ever since I was a kid. I don’t know how to think straight sometimes.”

  “Oh, okay—that makes it all better. Let’s have sex, then,” she snaps.

  I flick my eyes up to hers to see Jolie shaking her head. Anger flares inside me, but a voice at the back of my head tells me she’s right.

  Jolie’s deep, brown eyes are full of fire as she looks at me. “I may be nothing but a gardener and a struggling writer. I may be nothing to you—but saying that you’re messed up isn’t good enough. I’ve been with enough damaged men to know that I can’t fix you, and I don’t want to be anywhere near you when you implode.”

  I grind my teeth as a flush passes through my body. My ears feel like they’re burning, and I ball my hands into fists to try and hold myself back.

  “I’m your Prince,” I say through gritted teeth.