The Princess's Christmas Baby

by Louisa George

  ‘He’s busy. He’s got to finish his shift and, knowing him, will probably stay here far beyond that.’

  She shook her pretty head, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. ‘He works too hard.’

  ‘He’s the Head of ER, it comes with the territory. In the meantime we need to get you out of here. Hospitals are no place for people who are generally well.’

  A royal eyebrow rose. ‘I spend a lot of time at my hospital. It hasn’t affected me.’

  ‘Yet. There are always bugs whizzing around. I’d prefer it if we can keep you as bug free as possible for the rest of your...’ He glanced at her belly. Yes. It was sinking in. ‘Pregnancy.’

  ‘Okay. But I was thinking maybe it’s not such a good idea for me to go to the hotel. I don’t want anything leaking out about the accident just yet, or the fact we’re even here in Seattle. Not until we get the say-so from Dom.’ She sat forward, cradling her swollen arm. ‘I’ll cancel the booking for me and Papa. And... I know this is a huge imposition, Lucas, but could I stay at your place?’

  Lucas closed his eyes at that thought. Have her back in his home? Her perfume on his sheets? Torture. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I can drop you off at a different ho—’

  But he broke off as he watched her try to pick up her handbag, wince and then sit back in the chair, ashen with pain. How could he be so selfish? Thinking only of how awkward it would be to have her in his home when she had so much more to deal with. ‘Of course you can stay with me, Giada. You’re going to need some help while you rest that arm.’

  ‘I’m fine. I can manage. I just need to remember that I can’t use it.’ She gave him a wobbly smile and his world tipped. The centre of his chest tightened.

  ‘I don’t want you to just manage. You need to rest; you need someone to help you. So, first, I’m going to apply some compression to help with the swelling.’ He dug through the drawers and cupboards and found a bandage. ‘Hold your hand out, please.’

  She watched in silence as he wove the bandage between her thumb and forefinger and back over her wrist. She was so close he could smell not just her perfume but the scent that was uniquely Gigi. The one that he wasn’t sure he’d entirely erased from his bed even after numerous launderings. He felt the heat of her gaze as he wound the bandage, as gently as he could but with enough firmness to provide support. Was aware of the rise and fall of her chest, fast enough to show she was still buzzing from the adrenalin. Felt the soft whisper of her breath on his neck.

  The rhythmic weaving of the bandaging gave his brain space to think and it went immediately to the way this hand and these delicate fingers had played him, teased him, touched him.

  And wouldn’t he know it, heat wove through him, spiking a shot of desire sharp in his belly. So damned inappropriate.

  He refused to look at her, knowing she’d see the desire in his eyes, and the memories. But they were of no use: he and Giada couldn’t go back or look back. They certainly couldn’t rekindle any of that madness that had kept them glued to each other for seventy-odd hours of sex-fuelled bliss. They had a mess to deal with and they needed to do it with level heads.

  He stepped away and rummaged for a sling. ‘Now I’m going to put this arm in a sling.’

  ‘But then I won’t be able to do anything.’ She looked up at him.

  ‘That’s the plan. I don’t want you doing anything with this hand. Elevation helps with the swelling, which in turn helps with the pain.’ He opened the sling packet and tipped out the pre-shaped triangular bandage. Stepped behind her so he could drape the sling over her head and then over her arm, trying not to step too close or to breathe in her scent again. ‘Fair warning, though, I’m useless with these.’

  He came back round to look at the way he’d draped it. ‘Okay, so it might be upside down.’

  He shifted the bandage sideways. Had another look. Twisted it another ninety degrees. ‘I have two medical degrees and an advanced trauma qualification. I will not be defeated by a simple sling.’

  ‘Something you’re bad at? Surely not, Lucas Beaufort.’ The corners of her mouth twitched as he stood back and inspected it again. And then he made the fatal error of looking into her eyes.

  Instead of looking away, she held his gaze.

  His gut tightened. How could it be that something as simple as the organs of the human visual system were so mesmerising? So beautiful and deep? Their function was to detect light and convert it into impulses the brain interpreted as images, a purely physiological act, and yet, right now, also reflective of something as abstract as emotion. One look into those dark brown irises and he could see she was in pain, probably psychologically and emotionally as well as physically. That the joking was a cover for the fact she was desperate for something...he didn’t know what. Connection? Something as simple as a hug?

  More?

  He didn’t know if he could—or should—give her more.

  He straightened the sling. ‘The nurses usually do it. I’m great with endotracheal tubing or complicated suturing. Fantastic with seizures, fractures and diabetic comas, but bandaging...? Not so much. But...ah, we got there in the end.’ He secured the ends under her elbow with a safety pin. ‘There. This will remind you not to use the arm. At all. Doctor’s orders.’

  She grimaced. ‘How am I going to manage with this?’

  ‘I will help you.’ It appeared he had no choice. If only she didn’t smell so good. Or wasn’t—he swallowed at the thought of the baby growing inside her—pregnant.

  He dug deep for a different subject. ‘Now I’m going to phone for pizza.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’m hungry or not but you’re right, I need to eat.’ Finally a smile. Funny and a little sad that the only smile he could get from her was about food and not about the prospect of spending time in his home again. ‘From that deli on the corner of your road? Stone fired?’

  From the deli that had made the takeout pizza they’d eaten in bed after a long afternoon of lovemaking. ‘The very one.’

  He picked up her bag, making sure to avoid any physical contact with her. ‘I can phone ahead and it’ll be ready to collect as we pass by. Then we can relax and wait for updates from Dom.’

  She stopped walking. ‘Relax? While my father is having surgery?’

  ‘Bad choice of words.’ Seemed he was good at saying the wrong thing. Too damned good. ‘But I hope you’ll be comfortable there at least.’

  Because he wasn’t sure he would be. Not when he knew she was within touching distance. Things had felt a lot calmer—albeit far, far duller—when she’d been in Isola Verde.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WELL, THIS WAS a mistake of epic proportions.

  She was clearly a lot more shocked than she’d realised if she’d thought coming back here was a good idea. Giada walked into his house, took a deep breath of the rarefied air that was pure Lucas, and was immediately assailed by memories.

  The corridor where they’d had sex because they just couldn’t wait to get to a bed or a couch. The kitchen where he’d prepared breakfast wearing nothing but a towel. The pool...oddio, that lap pool where they’d skinny-dipped in the moonlight after champagne and oysters. Magical. And afterwards they’d talked into the night about books, favourite films, everything and nothing.

  God, it had only been for a weekend but it had felt so right.

  And now, after his reaction about the baby news, everything felt wrong. Even she felt wrong-footed and yet it was him who’d had the mother of surprises. Or rather, the father...

  She allowed herself a smile. He’d tried to hide his interest but she’d seen the way he’d looked at that blurry image. She just didn’t know what the next step was. Not for Lucas and herself or for her family. It felt as if she was juggling a lot of balls in the air and she wasn’t sure she would be able to catch any of them when they fell.

  ‘Guest room?�
� she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to be sure. Things were awkward enough without more complications.

  He was behind her, carrying her bags. She was so aware of him. Of the hitch in his breathing when her arm had brushed against his in the car. And the responding hitch in hers. The long slender fingers that had turned the steering wheel...fingers that had given her a lot of pleasure. The way his shirt strained across taut pec muscles she knew were honed from morning laps in the pool. That his arms were strong enough to hold her up as he’d entered her, pressing her against the bedroom wall, and, yes, in that pool.

  Did he remember? And did he now feel as self-conscious as she did? As if they just couldn’t find the right words to clear the air and bring them full circle back to that wall. That pool.

  She wondered how he’d have reacted to her if she hadn’t been pregnant. Would he be making moves on her? Would she be doing that to him? Would they have gone straight back to being lovers, feeding a renewed sexual hunger they couldn’t stop?

  But...everything was different now.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, he clarified, ‘Yes. I called and had the housekeeper make it up for you. Just down the hall. On the right.’

  ‘I remember.’ I remember everything, Captain Sensible. ‘I think I’ll grab a quick shower and change out of these clothes.’

  ‘Do you need help?’ He meant with her sling, she knew, and was being polite, not teasing or flirtatious.

  ‘I can manage. I’m going to run a bath, I think that would be a lot easier for me.’ It broke her heart the way they were being so respectfully well mannered around each other when she knew him so intimately. Knew how he tasted, what he looked like naked and sleeping. How his face lit up when he smiled. How she’d felt so safe enclosed in his arms. Oddio, she hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed him. And missed his smile. Damn, a smile from him would be a good start. But she didn’t have the energy to go searching for one right now.

  Exhaustion tugged at every muscle in her body so she flopped down on the deliciously comfortable bed unable to summon any strength to remove her clothes, open her suitcase or...anything.

  He nodded and put her bags on the floor. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay?’

  ‘I think so.’ But her eyes were already closing.

  ‘Do not do anything with that arm, definitely no lifting. Call me if you need help. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re ready.’ He closed the door as he left and she wondered just how much he didn’t want her to be here.

  Not that she’d be here for long. Like her brother, she had some calls to make. She forced her eyes to snap back open and, using her good hand, she took her phone out of her bag and hit the call button for the first of many conversations she needed to have.

  * * *

  Lucas checked the time again. Giada had been in her room for over an hour and he wasn’t sure quite what to do next. The pizza had grown cold and he’d just reheated it, hoping the smell of freshly cooked dough would summon her downstairs. But no.

  He knew she was tired but she needed to eat, not just for her strength but for the baby growing inside her. And there he was; already making space in his thoughts for this new life. How would it be when she wasn’t in the next room but thousands of miles away? How would he deal with the thoughts then?

  He’d give her five more minutes. He slid the pizza from the pizza stone and onto a large plate on a tray.

  Then he waited. Drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter. Three minutes.

  Okay. Now.

  He picked up the tray of food, walked to the guest room and, juggling the tray in one hand, gently tapped on the door.

  No answer.

  He pushed open the door and paused as he took her in, his heart stalling as lightness filled his veins. She was curled up on her side, wrapped in a fluffy white dressing-gown, fast asleep. Her hair was damp and curling in tendrils on the pillow. Her breathing came in little gasps, not snores but almost, and the sound was so cute and funny he held in a laugh. This was the Royal Princess of Isola Verde. Softly snoring in a guest room in his Seattle home.

  The robe had fallen open around her breasts, baring a nipple. Creamy brown, darker than he remembered, but he knew pregnancy could change a woman’s body in many ways. She was definitely fuller, rounder. He winced as his gaze slid over the raw stripe of bruising across her chest. But his eyes didn’t linger there, instead trying to glimpse her belly through the tied robe.

  Hot damn. What was he doing? Ogling her?

  Okay. The pizza could wait. He needed to get the hell out of here.

  Reluctantly dragging his eyes away from her beautiful form, he tiptoed backwards, banged into the door, clattering the plate on the tray against the glass of sparkling water. Damn.

  ‘Lucas?’ She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, but I thought you might be hungry.’

  ‘Oh, the pizza? Yes. Actually, I’m starving.’

  ‘D’you want to eat here? Or in the kitchen?’

  ‘Here, please. I’m too tired to get off this bed. Is that okay?’ She was being so polite.

  ‘Totally fine.’ He put the tray on the bed and helped her to shuffle up and recline against the pillows, making sure to elevate her sore arm. ‘I hope you’re ambidextrous.’

  ‘What?’ She noticed her robe had fallen open and hurriedly tugged it across her chest and tied it more tightly, but not before she caught his gaze. She knew he’d been looking. Her eyes heated, just for a second, and his whole body responded in kind.

  No matter what their problems, the physical attraction was definitely still there, front and centre, if his trouser tent was anything to go by. He tried to think of mundane things such as folding laundry and the principles of asepsis as he sat down on the bed and handed her a plate. ‘I hope you can eat pizza with your left hand.’

  ‘It’s going to be a challenge,’ she admitted with a grimace. ‘But trust me, I’m so hungry I’ll manage one way or another. Any news on Papa?’

  ‘Nothing yet. But I can assure you, if there was any news, good or bad, Dom would call immediately. My guess is that he’s still in Theatre or Recovery.’

  ‘Okay. Well, while we wait I may as well eat.’ She picked up a piece of pizza with her left hand and, twisting her palm at a very odd angle, hooked her fingers around it. The end of the slice drooped and she dipped her head quickly to catch the dripping oil and cheese with her mouth. She ate with gusto. ‘Ta-da!’

  ‘Messy, but ten out of ten for effort.’ He thought about offering to feed her, but knew that was a step beyond where they were right now.

  But when she’d finished eating, he did grab a napkin, take hold of her oily hand and wipe it for her. As he did so her body seemed to relax and she smiled as she watched him. ‘Thank you, Lucas. You’re such a gentleman.’

  ‘I just didn’t want to get pizza oil on my fancy bedding.’ He winked.

  She laughed. ‘No. You wanted to help me. Admit it.’

  ‘Yes. I did. But I don’t want to be overbearing.’ Generally happy to be in his own company, he wasn’t used to blurting out his feelings, but in this case it was important for them both to know where they stood. Their child was too important for ambiguity. ‘The truth is, Giada, I’m not sure where we go from here.’

  ‘Neither am I.’ Her shoulders dipped, but she looked relieved they were actually talking. ‘But you could start by calling me Gigi. Like you used to.’

  ‘But that’s a family nickname. I’m not family.’

  ‘You called me that before.’

  ‘Yes, when we were...’ How should he put it?

  ‘Playing?’ Her eyes slid up to meet his and for the first time since they’d met earlier this afternoon he felt as if the barriers were starting to shift. She breathed out and shook her head. ‘This is very difficult, sì?’

&n
bsp; He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t want a baby.’

  ‘I didn’t. Now? It’s sinking in.’ But he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression that they were going to walk off into the sunset together. That was, if he was even worthy of being accepted into the Royal family as some sort of...what? What exactly would he be to them? A complication? An error of judgement? Always on the outside. ‘But it makes everything awkward between Dom and myself, too.’

  ‘He’ll get over it.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand how a man feels about protecting his little sister. I’ve broken unspoken vows. He’ll kill me. What did you say the punishment was? Beheading?’ He was only half joking but his relationship with Dom would be irrevocably changed and strained by this and that thought was like a low blow in his gut.

  He lifted the tray from the bed and put it on the dressing table then sat down next to her again. She crossed her legs, tucking her heels under her knees. ‘We are both adults, Lucas. We can do what we like. Besides, my brother hasn’t been home for ten years. I can’t remember him ever wanting to protect me.’

  ‘He does, of course he does. One of the reasons he stayed here was to protect you from the fallout of him arguing with your Papa.’

  She spread the fingers of her good hand and ran them through her almost dry hair, teasing out the curls into gentle waves. ‘Papa does a good line in arguing, sì. I do love him, but he can be hard to live with. He has expectations and standards that I constantly fail.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘I’ve been in the gossip pages for half my life and rarely for a good reason. As you can imagine, he’s not a big fan of that.’

  ‘You were forced to grow up in the spotlight. At some point you were going to stuff up.’

  ‘Thank you for understanding.’ She threw him a look of gratitude. ‘He hasn’t forgiven me for the things I did in the past. It feels as if he’s just waiting for me to drop the ball again and drag the family into yet another scandal.’ She cupped her belly with her palm. ‘Looks like he’s right about that. But I’m having this baby and I’m proud I’m going to be a mother.’