by Maisey Yates
“Is there a hotel that you can recommend?” she asked, desperate to break the tension that was thickening the air in the room.
The test was weighing heavily on him, too, she could tell. The corded muscles of his arms obviously tense beneath his well-fitted shirt, his jaw locked tight. He really did care about the baby already. Knowing they shared that made her feel linked to him, even if it was only by one tenuous thread. It was comforting in a way, knowing that someone else cared about the baby. That if something was wrong she wouldn’t be alone in hurting for her child. For now at least, Maximo didn’t feel as much like an adversary.
“Why would you need a hotel?” he asked, flexing the arm that the doctor had taken blood from.
“I don’t want to sleep in a field somewhere. I’m not big on camping.”
“You do have a very smart mouth,” he said, his focus dipping to her lips. She darted her tongue out to moisten them, feeling very self-conscious of the action as she did it. But with him looking at her like that all she could think about was her mouth, and that made it feel dry. And tingly. His dark eyes conveyed an interest that made her stomach tighten. He was attracted to her, too. The realization made her feel light-headed. It had been one thing to experience the errant desire on her own, but to know he might feel even a fraction of it for her…
Just as suddenly as the interest had appeared in his eyes, it was gone, his expression flat and unreadable. She must have manufactured the moment. There was no other explanation. She wasn’t ugly by any stretch; she knew that. Men asked her on dates often enough. She wasn’t a beauty queen, though. Maximo’s first wife had even made Supermodel Doctor look average: her features exquisitely stunning, her sleek dark hair always styled so elegantly, her slim figure the perfect showcase for designer clothing.
She could remember his wife’s face clearly. She’d graced the covers of fashion magazines and had been a minor celebrity prior to her marriage to Maximo. An opera singer who had performed in the most prestigious venues around the world, she’d been talented, beautiful and cultured.
So, it wasn’t that Alison didn’t have her own brand of beauty. She just didn’t have that universal appeal, that unquestionable, unrivaled loveliness that Selena Rossi had possessed. There was no way Maximo could want her. She was average, and he was just as perfect as his wife had been. A demigod of masculine perfection.
And now she was dramatizing.
She licked her lips again and silently cursed herself.
“You will be staying here at the palace,” Maximo said, his tone so confident she knew that it absolutely didn’t occur to him that she might refuse. Or, if it did occur to him he was supremely confident that he could change her mind.
“I don’t need you to put me up. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own accommodations.”
“No doubt,” he said, flashing her a wry smile. “I imagine your extensive education has left you more than capable of booking your own room. But you’re pregnant with my child and I don’t want you staying at some hotel by yourself.”
“Seedy hotels in Turan, are there?”
“Not at all,” he said, dismissing her statement with a wave of his hand. “But that doesn’t mean I will allow you to—”
She cut him off, anger bubbling in her chest and spilling over. “Allow me? You have no authority to allow or disallow me to do anything.”
“You are pregnant with my baby. I would say that gives me some rights over where you go and what you do.”
Her mouth dropped open and she was certain she was doing a fair impression of a shocked guppy. He honestly believed that he had some kind of dominion over her, over her body, because he happened to be the accidental father of her baby!
The fine, gossamer strand that she had felt connecting them earlier snapped.
“That is the most primitive thing I have ever heard. You don’t have any rights over me!”
“I want to keep you safe. You and the baby. What’s primitive about that?”
“Other than the fact that it’s controlling beyond belief?”
“Che cavolo! How is it controlling to want to protect you? You are pregnant with my baby and that makes you my woman.” He looked completely exasperated, as though she were slow in comprehending something that should be completely obvious.
“Your woman?” She ignored the sensual thrill that shot through her. It wasn’t something to be excited about. It was insulting. Ridiculous. “I’m not anyone’s woman. Even if we had…” She swallowed and tried to fight the involuntary urge to blush as she spoke her next words, “Even if we had made this baby the traditional way I wouldn’t be your woman. I am more than capable of running my own life.”
“Yes. You certainly are,” he said drily. “How is that going, by the way?”
“About as well as your life is going I would imagine.”
He ignored her tart statement. “What’s the point of fighting me on this, Alison? I want you here for your safety and the safety of the baby. If the press figure out who you are and you stay here without my protection they will hound you constantly. And what would happen if you get chased by the paparazzi? You have no idea how ruthless and single-minded they can be.” His dark eyes were bleak, black holes of bottomless, intense emotion that stunned her momentarily. And just like that, all of the depth was gone, his expression composed again.
“Is that a…is it a possibility?”
“You saw the press at the airport in Washington. Here in Turan it can be much worse than that.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t really taken that into consideration. Hadn’t believed that she might be a point of interest to the media. She’d seen how they’d gravitated to Maximo at the airport, but he was…well, he was worthy of press. And they had loved his wife, but she had been gorgeous and talented. Alison truly hadn’t thought that they might want pictures of her.
“Yes, ‘oh.’ I will not take that kind of chance with our baby’s safety.”
“I won’t, either,” she said softly, hating that he was right.
“I’ll show you to your room.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her gently from his office out into one of the main corridors of the palace. The casual touch ignited a flash fire of sensation that scorched a path from the point of contact all the way to her toes and up to her fingertips, hitting all kinds of interesting points in between. A pulse beat, hard and heavy at the apex of her thighs, and she squirmed slightly, in an effort to gain some distance and to quell the insistent ache that was making itself known.
She tried to focus on something other than his touch. A touch that meant nothing to him, and shouldn’t mean anything to her. She looked around, taking in her surroundings and gritting her teeth against the onslaught of sensation that was rioting through her. The wing of the palace they had entered was his own personal quarters, and rather than resembling the interior of a Gothic castle it had a light, modern aesthetic that was similar in appearance to his home in Washington.
The walls had been textured and were painted a bright white that contrasted with bold pieces of artwork and sleek, dark furniture. Whoever Maximo had hired to decorate had excellent taste. Maybe his wife had done it. The thought made her chest tighten.
He led her to a curved staircase, winding his arm around her waist and placing a hand over her stomach as they walked up to the second floor. She found the proprietary nature of the gesture oddly comforting rather than offensive, and that scared her. When they reached the landing she moved away from him, not wanting to draw any kind of comfort from his touch. That was not a road she was willing to go down.
He pulled her to him again, placing his hand back over her flat stomach, slowly pushing the hem of her shirt up, his dark eyes intent on hers. He stroked his fingers slowly over the bare skin of her belly, as though he had every right to. It wasn’t a gesture of ownership, but an acknowledgment of the fact that they shared something infinitely special.
Tears stung her eyes. It was his baby t
hat she carried and she couldn’t deny the connection that he felt with their unborn child, or the connection it made her feel with him. His touch felt right, so right that the steadily growing anxiety that had been gnawing at her since her phone call about the lab mix-up was momentarily masked by the comfort the simple contact gave her.
She looked down at the place where his hand rested on her, his golden skin contrasting with her pale flesh. It fascinated her, held her attention, made her stomach tighten with a deep kind of longing that went way past the desire for something simply physical. But that was there, too. Part of her wished that he would continue moving his hand upward, palm her breast, squeeze her aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
She looked up, trying to break the spell that he had somehow woven around them. His face was inches from hers and she was awestruck by the perfection of his striking features. Even close up she couldn’t find a single flaw with his sensual mouth, his strong nose and jaw, his dark, compelling eyes. She found herself moving closer to him, leaning in, drawn by an instinct she couldn’t understand or control.
When his mouth brushed hers she held her lips still for a second. Then he moved, pressed his hand to the small of her back, closed the gap between them and brought her up against his hard body. She parted her lips, allowing the tip of his tongue to delve between them, to lightly tease her. It wasn’t a demanding kiss. It was a slow seduction of her body, her mind, her senses. She’d never been kissed like this, with this level of skill and sensuality.
She’d kissed men before. Mostly back in college when she’d bothered with the pretense of casual dating. But never had a kiss made her feel so hollow, so desirous for more, as if she was in need of something only this man possessed.
Always, the kiss itself had been the main event for her. Other kisses had either been nice, or not so nice, but never had they made her want to lean in, to press her body more firmly against a man, to rock her hips against his hard length to bring herself at least some small measure of satisfaction.
His tongue slid over hers and she felt it all the way in the core of her body. Muscles she’d never been aware of before clenched in anticipation of something much more intimate.
When Maximo pulled away she swayed slightly, her brain totally scrambled by the drugging power of his lips covering hers.
“Max,” she whispered, touching her lips, feeling for herself that they really were swollen and hot from the press of his mouth against them.
His mouth curved into a slow smile. “Max. I like that.”
The fog of desire was starting to clear and awareness was creeping into the fuzzy edges of her mind, shame mingling with her slowly ebbing arousal.
He placed his hand over her stomach again, his expression intense. “This is my baby that you carry, Alison. Our baby. I could not feel it more if you had conceived in my bed.” His accent was thicker than she’d ever heard it, his voice a husky rasp that made her nipples tighten and her pulse pound. “The attraction between us is very convenient.”
“Convenient?” Her tongue felt thick and clumsy, her mind still clouded by passion.
“Of course. How could it not be convenient for me to feel desire for my future wife?”
Chapter Four
“YOUR future wife?” Her head was still fuzzy from the kiss, her limbs heavy with arousal, and she was certain she must have heard him wrong.
“Yes. I have thought it through and it is the only thing to be done.” He said it so pragmatically, as though anyone should be able to see his point.
“I’m not going to marry you,” she said, trying to match his tone. If he wanted to try to have an insane discussion as calmly as if they were talking about the weather then she was more than up to the challenge. She certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of rattling her self-control more than once in a five-minute time span.
“Alison, I credit you with a very high level of intelligence, and given your career choice it’s obvious to me that you’re not only very smart, but very compassionate. With those two qualities I can’t imagine that you have not arrived at the same conclusion as me.”
“I fail to see how intelligence and compassion would lead me to conclude that you and I should get married.” But darn if it didn’t make her heart thunder harder in her chest. The thought of being married to a man like Maximo made her stomach turn over, and not in an unpleasant way.
“Logic would tell you that we won’t be able to share custody as well as we might if you are living in the U.S. and I’m living here. Also, there would be the added stigma of my child being illegitimate. An illegitimate child will not be eligible to assume the throne, neither will they be able to claim the bulk of their inheritance. Compassion would prevent you from allowing that to happen to our son or daughter.”
She shook her head. “That’s your version of logic, but that can’t possibly be the best thing for our child. We don’t even know each other. How could it be good for them to grow up in a home where their mother and father are essentially strangers?”
“But we would not be strangers,” he said, supremely confident. “We share some pretty combustible passion. I think we would become acquainted very quickly.”
“I don’t even know you. You expect that I would just sleep with you?”
He shrugged. “It is not unheard of for strangers to sleep together. And anyway, if we were married it would only be natural.”
For him it might be natural to just sleep with a woman because he wanted her. For her there was nothing natural about it. Nothing natural at all about the idea of getting naked with him, of letting him touch her everywhere, see her totally uncovered. Her whole body tensed at the thought.
She tightened her lips and forced her expression to remain neutral. “Sorry, I’m not in the market. If you remember from previous conversations I’m not interested in snagging myself a husband.”
“Yes, that was your original plan. But things have changed.”
“Nothing has changed. Not really. My goals haven’t changed.”
His jaw tensed. “But the reality has changed. Believe me, marriage was not on my ‘to do’ list, either. I’ve been married. I don’t believe I have the ability to fall in love again. No woman will ever replace my wife.”
“Don’t break your no-marriage vow on my account.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her face up. “I wouldn’t be breaking it on your account. This is for our child. I thought you would be able to see that, and that it would matter to you.”
“Don’t for one moment imply that the baby’s happiness doesn’t matter to me!”
“Then do not act like it. It’s selfishness, Alison, pure and simple, for you to refuse to marry me.” His dark eyes glittered with dangerous heat and an answering spark ignited in her belly, anger and desire acting as accelerants.
“And it’s plain bullheadedness for you to think that you have the only answer!”
“So passionate,” he said, his voice low and husky. He slid his hand up so that he could put his palm on her cheek, the slight roughness of his skin creating delicious friction. “It’s a shame you choose to express it this way.”
“How would you have me express it?” she snapped.
“In my bed,” he said, each word succinct.
“That’s about as likely as me taking a trip down the aisle,” she returned.
A wicked, dangerous, smile curved his lips. “That, cara, sounds very much like a challenge, and I’m the wrong man to issue a challenge to.”
“Sounds like you’re issuing a challenge of your own, Maximo. And believe me, you might be bullheaded, but I’m not exactly a shrinking violet.”
“I believe it. That is why I find you so intriguing. You are a woman who knows her own mind.”
“That’s right,” she bit out, “and my mind says that marrying you would be a very stupid thing to do.”
“It is the only logical thing,” he said. “I trust you will come to the same conclusion.”
&nbs
p; He turned and continued walking down the corridor, acting as though the conversation hadn’t happened. She followed, if only because she didn’t relish getting lost in the labyrinthine hallways of the palace, especially since she had no soda crackers at her disposal and she was beginning to feel nauseous again. If not for that, she might have taken her chances.
Maximo didn’t say another word as he walked and she was more than happy to maintain that status quo. Instead of talking, she played the conversation over in her mind. Was he right? Was marriage the only option?
In the U.S. she hadn’t considered being a single mother an issue. But this was a different country, and not only that, her baby was royalty.
A wave of sadness washed over her. It wasn’t what she wanted for her child. She had dreams of sitting at a small kitchen table, eating family dinners, coloring, finger painting. Never had she imagined pomp and circumstance and palaces. If she were to marry Maximo their child would be next in line to the throne. And if she didn’t, he or she would be off the hook. She honestly wasn’t certain which scenario was best. She’d had dreams of a normal childhood for her son or daughter, but what would they want? Would they hate her for denying them not only an intact family, but a place in history? It was too much to even take in.
The only thing she was remotely certain of was that she wanted the very best for her baby. If only she could figure out what that was.
“This is your room.” Maximo opened one of the doors and gestured for her to go inside.
She looked back down the endless hallway and cursed the fact that she hadn’t been counting doors on her way down. She was never going to find her way back.
“Don’t worry, I’ll escort you back later,” he said, amusement lacing his voice.
“Businessman, prince and mind reader?” she asked.
“I promise you I can’t read minds. Faces are another matter. And you have a very expressive face.”