A Mistake, A Prince and A Pregnancy

by Maisey Yates

  A throaty growl escaped her throat. “Max.” It was a plea, and it was one she didn’t need to make twice.

  He placed his notebook on the table and joined her on the chaise. Her hands were on him, pulling his shirt over his head, fumbling with the closure of his pants.

  “What is it that you do to me?” he growled, moving his hand over her curves, tracing them as he had just done with a pencil. This was much more satisfying; flesh on flesh instead of lead on paper.

  He kissed her neck, nibbling the tender flesh of her throat. “I hope it’s the same thing that you do to me.”

  “Without a doubt it is.” He shoved his jeans down along with his underwear, and relished the sensation of her hot skin against his. “I think this is going to be fast.”

  She gripped his buttocks with her hands and looked him in the eye. “Good. I don’t think I could handle slow.”

  He positioned himself and sank into her tight, wet heat. He had to grit his teeth to keep from exploding then and there. It took all of his strength to stay still, to keep it from ending without her reaching satisfaction, too.

  He had never felt this, this overwhelming desperation to claim a woman, to make her his, to lose himself inside of her body. Before Alison it had been years since he’d been with a woman. But this was about much more than prolonged, willful abstinence. This was something more…something unfamiliar, something that seemed to have taken on a life of its own.

  His self-control snapped. He moved uncontrollably, pounding into her. She pulled her knees back so he could thrust harder, deeper. The only sound was their labored breathing and the slap of flesh meeting flesh. There was nothing gentle about their coming together. It was fire and brimstone, passion and torture. She cried his name out as she came and he followed, pumping into her, releasing everything he had into her body.

  She kissed his neck, a smile curving her lips. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

  He had no idea what he’d done to earn the trust he heard in her voice, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it. Wasn’t sure that he could fulfill all of the hopes that he saw shimmering in the depths of her beautiful eyes.

  They lay in silence for a long time and he was content to simply move his hands over her curves. A small sigh escaped her lips and he wanted to understand it. And he suddenly realized he wanted to know more than that. He wanted to know everything about her, who she was and why. He couldn’t recall ever feeling that need before, not concerning anyone.

  “Tell me about your sister,” he said, not sure why it suddenly seemed important to know.

  “She was my best friend.” Alison burrowed against him. “She never let having Cystic Fibrosis affect who she was. She was always smiling, even when she was sick. Kimberly was the glue for our family. When she was gone everything fell apart. My parents fell apart.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was twelve when she died.”

  “They didn’t have any right to fall apart, not when you needed them,” he said.

  “No argument from me. But my dad just couldn’t stay anymore. I don’t think he could walk in the house, or look at us without remembering. And that just left Mom and me.”

  “And she didn’t look after you, either?”

  “She had enough trouble dealing with her own issues. She depended on my father. She needed him for everything. Without him, she had no security and she just…It never pays to lean on someone so much because one day they might just be gone. But then, you know all about that.”

  “I do,” he said slowly. “But I didn’t depend on Selena. She depended on me. I wasn’t there for her, and because of that she had to live the last month of her life completely unhappy.”

  “That’s not fair, Max. If you could have done something to fix Selena then I could have fixed my parents.”

  He let silence stretch between them. There was no point debating with her. She had been a child, while he had been an adult man, Selena’s husband. And she’d been hurting, spiraling into depression, and he hadn’t even realized it. Not truly. She’d said she hadn’t wanted to talk, and at that point he’d been so tired of trying that he’d simply accepted it.

  Alison ran her soft hand over his abs, and his stomach tightened, his whole body aching, ready for her again. If it was only his body that was affected it wouldn’t be so dangerous, but his chest felt too full when he looked at her, when he touched her. It was too much. It wasn’t what this was supposed to be about.

  He thought about what his father had said. About the paternity test. Alison had even commented that if they’d made a mix-up at the lab in the first place, it was possible they had made a mistake and that he wasn’t the father.

  If that were true she would be free to go back home. They wouldn’t even have to get married.

  He’d imagined that thought might make him feel free, that the prospect of escaping marriage might make the tightness in his chest lessen. Instead it sent an intense pain shooting through him, targeting his heart. It shouldn’t hurt like that to think of her leaving.

  “We should have a paternity test done,” he said firmly. “Just in case. Like you said, they made one mistake, they might have made more.”

  Her sweet little body that had been so soft and pliant against him went rigid in his embrace. “If you think it’s necessary.”

  “It would be responsible.”

  She paused for a long moment and he could feel her drawing in short, shallow breaths. “Is there a way to do it without risk to the baby?”

  “I’ll find out.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t move away from him, but she wasn’t melted into him anymore, either.

  “We’re going home tomorrow,” he said, tightening his hold on her and tracing circles over the bare skin of her arm. “I need to get back and deal with some issues with one of the larger casinos.”

  “Okay.” The note of sadness in her voice hit him like a punch in the gut. He’d upset her. He’d hurt her.

  “You’re disappointed?”

  He felt the shrug of her slight shoulders. “This has been wonderful. But it’s kind of like a fantasy. Tomorrow we’re going back to reality.”

  “You prefer the fantasy?”

  “Well, it was a wonderful fantasy.”

  He looked around his studio, the place he’d never shown another living soul. “Yes, it was.”

  After their return to Turan, Maximo’s work schedule kept him away from the castillo during the day. He was hands-on with his work, something she greatly respected, but, despite the fact that she was keeping busy by helping to establish a Turani branch of the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, she missed him horribly while she rattled around the huge castle.

  Isabella was a cheerful, fun presence in her life, but she was busy studying her college tele-courses, and in her spare time her parents were practically keeping her under lock and key since their shopping escapade.

  But even though Maximo was gone during the day, the nights were theirs. That part of the fantasy, at least, was still intact. Her passion for him hadn’t ebbed, and it didn’t seem as if his had for her. It was a strange thing, going from giving sex no more than the random, cursory thought, to having it be so much a part of her. Her long-denied sexuality was definitely no longer repressed, and honestly, she was happy about that. She felt more like a whole person, a whole woman, rather than someone who had a host of private hang-ups and issues that were so wound up around her she had to find an alternative way to function.

  She spent every night in Max’s bed, in his arms. But she kept her own room, kept her clothes hanging in the closet there, kept her makeup case in the bathroom that adjoined it, because she just wasn’t ready to have everything in her life melded together with Max’s. It would be too much like depending on him, and the very thought of that made her chest feel tight with panic. The wedding was in two weeks and she expected him to want her to move into his room fully after that, but until then she was retaining some sort of independence.

 
He was already getting under her skin, and if she wasn’t careful he was going to get into her heart, too.

  She sighed and checked the time on her cell phone. Max’s personal physician, Dr. Sexy, was due any minute to draw her blood for the noninvasive paternity test. And Max wasn’t there. Alison clutched her orange juice, her sugar boost and last line of defense against passing out when the doctor drew the blood. She was trying not to be emotional about Max’s absence, but she was pregnant and more than a little hormonal so she was finding it difficult to keep tears from welling up.

  When Max had asked for the paternity test her heart had felt as if it was splintering. It had become easy to forget that they didn’t have a real relationship. That their baby had been conceived in a lab. His demand for the test had been a stark reminder.

  The worst thing was that she wasn’t certain which result Max was hoping for.

  When the beautiful doctor arrived it only took a few minutes to collect her blood sample. “All done. And we have the buccal swab from Prince Rossi already, so there really isn’t anything more we need. This is a relatively new way to test paternity,” she said. “If there isn’t sufficient fetal DNA in your blood stream we won’t get a result. But if there is then the results are just as accurate as CVS or amniocentesis.”

  Alison nodded, feeling the first stab of anxiety over what the test results might be.

  The other woman offered her a sly smile. “Well, good luck. I know if it were me I would really be hoping it was the prince’s baby. He’s incredibly handsome, and of course he’s wealthy enough to take care of you.”

  Alison shook her head. “It…it isn’t like that.”

  She was treated to a raised eyebrow. “I only know of one reason to test for paternity. But then, what do I know? I’m just a doctor.”

  Alison’s hand itched to do something very out of character and very hormonal and slap the smug smile right off the other woman’s face. But just a few moments later she’d collected all of her things, and with a promise to call within the next twenty-four hours she left Alison by herself again.

  She collapsed into Max’s plush office chair and tried to fight the tears that were seriously threatening to spill over. She’d wanted him here for this, needed him, despite her best efforts not to. Not even keeping her clothes confined to their own closet had been able to save her from it.

  Cradling her face in her hands, she rested her elbows on his desk and let herself wallow in her pain. It wouldn’t hurt to just give in for a while. A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away, annoyed at herself for crying. If she’d never found out about Max she would have done all of her testing alone, so it was just stupid to cry because he’d missed the test. But he was the one who’d wanted it, and then he hadn’t even bothered to show up for it.

  She lifted her head when the door to the office opened. Her pulse jumped when Maximo walked in. Even when she was mad at him he still had the most powerful effect on her body. On her heart.

  “You missed the test,” she said, swiping at the remaining moisture on her cheeks.

  “What happened?” he asked, his expression tight.

  “Nothing. She came and drew my blood. She’ll tell us the results within twenty-four hours.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I wanted you here.”

  “Why? We won’t have the results until tomorrow? Why did you want me here for the blood draw?”

  “I…” The words stuck in her throat. “I needed you.”

  His eyes darkened. “I thought you didn’t do need.”

  “Well, I don’t usually, but I needed you for this.”

  He set his laptop case hard on his desk, his body radiating tension. “I told you that my work keeps me away. I may be royalty, but contrary to what you might think about royals, I have duties to attend. I don’t have less responsibility because I’m a prince…I have more.”

  “This isn’t about general neediness,” she said, standing up and planting her hands on her hips. “I wanted some support for a paternity test, which you demanded, by the way. I don’t think that’s very outrageous.”

  “I don’t have time to deal with temper tantrums.” His clipped words hung in the silence of the room and she let them, let herself absorb how much they hurt.

  She brushed past him and out of the office, her heart feeling as if it was cracking to pieces inside of her. She didn’t know how she’d let this happen. But sometime in the past six weeks she’d done what she’d vowed she would never do. She’d started needing someone. And worse than that, she was almost certain that she loved him, too.

  Chapter Eleven

  ALISON was more than thankful for having an opportunity to get out of the palace later that day. The meeting with the men and women she was working with to organize the Turani branch of the CF Foundation had gone well. And it had provided some much-needed distraction from the anxiety of waiting for the test results, from the stifling solitude that came from being in a huge building surrounded by people who basically never talked to her. But most of all, she needed a distraction from her earlier revelation.

  She didn’t want to love Maximo. She was saving her love for her child. She didn’t want to have her emotions tangled up in loving him, not when he was only going to hurt her. She didn’t want to be like her parents. Didn’t want to become a bitter, angry person simply because her strongest emotions had been tied up in someone who neither wanted, nor deserved them.

  She hiked her purse up higher on her shoulder, clinging to the leather strap as if it might offer her some kind of support. How had she let Maximo come to mean so much to her? He was infuriating. He always thought he was right and he was ridiculously self-confident. And he was handsome. Smart. Funny. A great conversationalist. And great in bed.

  She sighed audibly. She couldn’t even list his sins without turning sappy. And lustful. Even now, when she was furious at him, she wanted him. The mental countdown to when she would be able to see him tonight had already begun, and she was more than a little ashamed to admit that.

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  Alison turned her head sharply to follow the sound of the person who’d spoken to her and a flash went off in her face. Putting her head down she walked faster, her face set into the most hostile expression she could manage. She wasn’t about to be intimidated by an idiot reporter, and she certainly wasn’t going to stop and answer questions.

  “Miss Whitman, is it true you recently underwent a paternity test?” A second voice, a woman’s, joined the first.

  Alison’s heart jolted. They knew about the baby. About the test. She doubted it was the doctor who’d told. The position of private physician to royalty probably paid way too much to betray confidences. A lab tech, though, might be tempted. However it happened, the news was out and she’d have to deal with it as best she could.

  The jostle of equipment behind her grew louder and more questions, by more people, starting swirling around her.

  “Is it the prince’s baby?”

  “Who’s the father?”

  “How many men are being tested?”

  She bit her lip to contain an onslaught of angry words. She wasn’t going to turn around and freak out at all of the people holding cameras. That photo was not going on the front page of a tabloid.

  The knot of people caught up to her and suddenly she was in the middle of them, cameras and tape recorders being shoved at her from every direction. One of the men got pushed into her and she wobbled, losing her balance and falling onto the sidewalk.

  That didn’t seem to bother any of the rabid paparazzi. They continued to snap pictures and shout anything to get a response from her, questions, accusations.

  “Alison?”

  She recognized Maximo’s voice over the din that surrounded her. One of the reporters who’d been leaning over her jerked back sharply, a look of shock on his face. Then she saw Max. He reached down and took her hand, pulling her gently to her feet. The repor
ters weren’t at all deterred by his presence and they continued to crowd in.

  One of the men physically grabbed Alison’s arm in an attempt to slow her down. A feral growl escaped Maximo’s lips and he released his hold on Alison, grabbing the man’s camera and smashing it against the side of one of the brick buildings that lined the sidewalk.

  “Do not lay a hand on my woman,” Max gritted, his voice fierce, his normally subtle accent thick.

  The photographer paled and fell back, as did the rest of them, obviously sensing impending violence if they continued their assault.

  “Get in the car.” Max didn’t have any tenderness for her, either. He jerked open the passenger door of the black sports car that was parked against the curb.

  She wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of being in an enclosed space with him in his current mood, but she’d rather take her chances with him than have him leave her with the pseudopress. She got in and buckled up quickly.

  Maximo didn’t speak the entire drive back to the palace. He sat straight, gripping the steering wheel, his jaw locked tight, tension radiating off him. And she wasn’t going to be the one to break that silence, not when she knew any words coming from him were going to be extremely unpleasant.

  As soon as they were closed into his bedroom he unleashed his rage. “What were you thinking? You didn’t tell me where you were going, you didn’t take a bodyguard. I had to find out by calling your driver and he informed me you were at a meeting. Alone. That was incredibly irresponsible of you.”

  “Irresponsible?” she shot back. “I was trying to keep busy, trying to do something worthwhile. I am not going to sit around the castle by myself until you need me to be your royal accessory!”

  “I never said that I expected you to that, but I do expect you to possess some modicum of sense.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, bringing her tight against his chest. “Do you have any idea what might have happened to you?”

  Maximo took a sharp breath. Anger and panic roared through him, mingling with the fierce pumping of adrenaline in his veins. She affected him far too much. He had been there. He’d tried love and marriage. It had been hell. Losing Selena by increments, and finally to death, had been an exercise in torture. He had no desire to go back to that, to ever feel that way again.