His Heir, Her Honor

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His Heir, Her Honor Page 15

by Catherine Mann


  He hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms, but his brother’s words resonated. Since their escape, he’d been trapped in the past. Trying to save others, save his father, somehow erase the time he’d failed to save his mother. He’d allowed that day to put a wall between him and moving forward with a normal life.

  And he’d allowed that wall to block him from seeing what was right in front of his face—an amazing woman to love. He loved Lilah Anderson Medina, and the time had come to not only show her, but to tell her.

  And he wouldn’t stop until she believed him.

  Lilah was certain she must be dreaming. Otherwise, how could she be looking into a face full of love?

  But the hard church pew hurting her hip felt uncomfortably real enough. She blinked fast to clear her eyes and still Carlos sat beside her, his arms crossed as if he’d been waiting for her to wake. The scent of knotty pine pervaded the chapel. The warm wood walls and rafters remained unvarnished, reminding her of the cabin in Vail where she and Carlos had started this journey.

  Sitting up, she scraped her hair back from her face. “Carlos? How long have you been here? Is everything all right with your father and Antonio?”

  It must be okay or he wouldn’t look so…at peace. “Everyone is fine, all asleep in fact. It’s been a long few days. But that’s no excuse for the way I handled things with you.”

  Her heart tripped over itself, but she couldn’t allow herself to turn to mush. She needed something more from him this time. She couldn’t settle for half measures and avoidance of what really mattered. Her baby deserved better.

  She deserved better. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “Going to make me work for this, are you? Good for you.” He lifted her left hand, thumbing her wedding rings. “I’ve messed this up from the start, from the way I ran scared from how I felt about you to the way I asked you to marry me. I’m sorry for that. More sorry than can be put into words, but I’m going to try my best.”

  “Words are good.” They both were such workaholic, type A people, neither of them had slowed down long enough to say some important things along the way. Hope built inside her. She’d slept away some of the anger, enough to listen with a more open heart.

  He skimmed a kiss over her knuckles. “I want to be your husband now and always. Not because of my father, but because my life is so empty without you. I will be here for you and our baby every day of my life. I can’t promise not to brood, but I vow to share all those brooding thoughts.”

  The deep tone of commitment in his voice, in his words, bowled her over. This was so much more than she’d ever expected, more than she’d dreamed she might find with such a reserved man.

  “Brooding is okay every now and again.” She squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue. After waiting so long for a sign from him, she intended to soak up every second of this.

  “I appreciate the way you keep me from sinking too far into that abyss. From losing myself in my work until I’m no good to anyone.” His deep voice rumbled low, echoing gently around the empty chapel. “More than my lover, my wife, the mother of my child, you are my friend. You’re the one person standing between me and a life of supreme loneliness.”

  Happy tears clogged her throat for a moment before she could push words free. “Wow, for a man of few words, you’re quite poetic when you choose to be. Perhaps some of that artist in you is showing as it does when you play the piano.”

  “After being scared to death over the thought of losing you, I’m finding it much easier than I expected to be poetic for the woman I love.”

  Love.

  Of all the words he could have chosen, that was the one she needed to hear most. The one she wasn’t sure he would ever voice. But as she looked at the emotion burning strong in his eyes, she didn’t doubt him for a second.

  “Carlos, I wish I could offer words as beautiful as yours, but right now all I can think about is how relieved I am that we figured this out, that we got it right, because I love you too.”

  She cradled his face, savoring the bristle of his unshaven cheek, the curve of his smile against her touch. And as she tipped her forehead to his, forging a connection she knew would last a lifetime, she found the right words coming to her. “I adore everything about you, from your brilliant mind to the feel of your hands when we’re together. From the way you remember chocolate mint milkshakes to how you devote your life to your patients when you could have so easily taken an easier path.” She skimmed her mouth over his, whispering softly against his lips. “You are an amazing man, Carlos Medina, and I look forward to loving you for the rest of my life.”

  “Exactly what I wanted—but didn’t dare hope—to hear.” He kissed her deeply, reverently, and the honesty in his touch spoke so clearly she wondered why she hadn’t heard it before.

  His talented hands stroked down her arms and linked fingers with her. “Will you marry me again?” He gestured to the small, simple altar draped in purple embroidered linens. “Here, now?”

  “Of course, my love,” she said to her royal lover, her blessedly human husband. “I will. Or rather I should say I do.”

  Epilogue

  Eight months later

  Carlos walked the floors of his suite in the island mansion, patting his son’s back and singing him to sleep. He wasn’t the lullaby sort, but an old Frank Sinatra tune seemed to work just as well. A couple of verses of “Fly Me to the Moon” and the kid was out like a light.

  Cradling his seven-week-old sleeping newborn in his hands, Carlos lowered him carefully into the blue eyelet bassinet but didn’t—couldn’t—step away. Staring at his child had become a favorite pastime of late. Studying the miracle of those perfect hands and feet could keep him mesmerized for a good twenty minutes by this blessing he’d once given up hope of having.

  Tiny but long fragile fingers wrapped around Carlos’s thumb. “Maybe we’ve got a future musician in the family with those hands of yours. What do you think, little Enrique?”

  Lilah had insisted on naming their child for his grandpa.

  The old king had recovered from his transplant surgery with a surprising strength and speed. His will to fight was back in full form so he could walk the beaches with his namesake—and his other new grandchild, Eloisa’s daughter, Ginger.

  Both infants were so clearly Medinas they looked like brother and sister with their dark hair and stubborn jawlines. Plans were already in place for all the Medina offspring to know each other well with frequent visits to the island, a pattern already started over the past months as everyone rotated helping the senior Enrique recover.

  Little Enrique’s arms relaxed as he settled into deeper slumber. Carlos grinned over how well he could already read his son’s cues. Lilah had opted to take a year’s leave from her hospital duties, but Carlos made a point of coming home for longer lunches to give his wife a chance to nap. He cherished the time with his son. And he looked forward to time with his wife.

  Without a doubt, today’s afternoon wedding and reception had exhausted the baby for what should be a nice long stretch.

  Duarte and Kate had insisted their ceremony include everyone from the most senior member—the king—to the babies. Medina gatherings were a frequent event now, with so much to celebrate in their expanding family. They’d packed even the spacious mansion during the past week before the wedding. Little Enrique’s baptism had brought out relatives from Lilah’s side as well. And while she still harbored reservations about her father, she was able to enjoy her parents’ delight in their new grandchild.

  Now the time had come for Carlos to round out the day with a final—private—celebration with his wife. He dropped a careful kiss on his son’s forehead then backed away quietly.

  Tugging his tuxedo tie with one hand and nabbing the baby monitor with the other, Carlos strode toward the sound of spraying water emanating from the bathroom. He flung his tie aside and plucked a rose from the sterling silver vase beside the bathroom door. He ran the rose under his nose be
fore stepping into the steam-filled room.

  He set the nursery monitor on the marble countertop and opened the fogged glass door. “I need to talk to you,” he repeated her wording from eight months ago when she’d stunned him, dazzled him with her bravado at confronting him in the men’s locker room. “And this is the only place I can be certain of catching you alone on an island full of family and our son asleep in the next room.”

  Water slicked down his wife’s body, caressing every luscious inch as he would soon have the privilege of doing in deliberate, leisurely detail. Motherhood suited her well in every way.

  “Well, you most certainly have my attention,” she said, gathering her water-darkened hair and stretching her arms overhead with a come-here smile.

  He stripped off his tux in record time and stepped under the heated spray, rose in hand, eager to explore the new curves childbirth had brought. “And I’ll be doing my level best to keep your attention through the night.”

  “Am I about to be the lucky recipient of another of your amazing medicinal massages?” She looped her arms around his neck, her slick body against his. Warm pellets of water engulfed them from the multiple showerheads.

  “My most thorough massage to date.” He plucked the petals free and tossed the stem back onto the bathroom floor. Grabbing a bar of French soap, he lathered his hands into a mixture of suds and petals, then rubbed the fragrant mixture over Lilah’s creamy skin. The flowery scent saturated the steam along with the perfume of her shampoo.

  “Mmm…” She arched into his touch with a throaty sigh. “We should insure those hands. I am such a very lucky woman to have found you.”

  “I’m the lucky one, and you can be sure I won’t forget that for even a second.” He stroked upward until he cupped her face. “I love you, Mrs. Medina.”

  “And I love you, Dr. Medina.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8798-7

  HIS HEIR, HER HONOR

  Copyright © 2011 by Catherine Mann

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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