The Prince's Secret Baby

by Christine Rimmer

  “Don’t mess with me, Rule.”

  “I promise you, I’m not.”

  Her throat felt tight, so tight it ached. She gulped to relax it a little. “Okay,” she said softly, at last. “You’re not marrying the princess, after all.”

  “I’m so glad we’re finally clear on that.” His voice was gentle, indulgent. “You’ve hardly touched your food. Is it unsatisfactory?”

  “Oh, no. It’s fine. Really. Delicious.” She picked up her fork again.

  They ate in silence for a while.

  Finally, he spoke. “I like you in that emerald-green satin. Almost as much as I like you in red.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I still want to take you dancing.”

  She sipped her wine again, suddenly as certain as he seemed to be. About the two of them. About…everything. Whatever happened in the end, she wanted this night with him. She wanted it so much. She wanted him. “I have a suggestion.”

  “And I am always open to suggestion. Especially if the suggestion is coming from you.”

  “Take me back to the Mansion, Rule. Take me to your room. We can dance there.”

  Chapter Five

  His room was one of the two Terrace Suites on the Mansion’s top floor. It was over thirteen hundred square feet of pure luxury.

  There was champagne waiting for them in the sitting room—champagne and a crystal bowl full of Montedoran oranges. He took off his jacket and tie and they sat on the sofa, sipping the champagne. She slipped off her shoes as he peeled an orange for her.

  “Oh, this so good,” she said, savoring the ruby-red sections, one by one. They tasted like no orange she’d ever had before.

  He bent close and kissed her then, a slow kiss that started out light and so tender and deepened until she was slightly breathless—scratch that. More than slightly. A lot more than slightly. “Very sweet,” he said when he lifted his mouth from hers. He wasn’t talking about the orange.

  She only gazed at him, her heart beating in a slow, deep, exciting way, her body warm and lazy, her eyelids suddenly heavy.

  The sofa was nice and fat and comfortable. She considered stretching out on the cushions, reaching for him as she went down, pulling him with her, so they were stretched out together.

  But he set his half-full flute aside and picked up the remote on the coffee table. The large flat screen above a bow-fronted cabinet flared to life. Before she could ask him why he suddenly wanted to watch Lockup, he changed the channel to a music station. A slow romantic song was playing.

  “Come.” He offered his hand and they rose together. They went out to the terrace, where the lights of downtown Dallas glittered in the balmy darkness of the April night.

  They danced. It was like a dream, a dream come to life, just the two of them, holding each other, swaying to the music, not saying anything.

  Not needing to speak.

  Then he put a finger under her chin and she looked up into his eyes, into the light shining within that velvet darkness. She tried to remind herself that she still wasn’t sure about the whole love at first sight thing, didn’t really believe that you could meet someone and know instantly that here was the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. It took time to know another person, time to learn his ways, time to discover if there really was any chance for the relationship in the long-term.

  But when Rule looked at her, well, she believed that he believed. And his belief was powerful. His belief made her want to believe, too.

  “I see you,” he whispered, and she couldn’t help smiling. He reminded her of Trev again, Trev playing peekaboo: I see you, Mama. I see you, I do. “I know,” he said. “It sounds silly when I say it. It sounds self-evident. And not important in the least.”

  “I didn’t say that. It was only, for a moment, you reminded me of Trev.”

  “Ah.” He searched her eyes some more. “Well, good, then. I’m pleased if I make you think of him. And it is important that I see you. I see in you all that I’ve been looking for, though I didn’t even realize I was looking until yesterday. I see in you the best things, Sydney. The things that matter. I see that with you I can be a better man, and a happier man. I see that you will always interest me. That you will challenge me. I want to…give you everything. I want to spend my life making sure you have it all, whatever makes you happy, whatever your heart desires.”

  She searched his astonishingly gorgeous face. “You are tempting me, you know that?”

  “I hope so.” He brushed one soft, warm kiss against her lips, a kiss that lingered like a tender brand on her skin even after he had lifted his head to gaze down at her once more. “I want to tempt you, Sydney. Because I’ve never met anyone like you. You amaze me. I want to be with you. I never want to let you go.” He kissed her again, an endless kiss, as they danced. His mouth was so soft, not like the rest of him at all. His mouth was hot and supple and his tongue eased past the trembling barrier of her lips, sliding hot and knowing, over the edges of her teeth, across the top of her tongue, and then beneath it.

  She felt…lost. Lost in a lovely, delicious kind of way. She didn’t know where she was going. And Sydney Gabrielle O’Shea always knew where she was going. She’d always kept her focus, because she had to. Who would keep her on track if she didn’t? Her parents were gone without her even knowing them. And then, too soon, so was her strong, steady grandmother. The men to whom she gave her trust were not dependable.

  There was only Lani, her true, forever friend. And then there was Trevor to light up her days.

  And now this. Now Rule.

  At last. Long after she’d been sure there would never be a man for her. Her doubts, her hesitations were falling away. He was peeling them away. With his tenderness and his understanding, with his honesty and his frank desire for her.

  Who had she been kidding? She could believe in love at first sight. Like her beloved grandmother before her, she did believe in love at first sight.

  As long as it was love at first sight with a certain man. With the right man. The one she could trust. The one she could count on to be there when she needed someone to lean on. The one who honestly seemed to like everything about her, even her prickly nature and her sometimes sharp tongue.

  Maybe that wasn’t so surprising, that he had no issues with her strength and determination, with her ambition and her drive. After all, she had no issues with him—or whenever she did have issues, he would patiently and calmly put them to rest.

  And she certainly liked the feelings he roused in her. The excitement, the desire. And the unaccustomed trust. Every time she felt her doubts rising—about him, about the impossibility of this thing between them—he stepped right up and banished them. He kept proving to her that he was exactly the man he seemed to be, exactly the man she’d never dared to dream she might someday find.

  They danced some more, still kissing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers up into the warm silk of his dark, dark hair. He lifted his head, but only to slant his mouth the other way and continue to kiss her, endlessly, perfectly. She sighed and lifted closer to him, loving the feel of her breasts against his hard chest, of her body and his body, touching so lightly, striking off sparks.

  Sparks of promise, sparks of building desire.

  He broke the kiss. She sighed at the loss. But then he only lowered his mouth again and kissed her cheek and then her temple. He caught her earlobe between his teeth, worried it so gently.

  She made a soft, pleasured sound and pressed her body even closer to him, wanting to melt right into him, wanting to become a part of him, somehow—his body, her body, one and the same. He went on kissing her—his wonderful lips gliding over the curve of her jaw, down the side of her neck.

  Her green dress had spaghetti straps. With a lazy finger, he pushed the left strap out of his way and kissed her shoulder, a long, lingering kiss. She felt his tongue, licking her, sending hot shards of pleasure radiating out along her skin. And then his teeth…o
h, those teeth. He nipped her, but carefully, tenderly.

  They had stopped dancing. They stood in the shadow of a potted palm, in a corner of the terrace. He eased the side of her dress down. She felt the sultry night air touch her breast.

  And then he kissed her there. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked it, rhythmically. He whispered her name against her skin.

  She cradled his head, close—closer, her fingers buried in his hair. The heat of him was all around her, and down low, she was already liquid, weak, yearning. A silver thread of pure delight drew down through the core of her, into the womanly heart of her, from her breast, where he kissed her endlessly. He drew on her eager flesh in a slow, tempting rhythm, making her bare toes curl on the terrace flagstones. She moaned, held him closer, murmured his name on a slow, surrendering sigh.

  And then he lifted his head. She blinked, dazed, and gazed up at him, feeling like a sleepwalker, wakened from the sweetest dream.

  “Inside.” He bent close again, caught her lower lip between his teeth, licked it, let it go. “Let’s go in…”

  She trembled, yearning. Her nipple was drawn so tight and hard, it ached. It ached in such a lovely, thrilling way. “Yes. Oh, yes…” And she tried to pull her strap back up, to cover herself.

  “Don’t.” He caught her hand, stilled it, then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Leave it.” His voice was rough and infinitely tender, both at once. “Leave it bare…” He bent, kissed her breast again, but only briefly that time. “So beautiful…”

  And then he swept her up as though she weighed nothing and carried her through the open door into the sitting room, pausing only to turn and slide the door shut. A new song began.

  He stopped in midstride. Their gazes locked. “‘Lady in Red,’” he whispered.

  “Not tonight,” she whispered.

  “It doesn’t matter, whether you happen to be wearing red or not. To me, this song is you. This song is yours. You’re my lady in red…”

  “Oh, Rule.” She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. His fine tanned skin was slightly rough with the beginnings of his dark beard, slightly rough and so very warm.

  He took her mouth again, in a hard, hot kiss. She surrendered to that kiss. She let him sweep her away with the heat of it. She was seduced by the carnal need in it.

  And he was moving again, carrying her through the door that led to his bedroom. The bed was turned back. He bent to put her down on the soft white sheets, so carefully, as though she might break, as though she was infinitely precious to him.

  He laid her down and he rose to his height again. Swiftly, without ceremony, he took off his shirt, undid his belt, took down his trousers and his briefs. He sat and removed his shoes and socks. And then he rose once more to toss everything carelessly onto the bedside chair. The view of his magnificent body from behind stole every last wisp of breath from her body.

  And then he turned to face her again. His eyes were molten.

  Naked. He was naked and he was as beautiful—more so—than she had even imagined, the muscles of his chest and arms and belly so sharply defined. His legs were strong and straight and powerful, dusted with black hair, black hair that grew dense and curly where his big thighs joined.

  The proof that he wanted her jutted out hard and proud. She dragged in a ragged breath and let it out with care.

  And then he came down to her.

  More kisses. Long, deep kisses, until she was pliant and more eager than ever. Until she whimpered with need. He took down the other strap of her dress and he kissed her right breast so slowly and deliciously, with the same erotic care he had lavished on the left.

  By the time he eased her to her side facing away from him and took the zipper of her dress down, she was ready.

  For him. For the two of them. For whatever he might do to her, do with her. Ready for tonight. And tomorrow night. And all the nights to come.

  With him. Beside him. Always.

  Was this a dream? If it was, she prayed she might never wake up.

  Tucked close behind her, his front to her back, he eased the dress down, gently, carefully, making the simple act of peeling the fabric away from her body into a caress. A long, perfect thrilling caress.

  She lifted enough that he could take the dress down over her thighs and off. She wore no bra. She didn’t need one.

  He cupped her breasts, one and then the other, his hand engulfing them. He whispered that they were beautiful. “Delicate,” he said. “Perfect.”

  She believed him. Seduced by the magic of his knowing touch, she had relinquished everything, even the wisdom of a little healthy skepticism. She believed all the things he whispered to her. She believed every last rough-tender, arousing word. Every knowing, skilled caress. He touched her face and she smelled the tart sweetness of blood oranges on his fingers. And it seemed to her that the scent was his scent—sweet, tempting, ruby-red.

  His hand moved downward, over her breasts again and lower, along her belly. She gasped as his fingers eased under the elastic of her panties.

  He found the feminine heart of her. He whispered that she felt like heaven there, so wet and hot and slick for him. He stroked her, a touch that quickly set every last nerve she possessed ablaze. Her whole body seemed to be humming with excitement, with electricity, with heat. She was liquid and burning and close to the brink.

  She wanted it to last, wanted the climb to the top to go on forever, wanted to hold off on completion until she had him within her. But in no time, she was shuddering, going over the edge, moaning his name, working her hips against his fingers—oh, those fingers of his: magic, just…magic. She cried out.

  He whispered, “Yes, like that. Just like that.”

  And then she was sailing out from the peak, into the wide open, drifting slowly, slowly down into her body again, her body that had his body wrapped around it.

  “You feel…so good,” she murmured, lazy. And she took his hand and tucked it tenderly close to her heart.

  But he wasn’t through yet.

  Which was totally fine with her. She could go on like this, touching him, being touched by him, forever.

  He was moving, shifting her onto her back, resettling himself close against her side. She sighed and let him do as he wished with her. She was drifting, satisfied, deeply content, on the borderline of sleep.

  “Sydney…”

  Reluctantly, still lost in the echoes of so many beautiful sensations, she opened her eyes. He was up an elbow, gazing down at her, his eyes liquid, black as the middle of a very dark night.

  She reached up, touched his mouth. “So soft. You’re such a good kisser…”

  He bent near again, kissed her with that mouth of his, her fingers still on his lips, so he kissed them, too. “Sydney…” He kissed her name against her mouth, against her fingers.

  “Mmm.” She eased her hand away, parted her lips, took his tongue inside. “Mmm…” Maybe she wasn’t so sleepy after all. She clasped his hard shoulder, loving the rocklike contour of it, and then she let her hand glide around to his strong nape. She caressed the amazing musculature of his broad back. “I just want to touch you…”

  He didn’t object. He went on kissing her, as she indulged herself. She wanted to touch every inch of him—his back, his powerful arms, his fine, strong chest. He had a perfect little happy trail and she did what a woman tends to do—she followed it downward.

  And when her fingers closed around him, she took great satisfaction in the low groan he let out. She drank in that groan like wine.

  Was there ever a guy like this? She doubted it. Every part of him was beautiful, her fairy-tale prince made flesh.

  She closed her eyes again and reveled in the feel of him. She wanted…everything from him. All of him. Now.

  She whispered in a shattered sort of wonder, against his beautiful lips. “Oh, Rule. Now. Please, now…” And she urged him to come even closer, all the way closer, opening her thighs for him, pulling him onto her, so e
ager, so hungry.

  More than ready.

  “Wait…” He breathed the word against her parted lips.

  “What?” She moaned in frustration. “No. I don’t want to wait.”

  “Sydney…” He took his mouth from hers.

  And again, she lifted her heavy eyelids and gazed up at him, impatient. Questioning. “What?”

  He gave her one of those beautiful, wry, perfect smiles of his. And he tipped his dark head toward his raised hand. She tore her gaze away from all that manly beauty to see what he held.

  A condom.

  “Oops.” She felt her cheeks flush even redder than they already were. She let out a ragged sigh. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t even think about that. How could I not think of that? I’m never that foolish, that irresponsible.”

  His shining midnight gaze adored her—and indulged her. “It’s all right. There are two of us, after all. Only one of us had to remember. And I haven’t minded at all seeing you so carried away that you didn’t even think about using protection.”

  “I should have thought of it.”

  He shook his head, slowly, lazily, that tempting smile of his a seduction in itself. “You are so beautiful when you’re carried away.” His smile, his tender words, the hot-candy sound of his voice. She was seduced by every aspect of him.

  Seduced and loving it.

  Still, she tried to hold out against him. “I’m not beautiful, Rule. We both know that.”

  “You are beautiful. And please give me your hand and stop arguing with me.”

  Really, the guy was irresistible. She held out her hand.

  He put the little pouch in the center of her palm. “Do the honors?”

  She laughed, a soft, husky laugh, a laugh that spoke so clearly of her desire. “Now you’re talkin’.”

  He lay back on the pillows and watched her, his eyes so hot now, molten, as she removed the wrapper and set it aside.

  She bent over him, kissed him, in the center of his chest, on that silky trail of hair, not far from his heart. His skin was hot. He smelled so good. She rained a flood of kisses on him, to each side of his big chest, over his rib cage, on his ridged, amazing belly, all the way to her goal.