His Pregnant Princess Bride

“We knew each other well enough to have sex. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m trying to do the right thing here and offer to marry you. We can have a civil ceremony and divorce in a year. As far as our child knows, we gave it an honest try but things didn’t work.” His voice was level. Calm. Practical.

Her fears multiplied. This seemed too calculated. And she would not land in a family environment that was all for show again. Being raised royal had taught her she was not meant for a superficial existence. She had already chosen a meaningful career. A future where she could make a difference.

Swallowing back the anxiety swelling in her chest, she reminded herself to be reasonable.

“You figured all that out this fast? Or have you had practice with this sort of business before?” The notion cut her with surprising sharpness. She did not want to think about Gervais involved with other women after the way they’d been together.

“I am not joking.” His hand inched toward hers.

She scrutinized his face, studied the way his jaw jutted. The play of muted lights on his dark hair, the way it was thickest on top of his head. Even now, he was damn attractive. But that fact wasn’t enough to chase reason from her mind.

“Apparently not.”

“I’ll take that as a no to my proposal.” Retreating his hand, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You most certainly can. It is far too soon to speak of marriage. And have you forgotten? I have plans to pursue my education in the UK.”

Tilting his head, he lowered his voice. It became soft. Gentle. “You won’t even consider my offer? Not even for the baby’s sake? Let me take care of you while you’re pregnant and recovering, postpartum and such. You can get to know my family during the football season. Afterward, we can spend more time with yours.”

Even if the monarchy was defunct, she was a royal and sure of herself. She shot to her feet. “Do I get any say in this at all? You are a pushy man. I do not remember that about you.”

He stood and stepped closer, very close, suggestively. His hips and thighs warm against hers. “What do you remember about our time together?”

“If you are trying to seduce me into doing whatever you want—” Erika needed to focus. Which was tougher than ever with him pressed up against her and that smolder in his eye setting her on fire.

“If? I must not be working hard enough.” He slid his hands up her arms.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment she felt as if she could give in. But thoughts of her future child coursed through her mind. A ragged breath escaped her lips, and she reopened her eyes.

She clasped his wrists. “Stop. I am not playing games. I came here to inform you. Not demand anything of you. And certainly not to reenact our past together.”

His hands dropped and he scowled. “Let me get this straight. If I hadn’t wanted anything to do with the baby, you would have simply walked away?”

“You never would have heard from me again.” The words escaped her as an icy dagger. She would have no use for such a man. And she had to admit that even if his proposal felt pushy, at least Gervais was not the sort of person to walk away from his child.

“Well, not a chance in hell is that happening this time. You may have brushed me off once before, but not again.”

Had he genuinely wished to see her again after their weekend together? She had been afraid to find out at the time, afraid of answering his call only to discover that his contact was a perfunctory duty and social nicety. After what they had shared, she was not sure she could bear hearing that cool retreat in his voice. Now, of course, she would never know what his intentions had truly been toward her.

She took a deep breath. Regrouped.

“And you cannot command me to your will,” she warned him, her shoulders stiff with tension. “I will not be forced into marriage because you think that is the best plan. I have plans, as well.”

How many people had underestimated her resolve over the years because she had that label of “princess” attached to her? Her commanding officers. Teachers. Her own parents.

She would simply have to show Gervais her mettle.

“I understand that,” he murmured, his voice melting into the sounds of waves and steel drums. “Now we need to make plans together.”

Some of the tension in her eased. “Nice to know you can be reasonable and not just impulsive.”

With a shrug, he began again. “In the interest of being reasonable, let’s spend the next four weeks—”

“Two weeks,” she corrected him. She had already disrupted her life and traveled halfway across the globe for him.

He nodded slowly. “Two weeks getting to know each other better as we make plans for our child. You could stay here in my home, where there are plenty of suites for privacy. I won’t make a move that isn’t mutual. We’ll use this time to find common ground.”

“And if we are not successful in your time frame?” This felt like a business deal. But the time frame might be enough to bring him to reason.

“Then I guess I’ll have to follow you home. Now, how about I call over to the hotel for them to send your things here? You look ready to fall asleep on your feet.”

“You’re honestly suggesting I give up my plans completely and stay here?” She gestured back toward the house. Two weeks. Together. Under the same roof.

That part sounded decidedly less like a business deal. The very idea wisped heatedly over her skin.

“Not in my bed—unless you ask, of course.” He smiled devilishly. “But if we’re going to make the most of these two weeks, it’s best we stay here. There are fantastic graduate school programs in the area, too, if you opt for that later down the road. And I can also provide you with greater protection here.”

“Protection?” What in the world did she need his protection for? And from what? And what was this later-down-the-road notion for her plans?

“We’re a professional NFL family. That brings with it a level of fame and notoriety unrivaled in any other business domain. The fans are passionate. And while most of them are supportive, there is a segment that takes the game very personally. Some of the more unstable types occasionally seek revenge for what they perceive as bad decisions.” His jaw flexed. “Since your child is my child, that puts our baby at risk as a Reynaud. If you won’t stay here for yourself, then stay for our child. We are safe here.”

He had found the one reason she couldn’t debate. But she needed to be careful. To give herself time to think through the consequences of what she was agreeing to, and she couldn’t do that now when she was so tired.

“I am weary. It has been a long, emotional day. I would appreciate being shown to these guest suites that you speak of and I will consider it.”

“Of course.” He picked up his phone and tapped the screen twice before setting it down. “You’ll find all the toiletries you need at your disposal. I’ll have someone show you to a room and make sure you have everything you need.”

Before he finished speaking, a maid had arrived at the door, perhaps summoned by his phone.

Apparently, Gervais was serious about giving her some space if she elected to stay in the house with him. And while she appreciated that, she was also surprised at his easy efficiency. Hadn’t her pregnancy announcement rattled this coolly controlled man even a little?

“Thank you.” She looked at him, her breath catching at the raw masculinity of the man. She backed up a step, needing boundaries. And sleep.

“And I’ll have a long Hurricanes jersey sent up for you to sleep in.” His eyes remained on hers, but his voice stirred something inside her.

The last time they had slept under the same roof, there hadn’t been much sleeping accomplished at all. And somehow, as she took her leave of him, she knew that he was remembering that fact as vividly as she did.

* * *

The door closed behind her, and she loosed a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

This was...different from what she had grown up with. The billowy sheer curtains thinly veiled a view of Lake Pontchartrain. Heels clacked against the opulent white marble as she made her way to an oversize plush bed. Instinctively, she ran her hand over the white comforter as she took in the room.

A grand, hand-carved mahogany-wood nightstand held a score of toiletries.

It was luxurious. She unscrewed the lid on one of the lotion bottles, and the light scent of jasmine wafted up to her. She set it down, picked up the shampoo, popped the lid and breathed in mint and a tropical, fruity flavor.

This house was old, not as old as her castle, of course, but it still had history. And such a different feel than her wintry homeland. This was grander, built more for leisure than practicality.