Pregnant!: Prince and Future...Dad? / Expecting! / Millionaire Cop & Mum-To-Be

‘‘A psychosomatic reaction that you experienced because…?’’

‘‘I was absolutely disgusted with myself.’’

‘‘For making love with me, you mean?’’

She winced.

Finn laughed. ‘‘I think I heard somewhere that you plan to go into politics.’’

She admitted ruefully, ‘‘Okay, okay. I need to work on my diplomacy a little.’’

‘‘It’s a thought—and back to Simon.’’

‘‘Do we have to?’’

‘‘Yes. If you don’t believe you’re pregnant, then why did you break it off with him?’’

‘‘Because you’re right about one thing. What I felt for Simon was that kind of love. And what I did with you the other night has made me see that Simon really isn’t the man for me any more than I’m the woman for him.’’

There was a long, quite beautiful moment. He regarded her steadily. She didn’t look away.

Then he took his glass from the table and raised it in her direction once more. ‘‘Well said.’’

Liv nodded graciously.

Finn drank. ‘‘Another question.’’

‘‘Why stop now?’’

‘‘Given that you don’t believe you’re pregnant, why am I here, in your sitting room?’’

‘‘Because I’m willing to admit I might be pregnant. And if I am, I realize I will have to deal with you.’’

‘‘You certainly will.’’

‘‘Don’t be overbearing. I said that I would.’’

‘‘I seek clarity only, my love.’’

‘‘Right. And since when did I become your love?’’

‘‘Since the moment I first saw you.’’

‘‘If you think I believe that, maybe you have a bridge you can sell me.’’

He frowned for a moment, then his fine brow smoothed out. ‘‘Ah. One of your clever Americanisms.’’ He brought the hand he was forever capturing to his mouth. Her skin tingled deliciously at the touch of his lips. ‘‘You could marry me now….’’

‘‘I could climb Mount Everest. Go skydiving. Jump off the Empire State Building.’’

‘‘Meaning?’’

She pulled her hand free for about the hundredth time. ‘‘Just because I can do something doesn’t mean I will.’’

They walked to a restaurant not far from the house, shared a leisurely meal, then strolled back together.

They’d taken perhaps ten steps along the sidewalk when Finn’s hand closed over hers. Liv didn’t remark on it or try to pull away.

By then, it was a little after nine and night had fallen. The streetlamps made warm pools of light on the sidewalks and the sycamores and maples rustled softly in a gentle breeze. The Sacramento summer, so far, had been a mild one. The nights, as yet, were balmy. Perfect for an evening stroll.

They went up the wide stone steps to the inviting wooden porch where a swing, suspended from the eaves, swayed slightly, as if an invisible occupant had just jumped up to greet them.

They sat down and swung idly back and forth.

‘‘A porch swing is so American,’’ Finn said. ‘‘Always, in your American movies, the young lovers sit out in them, on nights like this.’’ He raised his left arm and laid it along the back of the swing, behind her. ‘‘Casually, the young quarterback puts his arm in position.’’

She sent him a look. ‘‘Quarterback?’’

‘‘Always, in your American movies, the young lover is a quarterback. He scores the winning touchdown for the home team. And then later, he sits out on the front porch in the swing with his girl—a front porch very much like this one, a swing no different than the one we’re sitting in now. And he prepares to score in another deeper, more intimate way.’’

‘‘Which movie, specifically, are we talking about here?’’

‘‘Wait.’’ He put up his right hand. ‘‘Look over there.’’ He pointed toward the rosebush twining over the thick stone porch rail. She strained to see, and his other arm settled across her shoulder.

She turned to him again. ‘‘Smooth.’’

He pulled her closer. ‘‘I’ll wager you know what comes next.’’

She breathed in the scent of him. So tempting.

Oh, what could be the harm in a kiss?

Or two.

She whispered, ‘‘Show me.’’ The swing moved gently back and forth, back and forth. Liv tipped her head up, offering her mouth.

He wasted no time in taking it.

They sat on that swing for over an hour, swaying and kissing, whispering together. He said he’d never gone to a school until he was a young man and attended University at Oslo. ‘‘I lived at Balmarran. There were tutors, excellent ones.’’

‘‘How old were you, when your mother died?’’

‘‘Twelve.’’

‘‘And thirteen, when you lost your father?’’

He made a noise in the affirmative.

‘‘Tough times, huh?’’