The Prince's Secret Baby

“No, thank you, my darling.” Sydney bent and kissed his plump, gooey cheek again. “You can have that big wad of sketti all for yourself.”

“Yum!” He beamed up at her and her heart felt like it was overflowing. She had it all. A healthy, happy child, a terrific best friend, a very comfortable lifestyle, a job most high-powered types would kill for. And a date with the best-looking man on the planet.

Sydney spent the next hour being the mother she didn’t get to be as often as she would have liked. She played trucks with Trev. And then she gave him his bath and tucked him into bed herself, smoothing his dark hair off his handsome forehead, thinking that he was the most beautiful child she had ever seen. He was already asleep when she tiptoed from the room.

Yolanda looked up when she entered the family room. “It’s after seven. You better get a move on if you want to be on time for your dream man.”

“I know—keep me company while I get ready?”

Lani followed her into the master suite, where Sydney grabbed a quick shower and redid her makeup. In the walk-in closet, she stared at the possible choices and didn’t know which one to pick.

“This.” Lani took a simple cap-sleeved red satin sheath from the row of mostly conservative party dresses. “You are killer in red.”

“Red. Hmm,” Sydney waffled. “You think?”

“I know. Put it on. You only need your diamond studs with it. And that garnet-and-diamond bracelet your grandmother left you. And those red Jimmy Choos.”

Sydney took the dress. “You’re right.”

Lani dimpled. “I’m always right.”

Sydney put on the dress and the shoes and the diamond studs and garnet bracelet. Then she stood at the full-length mirror in her dressing area and scowled at herself. “I don’t know …” She touched her brown hair, which she’d swept up into a twist. “Should I take my hair down?”

“No. It’s great like that.” Lani tugged a few curls loose at her temples and her nape. Then she eased the wide neckline of the dress off her shoulders. “There. Perfect. You look so hot.”

“I am not the hot type.”

“Yeah, you are. You just don’t see yourself that way. You’re tall and slim and striking.”

“Striking. Right. Still, it would be nice if I had breasts, don’t you think? I had breasts once, remember? When I was pregnant with Trevor?”

“Stop. You have breasts.”

“Hah.”

“And you have green eyes to die for.”

“To die for. Who came up with that expression, anyway?”

Lani took her by the shoulders and turned her around so they faced each other. “You look gorgeous. Go. Have a fabulous time.”

“Now I’m getting nervous.”

“Getting? Syd. You look wonderful and you are going.”

“What if he doesn’t show up?”

“Stop it.” Lani squeezed her shoulders. “Go.”

Rosewood Mansion at Turtle Creek was a Dallas landmark. Once a spectacular private residence, the Mansion was now a five-star hotel and restaurant, a place of meticulous elegance, of marble floors and stained-glass windows and hand-carved fireplaces.

Her heart racing in mingled excitement and trepidation, Sydney entered the restaurant foyer, with its curving iron-railed staircases and black-and-white marble floor. She marched right up to the reservation desk and told the smiling host waiting there, “I’m meeting someone. Rule Bravo-Calabretti?”

The host nodded smartly. “Right this way.”

And off she went to a curtained private corner on the terrace. The curtains were pulled back and she saw that Rule was waiting, wearing a gorgeous dark suit, his black eyes lighting up when their gazes locked. He rose as she approached.

“Sydney.” He said her name with honest pleasure, his expression as open and happy as her little boy’s had been when she’d tucked him into bed that night. “You came.” He sounded so pleased. And maybe a little relieved.

How surprising was that? He didn’t look like a person who would ever worry that a woman might not show up for a date.

She liked him even more then—if that was possible. Because he had allowed her to see he was vulnerable.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said softly, her gaze locked with his.

Champagne was waiting in a silver bucket. The host served them.

Rule said, “I took the liberty of conferring with the chef ahead of time, choosing a menu I thought you might enjoy. But if you would prefer making your own choices …”

She loved that he’d planned ahead, that he’d taken that kind of care over the meal. And that he’d asked for her preference in the matter. “The food is always good here. Whatever you’ve planned will be perfect.”

“No … dietary rules or foods you hate?” His midnight gaze scanned her face as though committing it to memory.

“None. I trust you.”

Something flared in his eyes. “Fair enough, then.” His voice wrapped around her, warm and deep and so sweet. He nodded at the host. “Thank you, Neil.”

“Very good, then, your—” Neil paused almost imperceptibly, and then continued “—waiter will be with you shortly.” With a slight bow, he turned to go.

“Neil seems a little nervous,” she whispered, when the host had left them.

“I have no idea why,” Rule said lightly. And then his tone acquired a certain huskiness. “You should wear red all the time.”

“That might become boring.”

“You could never be boring. And what is that old song, the one about the lady in red?”

“That’s it. ‘Lady in Red.’“

“You bring that song to mind. You make me want to dance with you.”

How did he do it? He poured on the flattery—and yet, somehow, coming from him, the sweet talk sounded sincere. “Thank you for the flowers.”

He waved a lean hand. “I know I went overboard.”

“It was a beautiful gesture. And I hope you don’t mind, but I shared them—with the data entry girls and the paralegals and the crew down in Human Resources.”

“Why would I mind? They were yours, to do with as you wished. And sharing is good. You’re not only the most compelling woman I’ve ever met, you are kind. And generous, too.”