Carrying A King's Child

They both knew without saying it that this was the last time they’d be together like this. Maybe if they’d met two years from now after he’d been on the throne and had time to figure out what being king meant, their path would have been different. But they hadn’t.

They had this afternoon and nothing more.

He wanted these memories of the two of them to keep for himself as he moved into a life that was no longer his own.

He pushed his hands into her thick red hair, cradling her head as he took control of the kiss. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, tasted peppermint and woman. Her arms slipped lower and she stroked her hand down his back as he deepened the kiss.

Though he knew this long, wet kiss was just the beginning, he wanted to savor it. Dueling desires warred inside him as he wanted to make every touch last as long as possible. The intensity of his lust for her was almost unbearable; he needed to be hilt-deep inside her right now.

He lifted his head, rubbed his thumb along the column of her neck. Her pulse was racing and her eyes were half closed. Her creamy skin was dotted with freckles and the faint flush of desire.

He dropped nibbling kisses down her neck. She smelled of orange blossoms and sea breeze. She was like the wildest parts of Florida, and he felt as if he could hold her for only a fleeing moment and then she’d be gone. Tearing through his life like a hurricane.

He slid his hands down her back, tightening them around her waist, and lifted her off her feet again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and put her hands on his shoulders. Then she looked down into his eyes with that bright southern-Atlantic-blue gaze of hers. He felt lost. As if he were drowning in her eyes.

She nipped at his lower lip and then sucked it into her mouth and he hardened. He was going to explode if he didn’t get his damned tailored pants off and bury himself in her body.

He reached for his fly but she shifted on him, rubbing her center over his erection. He shook, and the strength left his legs as he stumbled and fell back on the bed. She laughed and then thrust her tongue into his mouth again. And he gave up thinking.

She was like the wildest hurricane and all he could do was ride this storm out. She moved over him and made him remember what it felt like to be alive. The same way she had four weeks ago in Key West. She made the rest of the world pale, and everything narrowed to the two of them.

The heat flared between them and his clothes felt too constricting. He needed to be naked. Wanted her naked. Then she could climb back on his lap. He tore his mouth from hers, his breath heavy as he drew her T-shirt up and over her head and tossed it aside.

She wore the same beige lace bra she’d had on the last time they’d had sex. He traced his finger over the seam where the fabric met skin, saw the goose bumps spread from her breast over her chest and down her arms. Her nipple tightened and he leaned forward to rub his lips over it as he reached behind her back and undid the bra.

The cups loosened, but he didn’t lift his head from her nipple. He continued teasing her with light brushes of his tongue over it until she reached between them and undid his tie, leaving it dangling around his neck as she went to work on his shirt buttons.

He shifted back, taking the edge of her bra between his teeth and pulling it away. She laughed, a deep, husky sound he remembered so well. And he got even harder. He had thought there was no way he could want her more, but he’d been wrong.

She pushed the fabric of his shirt open and peeled it down his arms, but she hadn’t undone his cuffs so his own shirt bound him. His hands were trapped.

“Undo my hands.”

“Not yet, Rafe. Right now, I’m in charge,” she said. She scraped her fingernail down the side of his jaw to his neck and then over his pectorals. He sat there craving more of her touch, but damned if he was going to ask her for it. Control and power were two things he always maintained. But with Emily it was as if they’d flown out the window.

She took what she wanted, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he didn’t want to stop her. It felt good to just let go.

Flexing her fingers, she dug her nails into his chest and then shifted forward so that the long strands of her hair brushed against him. He shuddered with need, turning his head to try to catch her mouth with his, but she just laughed again and shifted back on his thighs, looking down at him with those eyes that were full of mysteries he knew he’d never really understand.

She drew one finger down the center of his chest, following the path of the light dusting of hair. She swirled her finger around his belly button in tiny circles that made everything inside him contract.

She stroked his erection through the fabric of his pants, and he canted his hips.

She rocked against him and smiled when he moaned her name. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she caught the lobe of his ear between her teeth and bit it lightly before whispering all the things she was going to do him. He felt his control slipping with each thrust of her tongue as she flicked it into his ear and then shifted backward on his thighs to reach between them, stroking his length through his pants again.

Cursing, he tried to reach for her but his bound arms wouldn’t let him. She rotated her shoulders and rubbed her nipples against his chest. She closed her eyes as she undulated against him, and this time he pulled his arms forward with all of his strength and heard the tear of fabric. She opened her eyes and then started laughing.

He grabbed her waist and rolled to his side, pulling her with him. He rolled over top of her, carefully keeping his weight on his elbows and knees so she wasn’t crushed under him. He took both of her hands in his and stretched them high over her head and then rubbed his chest over hers and heard her moan.

Damn, she felt good. Better than he’d remembered her feeling, and that said a lot because he still had erotic dreams of their weekend together.

He lowered his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, holding both of her wrists above her head with one of his hands. He reached lower between their bodies and undid her jeans, pushing them down so that he could cup her in his hand. He rubbed her mound, and then traced the seam of her panties. Her legs scissored underneath his and he shifted until he lay between them. He let go of her wrists as he slowly kissed his way down her body.

She was covered in freckles; up close he could see that they were all different sizes. He flicked his tongue over each of them as he moved lower and lower until he found her belly button ring. The small loop had a starfish dangling from it. He tongued it and traced the circumference of her belly button.

He moved lower, catching the top of her bikini panties with the tip of his finger and drawing them slowly down. She shifted her hips and he pushed her jeans and panties down to her knees. She kicked them the rest of the way off.

He traced the pattern of freckles from her thigh to her knee, circling her kneecap and the small scar there before caressing his way back up the inside of her thighs. He felt the humid warmth of her body and traced her feminine core with his fingertip. She shifted on the bed, her hands reaching for him, but it was his turn to tease her. Plus if she touched him, he feared his control would splinter into a million pieces and this would be over too quickly.

He parted her folds and then leaned down to taste her. He closed his eyes as he sucked her intimate flesh, causing her to draw her legs closer around him and her hands to fall to the back of his head. She gripped his hair as her hips lifted upward toward his mouth and his tongue.

She was addicting. He couldn’t get enough of her. He pushed one finger into her body and heard her call his name. She was wet and ready for him. He fumbled, trying to free himself from his trousers. He lifted his head, looked up at her and saw that she was watching him. Her eyes were filled with passion and desire.

He stood up, shoved his pants and underwear off in a move that definitely couldn’t be called graceful, and then he lowered himself on top of her. He slowly used his chest and body to caress hers as he moved over her. She shifted her legs so that her thighs were on either side of his and he moved his hips forward, felt the tip of his erection at the opening of her body. He hesitated. This time was different from their weekend in Key West, but the passion in her eyes was the same.

Slowly he entered her, trying to make it last because she felt so damned good. She gripped his rock-hard flesh as he entered her and drove himself all the way home and then forced himself to stay still once he was fully seated in her body.

Her hands were on his shoulders, running up and down his back and then reaching lower to cup his butt and try to get him to move. But he needed a moment before he did that. A moment to make sure that she was with him. He lowered his head to her neck, and then bit her lightly before moving lower, kissing the full globes of her breasts.

She tightened as she arched underneath him. She looked up at him and whispered dark, sexual words that made his control disappear along with his willpower, and he found himself thrusting deeper into her body. Driving toward his climax and carrying her along with him.

He pushed her legs higher, putting her feet on his shoulders so he could go deeper, and pounded into her faster and faster until he heard her calling out his name and he spilled himself inside her. He thrust into her three more times before he let go of her legs and fell forward, bracing himself on his arms. He kissed the pert pink nipple on her left breast as he rested his head on her shoulder and tried to catch his breath.

He got up and left her for a few moments to wash up and then came back and lay down next to her on the bed. He was aware of the time and knew he should already be at the private airport and getting on his family’s jet so he could travel with them to Alma, but he couldn’t make himself leave.

He knew that this wasn’t love. He wasn’t going to lie to her or himself. But she was pregnant with his child and this fired him with an enthusiasm he just couldn’t muster when he thought of being king. He didn’t want the throne, but his father, who couldn’t inherit it because he’d never had his marriage annulled after divorcing Rafe’s mother, had been very clear that he thought Rafe needed to do his duty.

He stroked his hand down Emily’s arm. She had turned on her side and had her head on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I’m glad you came here today. Did you ever think of not telling me?” he asked.

He suspected he knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from her.

“No. It wasn’t easy to track you down—you’re pretty secretive about this penthouse bachelor pad, aren’t you? But Harry has lots of friends who have connections. It only took him six hours to find you.”

“Harry scares me,” Rafe admitted. The owner of Shady Harry’s bar had been fun and gregarious when Rafe had been partying and buying rounds for the entire place. But the next morning when he’d spotted the older man as he’d left Emily’s cottage, Harry had given him a look that said to watch his back. “What’s he to you?”

“He and my mom dated for a while,” Emily said. “He’s sort of like my stepdad. Why?”

“I have a feeling if I show up in Key West he’s going to be waiting with a shotgun.”

“You’re not going to Key West, you’re going to Alma. I’ve seen pictures. It’s really beautiful,” she said.

Not as beautiful as she was, Rafe thought. He leaned up on his elbow, put his hand flat on her stomach and realized he couldn’t control this any more than he could say no to the people in Alma who’d asked his family to come back and rule the country.

“It is. They’ve had a rough time since the revolution and I guess...I have to go,” he said.

“I know. I told you I wasn’t here to ask you to stay. I just needed you to know.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know my dad. My mom has never mentioned his name to me. I asked her one time about him and she started crying. I want more than that for our baby. It’s not that I had a deprived childhood, but I always wonder. I have this emptiness inside me that nothing can fill. It’s that empty spot where everyone else has a dad.”

He was humbled by her explanation. He knew he wanted to be more than a name and a face to their kid, though. “We need to figure this out.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Rafael? Are you in here? Your father is in a car waiting downstairs and if you’re not down in ten minutes he’s coming up here and getting you.” It was his personal assistant, Jose.

Jose was his right-hand man at Montoro Enterprises and at home. He took care of all the details.

“I have company,” Rafe said. But Emily was more than just company. She was his lover. The mother of his unborn child.

“I am aware of that,” Jose said.

“Tell Father I’ll be down when I’m down,” Rafe said.

But the mood was broken and Emily was getting up and putting her clothes on. She had her jeans on and buttoned, but he stopped her before she put her T-shirt on. He pulled her into his arms. It seemed the sort of gesture that would reassure her, but since he was already thinking of everything he had to do, it felt hollow. He knew she noticed it, too, when she pulled back and shook her head.

The mantle of being a Montoro was tightening around him. “I—”

“Don’t. No excuses and definitely no lies,” she said. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a business card for Shady Harry’s; he turned it over and saw she’d written her name and number on the back. “If you want to know about our child, contact me.”

“I do. I will,” he said.

She smiled up at him. “I know that the next few weeks are going to be crazy for you, so no pressure.”

She pulled her shirt on and then tucked her underwear into her purse and started for the door. He watched her walk out. Part of him wanted to run after her and make her stay so he could talk her into trying a relationship or maybe even marriage. Another part wanted to scoop her up and run away with her to some Pacific island where no one would know their names, far enough away from his family and everyone they knew.

But Emily was a brave sort of woman, and running had never been his style, either, so he had no choice but to get dressed and head down to the car.

His father didn’t speak to him the entire way to the airport. Rafael III had wanted the throne enough to try to convince his ex-wife to come back, but Rafe’s mother wasn’t interested in doing anything to help out her former husband. To say the two of them had a strained relationship was putting it mildly.

They were a prime example of how getting married to the wrong person didn’t make for a happy family. Rafe had the childhood to prove it.

During the ride, his cousin Juan Carlos spoke too much. Telling him what was expected of the next king of Alma.

Juan Carlos had been orphaned and seemed to be fixated on the monarchy as a way of proving to himself and the rest of the family that he could carry on his parents’ legacy. Perhaps if Rafe’s parents hadn’t divorced and been horrible to each other, he’d have felt the same way about the family honor.

Rafe freely admitted to himself that if Emily’s pregnancy became public knowledge it would create a scandal that would make protecting that legacy even more difficult. But Rafe tuned Juan Carlos out and tried to figure out what he expected of himself as a man.

Three

Key West was a tourist town and there was no getting around that. The atmosphere was laid back and everyone had a sort of hungover look. There was something about being on the edge of the ocean that inspired indulgence in sun, sand and drinks.

Emily sat on the front porch of her flamingo-pink and white cottage with her feet propped on the railing, desperately needing to absorb that laid-back attitude. She’d left Miami and Rafe behind. She’d done what she’d set out to do, namely tell him he was going to be a father. That had gone well—differently than she’d expected, but the end result was the same. She was back here.

Alone.

“Em. Your mom asked me stop by,” Harry said as he walked around the side of the house.

He was tall, at least six five, and wore middle age well. His reddish-blond hair had thinned a little but was still thick enough, and he wore it cut short in a military style. His beard was equal parts red, blond and gray, and he had an easy smile. He was the closest thing she had to a dad. So she was glad to see him.

“Why?” Emily asked. Though she knew why her mom had sent Harry. If anyone could make her forget her troubles it was the jovial bar owner.

“She thought you might need some company. She’s on her way back to port but won’t be here until tonight.”

Emily sighed. “I don’t really want any company.”

“Figured you might say that, so I brought you a cup of decaf and a blueberry bagel. We can both sit here and eat and pretend we’re alone.”

Decaf.

Seemed like a little thing, but she always drank full-on caffeine. Now she knew that her mom had spilled the beans about her being preggers. Harry handed her a bakery bag from Key Koffee with the bagel and the coffee.

“You know?”

“I know. It was that slick guy from South Beach, right?”

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “He’s not that slick.”

Harry laughed. “They never are. Talk to me, kiddo. Do I need to take my .45 and head to Miami?”

She opened her eyes and lifted her head. “You would have made a really good dad,” she said, smiling at him.

“I think I have been to you,” he reminded her.

“You have. But no to the .45. Besides, you’d have to fly to Europe to find him.”

Harry took a bite out of his everything bagel and settled down on the top step, turning sideways with his back against the railing to face her.

“Europe? He seemed American to me,” Harry said.

“He’s Rafael Montoro IV. Part of...I’m not sure what to call him. But his family was royalty in a tiny Mediterranean country called Alma. They were kicked out decades ago but now they want them back. He’s the oldest son and heir apparent to the newly restored monarchy.”

“Complicates things, doesn’t it?” Harry said.

“You have no idea,” she said. “But I didn’t expect him to do anything when I gave him the news. You know?”

Harry took a sip of his coffee and then gave her one of those wise looks of his that she hated. He knew when she was lying, especially to herself.

“Okay, fine, I wanted him to be, like, we’ll do this together. Instead, I got...he was sweet but clearly torn. He can’t let his family down. And he and I only had one weekend together, Harry.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes,” he said.

“It wasn’t enough for the guy who fathered me,” she said. “Please don’t tell Mom I said that. But really, that complicates everything. I’ve always thought I was okay with the fact that I don’t know who he was, but this baby...” She put her hands on her stomach. “It’s making me realize I’m not.”

Harry didn’t say anything. And after a few minutes Emily looked away from him and back to the foot traffic on the street near her house. What could he say? He was her substitute dad who’d stepped up when he didn’t have to. Harry must have thought that she was making a mess where there didn’t need to be one.

“I get it, kiddo. It’s hard to not want the best for your baby. We all do that,” he said. “Try to fix the problems in our past so that our kids don’t have to experience them.”

“Did you do that for Rita and Danny?” she asked. Harry had two kids who were both more than fifteen years older than her and lived in Chicago. They came down for two weeks each spring to visit Harry.

“I tried. But I ended up making my own mistakes and they have done the same. It’s all a part of being human,” he said.

“I’m getting Zen Harry this morning,” she said. But his positive attitude helped take her mind off Rafe and the sadness she’d been feeling.

It wasn’t that she’d expected anything else from him, but that she’d wanted something more. She shook her head as she realized that what she’d wanted was to be wanted.

For him to want to stay with her.

It was unrealistic, but a girl could dream.

“Well, I do have all this wonderful advice and no one to share it with,” Harry said with a wink. “You’ll be okay, kiddo. You’ll make decisions and choices and some of them are going to be fabulous and others you’re going to regret. But I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“You’re going to love that baby of yours, and in the end that’s all that really matters.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Your own mom did that for you. Look how you turned out,” he said.

“Not bad,” she admitted. She liked her life. She could have followed her mom into a similar career—she was a marine biologist—but Emily liked being on the land and not out at sea. She had a degree in hotel and restaurant management and one day hoped to open her own place. She knew she had a good life, but a part of her still missed Rafe.

Another part of her knew she just missed the idea of Rafe. So far every time they’d been together they’d ended up in bed. It wasn’t as if he was even a friend.

She wanted that picture-perfect family that she kept in her head. She wanted that for this baby she was carrying. She didn’t want her child to have the piecemeal family that she did. No matter that she loved her mom and Harry fiercely. For her child she wanted more.

And being the bastard of a European king probably wasn’t what her child would want. She was going to have to be very protective. Raise the baby to know its own strength and place in the world.

She noticed Harry watching her, realized she wasn’t alone and that made the loneliness she felt when she thought of Rafe a little less painful.

* * *

Alma was breathtakingly beautiful. The island was surrounded by sparkling blue seas and old world charm seemed to imbue every building. They’d landed at a private air field and were driving to the royal palace in the urban capital of Del Sol.

Rafe had heard there was a lively nightclub scene and before Emily’s visit had sort of thought of checking it out. But now that he had the dual mantle of monarchy and fatherhood hanging over him, he figured he should rethink that.

Del Sol was even more striking than the black and white photos he’d seen in the albums his tia Isabella kept. While there were modern buildings dotted throughout the city many of the old buildings remained. Tia Isabella had been a young woman when she’d been forced to flee Alma with the rest of their family. When Rafe and his siblings and cousin had been growing up they’d been entertained by her stories. Tia Isabella had spent a lot of time talking about the old days and what it had been like to grow up on Alma. But Rafe thought he understood why his grandfather hadn’t talked that much about it. Rafe would have been sad to leave this homeland, too.

As the royal motorcade made its way into Del Sol, Alma’s capital, people on the streets craned their necks to get a glimpse of the Montoros. Rafe was used to a certain level of fame and notoriety in Miami, but not this. There he was one of the jet-set Montoros. The young generation who worked hard and played harder.

Here he was the future monarch. He’d be the face of Alma to the world. And while his ego was sort of jazzed about that, another part of him wasn’t.

“Maybe you should put the window down and do that princess wave,” his sister Bella said with a sparkle in her blue eyes. Their father and the rest of their party were in a separate vehicle.

“Princess wave? That’s more your cup of tea,” he said. “Maybe I’ll throw up the peace sign.”

She giggled. He’d always been close to his little sister, and making her laugh helped him to relax.