Tempted By The Royal

She’d considered doing just that, if only to erase the smug certainty from his tone. But the truth would be only too obvious in a few more months and, ultimately, he had a right to know. She might be annoyed that the decision of when and where to tell him had been taken out of her hands, but she was also relieved that he finally knew.

“No,” she finally said. “But it’s way too early to be making any big announcement about it, so I’d appreciate it if we could keep this between us.”

“It’s not that early,” he said, obviously having already done some quick mental calculations.

She shook her head. “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

“You expect me to believe that the baby’s not mine?”

No, but she hadn’t expected him to assume that it was. She’d still been trying to figure out the best way to tell him about the baby, and to prepare herself for the likelihood that he might deny paternity in the absence of proof. It was what almost any man would do when confronted with the news of an unplanned pregnancy, especially by a woman with whom he’d spent only one night. But she was starting to realize that Eric Santiago rarely did what she expected him to do.

“I’m not ready to have this conversation right now,” she said.

“Then when?” he demanded.

“Look, Eric, I know this has caught you off guard, but I want to assure you that I made the decision to have this baby and I will assume full responsibility for him or her.”

“¡Cómo infierno!”

She blinked, startled by his vehement outburst—and the fleeting hurt in his eyes.

“We made that baby together, we will be responsible for that baby together.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I assure you that I am not.”

The calm, unyielding tone worried her. Whatever she’d anticipated when she finally got around to telling him about their baby, it wasn’t this.

“Did you really think I was the type of man who would abandon my responsibilities?” he challenged her.

“I didn’t think anything,” she denied. “But we spent one night together, and at the time, I didn’t know what type of man you were at all.”

“You should know me a lot better now.”

“Not well enough to anticipate how you might respond to the news of an unexpected pregnancy.”

“Then I’ll tell you—I have no intention of denying paternity. My child will be acknowledged and accepted as mine and he will take his rightful place in line to the throne.”

She’d been stunned to learn that the father of her child was a prince, apparently so stunned that she’d somehow failed to reach the logical conclusion that his status meant that his child would be royalty, as well.

But she wasn’t so stunned now that she failed to notice that he’d used both the terms “he” and “his.” She’d found herself thinking of the baby in male gender terms, too, but only because she couldn’t think of her child as “it.” She wondered if it was the same for Eric or if he was hoping the baby was a boy because a male child was more important in the royal family hierarchy.

“And what if it’s a girl?” she asked.

He frowned. “It makes no difference to me whether the child is a boy or a girl.”

“Would it make any difference with respect to succession?”

“No. When Alexandria was born, Julian persuaded parliament to change the law to allow for equal primogeniture so that she wouldn’t lose her place in line to the throne, which she would have done when Damon was born.

“Which means,” he continued, “regardless of the child’s gender, he or she will come directly after me in the line of succession.”

“And where are you in the line?” she asked, starting to feel a little weak in the knees at the thought that her unborn child could someday rule a Mediterranean country.

“Seventh,” he answered her question.

The response helped her to breathe again because she knew, realistically, that while her child’s place in line to the throne meant he could someday rule the country, it was unlikely he would ever be called upon do so.

Still—a mother who was a bartender and a father who was a prince? If that wasn’t a recipe for disaster for the poor kid, she didn’t know what was.

Molly was quiet during the rest of the drive back to the palace. Too quiet, Eric thought, as he maneuvered the vehicle slowly along the winding coastal road, casting frequent glances in her direction to make sure she was okay.

He felt guilty for coming on so strong, but it had seriously irritated him that she could believe—for even half a second—he might not want his child.

As for the paternity issue, he knew there would be some who’d expect him to demand proof before accepting that the child Molly carried was his. He didn’t need proof because he knew Molly—obviously a lot better than she knew him.

She hadn’t been a virgin when they’d made love, but it had been readily apparent to Eric that her experience was limited. She’d responded to every brush of his lips and touch of his hands with soft sighs and quiet gasps that were filled with wonder. She had been both shy and eager, hesitant and willing, and the contradiction between her obvious desire and innocence had been incredibly arousing.

Glancing at her now, he saw that her hands were folded in her lap, her gaze locked upon them, and he remembered what Fiona had told him about Molly’s reluctance to let anyone get close. He was going to have to tread more carefully than he’d done so far if she was going to open up to him.

“I know you aren’t ready to make any big decisions right now,” he said. “But we are going to have to talk about this sometime.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Can it wait until after the wedding?”

He frowned, thinking of her intention to return to Texas right after Scott and Fiona were married, and conscious of the clock that was ticking.

“Will you agree to stay for a while after the wedding?” he asked again.

“For what purpose?”

“To give us a chance to figure this out and make plans for our own.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Our own what?”

“Wedding.”

“What? No. No way.”

“You might want to give the idea some thought before you discard it out of hand.”

“You need to give it some thought,” she told him. “Because if you did, you’d realize the idea is crazy.”

As far as proposals went, he realized this one left a lot to be desired. But he felt it was important to communicate what he wanted, and in that first moment when he’d realized Molly was carrying his child, he’d known.

He wanted Molly and the baby.

Their baby.

The rush of fierce possessiveness that swept through him drowned everything else.

“I want to be a father to this child,” he said, in case he hadn’t already made that point perfectly clear. “And the best way to ensure that is for us to get married.”

“Marriage doesn’t ensure anything.”

“I’m not asking for an answer right now. I’m just asking you to think about it.”

“The answer is no. I don’t want my child growing up in a fishbowl, and your need to don a disguise when we went into town this afternoon made me realize that the child of a prince—”

“Whether or not we marry,” he interrupted, “our child will be a member of the royal family.”

“We are not going to marry,” she said firmly.

Eric knew that if he pushed her any further right now, she’d only dig in her heels, so he let the subject drop, confident that she would eventually come around to his way of thinking.

When they’d left the palace a few hours earlier, he’d been looking forward to a pleasant afternoon and some time alone with Molly. He hadn’t been expected to be hit with the knowledge that he was going to be a father—or to already be thinking of marriage to the mother of his child. And while this situation was definitely outside the realm of his experience, he didn’t feel overwhelmed or trapped or panicked. Maybe it was because so much of his life had been turned upside down in the past few years that he was able to take these new developments in stride, but whatever the reason, marrying Molly just seemed…right.

Marcus would probably say he was still suffering the lingering effects of the concussion he’d sustained three years earlier. Of course, Marcus had always been quick with the jokes, and quicker to extricate himself from any relationship with a woman who had even hinted at long-term—at least until he met Jewel.

Unlike his younger brother, Eric had never been opposed to the idea of marriage. He’d just never had reason to consider it. But he was going to do more than consider it now.

There was going to be another royal wedding in Tesoro del Mar—just as soon as he could convince the woman he wished to become his bride.

Molly was relieved when she woke up the next morning and found a note from her cousin telling her that Fiona and Scott had borrowed a car and were taking a drive to the other side of the island. She was grateful for the reprieve, temporary though she knew it would be. Having succeeded in sending Molly and Eric off together the day before, Fiona would want to hear all the details of their outing, and Molly wasn’t quite sure how she would answer her questions.

She imagined Eric would give her a wide berth today. Not just because of the friction between them but because he would need some time to figure out what he really wanted with respect to a relationship with his child.

In the light of day, Molly realized she shouldn’t have been so surprised by his impulsive proposal the night before. She knew he was an honorable man who took his responsibilities seriously. It would be natural for him to want to assume responsibility for his child. But she was equally convinced that, having had an opportunity to think it through, he would be grateful she hadn’t accepted his offer of marriage.

She went down to the dining room for breakfast, helping herself to a bowl of fresh fruit and a muffin. It seemed that everyone else had already been and gone and though she didn’t mind the solitude, she was conscious of the fact that she’d slept late every morning since arriving on the island and worried that she would become accustomed to this life of leisure. Long stretches of time in which she was required to do absolutely nothing were beyond her realm of experience, so she was pleased when she wandered into the garden and found Princess Lara there with her sons.

Matthew had a butterfly net in one hand and a bug box in the other and was bent at the waist, peering intently at the grass. William toddled around behind his brother, his steps a little unsteady on the grass. Occasionally he’d land on his diaper-clad bottom, but he’d just push himself up again and keep going, though he frequently looked back to make sure his mother was still there and never ventured too far away from her.

“We’re looking for frogs,” the three-year-old young prince informed Molly when she joined them. “Would you like to help?”

“Frogs?” Molly squatted down so that she was at eye level with him. “What kind—brown ones or green ones?”

His little brow furrowed and he looked to his mother for help.

“Whichever ones we can find,” she told him, before lowering her voice so that only Molly could hear and adding, “which I’m hoping is none.”

Molly smiled at the princess, then turned back to the little boy and asked, “Are there any purple ones around here?”

“There’s no such thing as purple frogs,” he said authoritatively.

“How do you know?”

“’Cause Damon’s caught lotsa frogs and he’s never caught a purple one.”

“And I’ve told you,” Lara reminded her son, “just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“So there are purple frogs?”

Lara shrugged. “I’ve never seen one, but who knows?”

He turned to Molly. “Are there purple ones?”

“I can’t say for sure, either,” she admitted. “But I’ve heard about them and that they’re magical frogs.”

His eyes lit up. “Magical?”

Molly nodded. “If you’re lucky enough to find one, you pick it up—very gently, of course—and hold it in the palm of your hand for the count of ten. Can you count to ten?”

His head bobbed up and down enthusiastically.

“Okay, so you count slowly and out loud and when you get to ten, it will roll over onto its back so you can see its belly—which is actually more pink than purple—and make a wish as you tickle his belly.”

“What kind of wish?”

“Any kind of wish you want.”

“And my wish will come true?”

“That’s what they say. But,” she cautioned, “it only works if you haven’t touched any other frogs that day—not green ones or brown ones and especially not blue ones.”

His eyes grew wide. “There’s blue ones, too?”

Molly nodded.

“Wow.” He turned to his mom. “I’m goin’ huntin’ for purple frogs,” he said, and raced off again, lugging both the butterfly net and the bug box.

“Why especially not the blue ones?” Lara wondered, her voice tinged with both admiration and amusement.

“Because the blue ones are poison to the purple ones and when the purple ones get sick, they can’t grant anyone’s wishes.”

Lara laughed and dropped down onto the grass beside Molly. “You certainly piqued my son’s interest.”

Molly shrugged. “Kids are always a great audience.”

“I’d say you’re a great storyteller. Ever put any of your ideas on paper?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” the princess asked.

“Because I’m a bartender, not a writer.”

“You have a gift,” Lara insisted. “It would be a shame not to see what you could do with it.”

Molly’s grandmother had said the same thing to her more than once, but she’d thought she was just encouraging her because that’s what grandmothers did—and because hers in particular thought she should be doing anything other than serving drinks in a bar. But Molly had never really thought seriously of doing anything else, so she was relieved when William crawled over and drew Lara’s attention.

The baby climbed into his mother’s lap and laid his head against her breast, rubbing his eyes with hands that were stained with dirt and grass. Lara just sighed and snuggled him closer. “You’re getting sleepy, aren’t you, dirty boy?”

His only response was a yawn.

Molly felt a strange tug inside her as she realized it wouldn’t be too much longer before she would have her own baby to cuddle in her arms.

“They’re all such stunning children,” she murmured.

“The Santiago genes are strong,” Lara said, then smiled. “And exceptional.”

Molly nodded. “I met Prince Damon first,” she said. “And I was stunned by how beautiful he is. I know he’s a boy, but there isn’t any other word to do him justice. I thought the same thing when I saw his brother and then Prince Matthew and Prince William, too. And then Princess Alexandria walked into the room and somehow managed to outshine them all.”

Lara laughed. “She does, doesn’t she? And Isabella, Marcus and Jewel’s baby, is just the same. You’ll get to meet her when they fly in for the wedding.”

“They’re coming here for Scott and Fiona’s wedding?”

“Yeah, Marcus grumbled, of course, because San Antonio is a lot closer to West Virginia than Tesoro del Mar is, but I don’t think he would miss it for the world.”

“I didn’t realize, until recently, that Scott had grown up here,” Molly said. “I’m not sure Fiona did, either, or knew that his best friend was a prince. I mean, Scott had talked about Eric and Marcus and Rowan, but he certainly didn’t make a big deal out of the fact that they were royalty.”

“Titles shouldn’t matter between friends,” the princess said simply. “Which is why I’d really like it if you’d call me ‘Lara’ instead of ‘Your Highness’.”

“Thank you,” Molly said.

Lara rose to her feet with the half asleep baby on her shoulder and grinned. “And as your friend,” she said. “I expect to be kept apprised of whatever is going on between you and Eric—because I know there’s something.”

Molly couldn’t deny it, but she could clarify to ensure the princess didn’t anticipate any new romantic developments. “Was.”

The smile never wavered. “We’ll see about that.”

And before Molly could think of an appropriate response, Lara had excused herself to round up Matthew, and take both kids inside, to clean them up before they went for their naps.

Despite the hints about Molly’s relationship with Eric, she’d enjoyed the time she’d spent with the princess and her children and was disappointed when they left.

Left to her own devices once again, she changed into her bathing suit, slathered on a generous amount of sunscreen and headed down to the pool. She’d forgotten to pack a book and considered detouring past the library on the main level to borrow one, but decided that she wasn’t feeling that ambitious. She didn’t want to read or think…she just wanted to be.

She laid her towel over the back of the lounge chair, adjusted the tilt and settled in. Then she remembered Fiona’s warning about raccoon eyes and tan lines, so she removed her sunglasses and, double-checking to make sure no one else was around, she untied the strings of the halter from around her neck and tucked them into the keyhole between her breasts.

She promised herself that she would clear her mind, that she wouldn’t let herself think about Eric or her pregnancy or anything else that would give her worry lines. And she managed to keep that promise—until a shadow fell over her, blocking the sun.

She knew, even before she opened her eyes, that it was Eric. Somehow, instinctively, she just knew.

“How long have you been out here?” he asked her.

She shrugged, then realized her mistake when the top of her bathing suit slipped a little lower.

His gaze dropped, lingered.

“The dress I’m wearing for the wedding is strapless,” she explained. “Fiona would have a fit if I had tan lines.”

“I imagine she would.” He reached for the bottle of sunscreen beside her chair, squirted some on his palm, then rubbed his hands together to spread it over both. “She would be even more upset if you burned.”

Molly swallowed as he shifted closer, his intent obvious. “I covered up pretty good before I came out.”

“But you don’t even know how long you’ve been out,” he said, sliding his hands over the curve of her shoulders.

She had to bite down on her lip so that she wouldn’t moan out loud because, oh my, he had such talented hands. Such wickedly, wonderfully, talented hands.

No—she wouldn’t moan. But she would, and did, close her eyes, as he smoothed lotion down her arms, then up again. Across her collarbone. And—oh my—over the swell of her breasts.

Desire, hot and liquid, pulsed through her system as his hands glided over her skin, caressing and lingering long after the lotion had been rubbed into her skin.

“I think that’s, um, good,” she finally managed. “Thanks.”

His lips curved. “My pleasure.”

“So…” she held a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the sun as she looked up at him “…is there a reason you came down to the pool? Because it obviously wasn’t to swim.”

“I sat in on a meeting with the Minister of Economic Development,” he said, explaining the dark suit he wore. “I came down to the pool looking for you.”

“And now you’ve found me.”

“So I did,” he agreed, then grinned. “The question now is, can I keep you?”

“Believe me, you won’t want to in a few more months.”

“I can’t imagine that being true,” he said, sitting on the edge of the chair beside hers. “Just thinking about the fact that you’re carrying my baby—”

“Eric,” she warned.

“There’s no one around to overhear.”

He was right. They were completely alone. It was just the two of them and all of her rampaging hormones—not a good scenario.

“And as I was saying,” he continued, “just knowing that you’re carrying my child makes me want you even more.”

“The wanting is what got us into this predicament,” she reminded him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and gave her another one of those slow smiles that made everything inside of her turn to mush.

Molly picked up her glass and drank deeply, but what had been ice water half an hour before was now lukewarm and did nothing to cool the heat in her veins.

As the day of Fiona and Scott’s wedding drew nearer, Molly saw less and less of Eric. She knew that all the details for the wedding had been taken care of so there was no reason for him to hang around. No reason except that he’d said they would figure things out together and it was kind of hard to figure things out with somebody who was never around.

She knew he was involved in meetings with the Minister of Economic Development and that those meetings were somehow related to the potential expansion of Scott’s business, but to Molly, it was just further proof that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself. And even she wasn’t so dependable these days, with the way her mind was spinning in circles contemplating all of the possibilities—go back to Texas/stay in Tesoro del Mar/return to her job/sell the restaurant/buy a time-share in Timbuktu.

Okay, so maybe that last option wasn’t a realistic one, but she was so desperate for a solution, she was willing to consider almost anything.

Anything except marriage.

Not that Eric had brought up the subject since the night he’d first learned that she was pregnant, which led her to hope that he’d come to his senses. And she was grateful for that. The last thing she needed or wanted was to be pressured into marriage by a man who was intent on doing “the right thing.”

But what did she want?

Unfortunately, that was a question to which she didn’t have an answer.

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