The Prince's Secret Baby

“I do.” He gave her a regal nod. “Three brothers, five sisters. I’m second-born. I have an older brother, Maximilian. And after me, there are the twins, Alexander and Damien. And then my sisters—Bella, Rhiannon, Alice, Genevra and Rory.”

“Big family.” Feeling suddenly wistful, she set down her fork. “I envy you. I was an only child.” Her hand rested on the tabletop.

He covered it with his. The touch warmed her to her toes—and thrilled her, as well. Her whole body seemed, all at once, completely, vividly alive. He leaned into her and studied her face, his gaze as warm as his lean hand over hers. “And you are sad, then? To have no siblings?”

“I am, yes.” She wished he might hold her hand indefinitely. And yet she had to remember that this wasn’t going anywhere and it wouldn’t be right to let him think that it might. She eased her hand free. He took her cue without comment, retreating to his side of the table. She asked, “How old are you, Rule?”

He laughed his slow, smooth laugh. “Somehow, I begin to feel as though I’m being interviewed.”

She turned her wineglass by the stem. “I only wondered. Is your age a sensitive subject for you?”

“In a sense, I suppose it is.” His tone was more serious. “I’m thirty-two. That’s a dangerous age for an unmarried man in my family.”

“How so? Thirty-two isn’t all that old.” Especially not for a man. For a woman, things were a little different—at least, they were if she wanted to have children.

“It’s time that I married.” He said it so somberly, his eyes darker than ever as he regarded her steadily.

“I don’t get it. In your family, they put you on a schedule for marriage?”

Now a smile haunted his handsome mouth. “It sounds absurd when you say it that way.”

“It is absurd.”

“You are a woman of definite opinions.” He said it in an admiring way. Still, defiance rose within her and she tipped her chin high. He added, “And yes, in my family both the men and the women are expected to marry before they reach the age of thirty-three.”

“And if you don’t?”

He lowered his head and looked at her from under his dark brows. “Consequences will be dire.” He said it in a low tone, an intimate tone, a tone that did a number on every one of her nerve endings and sent a fine, heated shiver dancing along the surface of her skin.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes, I am. I like you, Sydney. I knew that I would, the moment I first saw you.”

“And when was that?”

“You’ve already forgotten?” He looked gorgeously forlorn. “I see I’m not so memorable, after all. Macy’s? I saw you going in?” The waiter scooped up their empty salad plates and served them rib eye steaks with Serrano lime butter. When he left them, Rule slid her a knowing glance as he picked up his steak knife. “Sydney, I think you’re testing me.”

Why deny it? “I think you’re right.”

“I hope I’m passing this test of yours—and do your parents live here in Dallas?”

She trotted out the old, sad story. “They lived in San Francisco, where I was born. My mother was thrown off a runaway cable car. I was just three months old, in her arms when she fell. She suffered a blow to the head and died instantly, but I was unharmed. They called it a miracle at the time. My father was fatally injured when he jumped off to try and save us. He died the next day in the hospital.”

His dark eyes were so soft. They spoke of real sympathy. Of understanding. “How terrible for you.”

“I don’t even remember it. My grandmother—my father’s mother—came for me and took me back to Austin, where she lived. She raised me on her own. My grandfather had died several years before my parents. She was amazing, my grandmother. She taught me that I can do anything. She taught me that power brings responsibility. That the truth is sacred. That being faithful and trustworthy are rewards in themselves.”

Now his eyes had a teasing light in them. “And yet, you’re an attorney.”

Sydney laughed. “So they have lawyer jokes even in Montedoro?”

“I’m afraid so—and a corporate attorney at that.”

“I’m not responding to that comment on the grounds that it might tend to incriminate me.” She said it lightly.

But he saw right through her. “Have I hit a nerve?”

She totally shocked herself by answering frankly. “My job is high-powered. And high-paying. And it’s been … important to me, to know that I’m on top of a very tough game, that I’ll never have to worry about where the next paycheck is coming from, that I can definitely take care of my own and do it well.”

“And yet?”

She revealed even more. “And yet lately, I often find myself thinking how much more fulfilling it might be to spend my workdays helping people who really need me, rather than protecting the overflowing coffers of multibillion-dollar companies.”

He started to speak. But then her BlackBerry, which she’d set on the table to the right of her water goblet the way she always did at restaurants, vibrated. She checked the display: Magda, her assistant. Probably wondering why she wasn’t back at the office yet.

She glanced at Rule again. He had picked up his knife and fork and was concentrating on his meal, giving her the chance to deal with the call if she needed to.

Well, she didn’t need to.

Sydney scooped up the phone and dropped it in her bag where she wouldn’t even notice if it vibrated again.

With the smooth ease of a born diplomat, Rule continued their conversation as though it had never been interrupted. “You speak of your grandmother in the past tense….”

“She died five years ago. I miss her very much.”

“So much loss.” He shook his head. “Life can be cruel.”

“Yes.” She ate a bite of her steak, taking her time about it, savoring the taste and tenderness of the meat, unaccountably happy that he hadn’t remarked on her vibrating BlackBerry, that he hadn’t said he was “sorry,” the way people always did when she told them she’d grown up without her parents, when she confessed how much she missed her grandmother.

He watched her some more, his dark head tipped to the side in way that had her thinking again how he reminded her of someone. “Have you ever been married?”

“No. I’m Catholic—somewhat lapsed, yes, but nonetheless, I do believe that marriage is forever. I’ve never found the man I want forever with. But I’ve had a couple of serious relationships. They … didn’t work out.” Understatement of the year. But he didn’t need to hear it and she didn’t need to say it. She’d done enough over-sharing for now, thank you very much. She added, “And I’m thirty-three. Does that seem … dire to you?”

“Absolutely.” He put on a stern expression. On him, sternness was sexy. But then, on him, everything was sexy. “You should be married immediately. And then have nine children. At the very least. You should marry a wealthy man, Sydney. One who adores you.”

“Hmm. A rich man who adores me. I wouldn’t mind that. But the nine children? More than I planned on. Significantly more.”

“You don’t want children?” He looked honestly surprised.

She almost told him about Trevor right then. But no. This was a fantasy lunch with a fantasy man. Trevor was her real life. The most beautiful, perfect, meaningful, joyful part of her real life. “I didn’t say I didn’t want children. I do. But I’m not sure I’m ready for nine of them. Nine seems like a lot.”

“Well. Perhaps we would have to settle for fewer than nine. I can be reasonable.”

“We?”

“A man and a woman have to work together. Decisions should be jointly made.”

“Rule.” She put a hand to her breast, widened her eyes and asked him dramatically, “Could this be … oh, I can’t believe it. Is it possible that you’re proposing to me?”

He answered matter-of-factly, “As it happens, I’m wealthy. And it would be very easy for me to adore you.” His dark eyes shone.

What was this feeling? Magical, this feeling. Magical and foolish. And that was the beauty of it. It was one of those things that happen when you least expect it. Something to remind her that life could still be surprising. That it wasn’t all about winning and staying on top—and coming home too late to tuck her own sweet boy into bed.

Sometimes even the most driven woman might just take a long lunch. A long lunch with a stranger who made her feel not only brilliant and clever, but beautiful and desired, as well.

She put on a tragic face. “I’m sorry. It could never work.”

He played it stricken. “But why not?”

“You live in Montedoro.” Grave. Melancholy. “My career—my whole life—is here.”

“You might change careers. You might even decide to try a different kind of life.”

Hah. Exactly what men always said. She wasn’t letting him get away with it. “Or you might move to Texas.”

“For you, Sydney, I might do anything.”

“Perfect answer.”

A moment ensued. Golden. Fine. A moment with only the two of them in it. A moment of complete accord.

Sydney let herself enjoy that moment. She refused to be guarded or dubious. It was only lunch, after all. Lunch with an attractive man. She was giving herself full permission to enjoy every minute of it.

Chapter Two

The meeting on the Binnelab case was half over when Sydney slipped in at two-fifteen.

“Excuse me,” she said as she eased through the conference room doors and they all turned to stare at her. “So sorry. I had … something of an emergency.”

Her colleagues made sympathetic noises and went back to arguing strategy. No one was the least angry that she was late.

Because she was never late—which meant that of course there had to be a good reason for her tardiness. She was Sydney O’Shea, who graduated college at twenty, passed the bar at twenty-four and had been made partner at thirty—exactly one year before her son was born. Sydney O’Shea, who knew how to make demands and how to return a favor, who had a talent for forging strong professional relationships and who never slacked. She racked up the billable hours with the best of them.

If she’d told them all that she’d been sidetracked in Macy’s housewares by a handsome orange salesman from Montedoro and allowed him to talk her into blowing off half of the Binnelab meeting, they’d have had zero doubt that she was joking.

She knew the case backward and forward. She only had to listen to the discussion for a few minutes to get up to speed on the direction her colleagues were taking.

By the end of the meeting, she’d nudged them in a slightly different direction and everyone seemed pleased with the result. She returned to her corner office to find her so-capable assistant, the usually unflappable Magda, standing in the middle of the room holding an orchid in a gorgeous purple pot. Magda stared in dismay at the credenza along the side wall where no less than twelve spectacular flower arrangements sprouted from a variety of crystal vases.

The credenza was not the only surface in the room overflowing with flowers. There were two vases on the coffee table and one each on the end tables in the sitting area.

Her desk had six of them. And the windowsill was likewise overrun with exotic blooms. Each arrangement had a small white card attached. The room smelled like a greenhouse.

Rule. She knew instantly. Who else could it be? And a quick glance at one of the cards confirmed it.

Please share dinner with me tonight. The Mansion at Turtle Creek. Eight o’clock. Yours, Rule

She’d never told him the name of her firm. But then again, it wouldn’t have been that hard to find out. Just her name typed into a search engine would have done it.

“Smothered in flowers. Literally,” she said to her nonplussed assistant. She felt that delicious glow again, that sense of wonder and limitless possibility. She was crushing on him, big-time. He made her feel innocent and free.

And beautiful. And desired …

Was there anything wrong with that? If there was, she was having trouble remembering what.

“They started arriving about half an hour ago,” said Magda. “I think this orchid is the last of them. But I have nowhere left to put it.”

“It would look great on your desk,” Sydney suggested. “In fact, take the cards off and leave them with me. And then let’s share the wealth.”

Magda arched a brow. “Give them away, you mean?”

“Start with the data entry crew. Just leave me the two vases of yellow roses.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” She didn’t think Rule would mind at all if she shared. And she wanted to share. This feeling of hope and wonder and beauty, well, it was too fabulous to keep to herself. “Tell everyone to enjoy them. And to take them home, if they want to—and hurry. We have Calista’s party at four.”

“I really like this orchid,” said Magda, holding out the pot, admiring the deep purple lips suspended from the velvety pale pink petals. “It looks rare.”

“Good. Enjoy. A nice start to the weekend, don’t you think? Flowers for everyone. And then we send Calista happily off to her tropical honeymoon.”

“Someone special must be wild for you,” Magda said with a grin.

Sydney couldn’t resist grinning right back at her. “Deliver the flowers and let’s break out the champagne.”

Calista loved the heart-shaped casserole. She laughed when she pulled it from the gift bag. “I guess now I’ll just have to learn how to cook.”

“Wait until after the honeymoon,” Sydney suggested and then proposed a toast. “To you, Calista. And to a long and happy marriage.”

After the two glasses of wine at lunch, Sydney allowed herself only a half glass of champagne during the shower. But the shortage of bubbly didn’t matter in the least. It was still the most fun Sydney had ever had at a bridal shower. Funny how meeting a wonderful man can put a whole different light on the day.

After the party, she returned to her office just long enough to grab her briefcase, her bag and one of the vases full of yellow roses. Yes, as a rule she would have stayed to bill a couple more hours, at least.

But hey. It was Friday. She wanted to see her little boy before he went to bed. And she really needed to talk to Lani, who was not only her dearest friend, but also Trevor’s live-in nanny. She needed Lani’s excellent advice as to whether she should go for it and take Rule up on his invitation to dinner.

At home in Highland Park, she found Trevor in the kitchen, sitting up at the breakfast nook table in his booster chair, eating his dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. “Mama home! Hug, hug!” he crowed, and held out his chubby arms.

She dropped her briefcase and bag, set the flowers on the counter and went to him. He wrapped those strong little arms around her neck, smearing spaghetti sauce on her cheek when he gave her a big smacker of a kiss. “How’s my boy?”

“I fine, thank you.”

“Me, too.” She hugged him harder. “Now that I’m home with you.” He smelled of tomatoes and meatballs and baby shampoo—of everything that mattered.

At two, he was quite the talker. As he picked up his spoon again, he launched into a description of his day. “We swim. We play trucks. I shout loud when we crash.”

“Sounds like fun.” She whipped a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped the red sauce off her cheek.

“Oh, yes! Fun, Mama. I happy.” He shoved a meatball in his mouth with one hand and waved his spoon with the other.

“Use your spoon for eating,” Lani said from over by the sink.

“Yes, Lani. I do!” He switched the spoon to the other hand and scooped up a mound of pasta. Most of it fell off before he got it to his mouth, but he only gamely scooped up some more.

“You’re early,” said Lani, turning to glance at her over the tops of her black-rimmed glasses. “And those roses are gorgeous.”

“They are, aren’t they? And as to being early, hey, it’s almost the weekend.”

“That never stopped you from working late before.” Lani grabbed a towel and turned to lean against the sink as she dried her hands.

Her full name was Yolanda Ynez Vasquez and she was small and curvy with acres of thick almost-black hair. She’d been working for Sydney for five years, starting as Sydney’s housekeeper. The plan was that Lani would cook and clean house and live in, thus saving money while she finished college. But then, even after she got her degree, she’d stayed on, and become Trevor’s nanny, as well. Sydney had no idea how she would have managed without her. Not only for her grace and ease at keeping house and being a second mom to Trevor, but also for her friendship. After Ellen O’Shea, Yolanda Vasquez was the best friend Sydney had ever had.

Lani said, “You’re glowing, Syd.”

Sydney put her hands to her cheeks. “I do feel slightly warm. Maybe I have a fever….”

“Or maybe someone handsome sent you yellow roses.”

Laughing, Sydney shook her head. “You are always one step ahead of me.”

“What’s his name?”

“Rule.”

“Hmm. Very … commanding.”

“And he is. But in such a smooth kind of way. I went to lunch with him. I really like him. He asked me to dinner.”

“Tonight?” Lani asked.

She nodded. “He invited me to meet him at the Mansion at Turtle Creek. Eight o’clock.”

“And you’re going.” It wasn’t a question.

“If you’ll hold down the fort?”

“No problem.”

“What about Michael?” Michael Cort was a software architect. Lani had been seeing him on a steady basis for the past year.

Lani shrugged. “You know Michael. He likes to hang out. I’ll invite him over. We’ll get a pizza—tell me more about Rule.”

“I just met him today. Am I crazy?”

“A date with a guy who makes you glow? Nothing crazy about that.”

“Mama, sketti?” Trev held up a handful of crushed meatball and pasta.

“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.”

She shook her head. “You amaze me, Rule.”

He arched a raven-black eyebrow. “In a good way, I hope?”