The Princes' Brides: The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride / The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife / The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride

“No.” She shook her head; the lustrous honey curls shifted like strands of heavy silk around her pale face. “I don’t. Really. I’m fine.”

Plainly, something was wrong. She needed help. He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her.

Or take her in his arms and kiss her. Tell her she had nothing to fear, not from him. Not from anything, as long as he was here to protect her…

Dio, was he losing his mind?

Nicolo shot to his feet. “Tea,” he said briskly.

She looked up at him as if he’d lost his sanity. Perhaps he had but she wouldn’t let him call a doctor and he’d be damned if he’d leave her when she looked like a ghost.

“Tea cures everything, or so my great-grandmother used to say.”

Aimee didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was human after all. He had to be, if he’d had a great-grandmother.

She stood up. He reached out a steadying hand but she ignored it.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” she said politely. “I’ll make myself a cup of tea as soon as you—What?”

“I will make the tea.”

He would make the tea. Aimee bit back another wave of what she knew was hysterical laughter.

This arrogant prince, this stranger who’d fathered the collection of cells in her womb, would make the tea.

That’s all they were, at this point, weren’t they? Just cells?

“You will drink some tea, and then I will leave.” He smiled. “Agreed?”

His mood had changed. He’d gone from threatening to charming, and she knew the reason. It was because he’d gotten his way. He’d wrung a humiliating admission from her.

Oh, but his smile was devastating.

Maybe the realization showed in her face, because he moved closer and looked at her through eyes gone as dark as the sea.

“Aimee.” His hands framed her face. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

He shook his head, lay a finger lightly over her mouth.

“I was angry. At you. At your grandfather.” He took a breath. “At myself, for wanting you so badly that night.”

“Please—”

“I never wanted a woman as I wanted you.” His voice roughened. “I think I might have died if you had turned me away.”

What did a woman say to such an admission? That she’d have died, too, if he hadn’t made love to her? That he’d made her feel things she’d never imagined? That she’d never forget that night in his arms?

All true—and now she carried his baby. For one moment, she’d forgotten that.

Aimee took a quick step back.

“The kettle’s on the stove. The tea’s in the cupboard over the sink. I’ll—I’ll just—I’ll just go and wash my face…”

“Damn it, we have to talk about that night! You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.”

Aimee shook her head, turned and fled. Just as she had that night, Nicolo thought, and thought, too, of what had happened when he caught her.

It would be the same now. All he had to was go after her…

“Damn it!”

He swung away, marched into the kitchen and grabbed the kettle. She had fainted. She was ill. What kind of animal was he to think of sex now?

Besides, he wasn’t interested in getting involved with Aimee Black. As beautiful as she was, as much as he might want to make love to her, he’d never fully trust her.

No matter what she claimed, he would always see James Black’s hand in all that had—

The telephone rang.

Nicolo glanced toward the bathroom. The door was still closed; he could hear the sound of water running.

The phone rang again. Should he take the call? No. Surely she had voice mail…

Click.

Hi. You’ve reached 555-6145. Please leave a message after the tone.

A short metallic ring. Then a voice.

Hi, Ms. Black, this is Sarah from Dr. Glassman’s office.

Nicolo put down the kettle. He knew he shouldn’t listen to a private message but what was he supposed to do? Put his hands over his ears? Besides, this was from a physician.

Now, perhaps, he’d know why Aimee had fainted.

…vitamins. And iron. I meant to tell you that when we spoke earlier. Also, the doctor thought you might want a recommendation for an OB-GYN…

An OB-GYN? What in hell was that?

…absolutely fine, but it’s always a good idea to start with an obstetrician early in your pregnancy and, of course, you’re already in your third month…

The floor tilted under Nicolo’s feet. Pregnant? Three months pregnant? What did it mean? What in hell did it mean that a woman he’d had sex with three months ago was—

Aimee flew past him and slapped the machine to silence. Her face had gone from white to red.

“Get out,” she said. Her voice trembled as she pointed her finger at the door. “Damn it, Barbieri, do you hear me? Get out! Get out! Get—”

And with cold, relentless clarity, Nicolo knew. He knew exactly what it meant.

He had put a child in Aimee Black’s belly.

Chapter Seven

AIMEE TRIED to tell herself this was all a bad dream.

Any second, she’d wake up, safe and in bed.

No phone messages from a receptionist who didn’t understand the meaning of privacy. No Nicolo Barbieri staring at her like a man who’d just seen his life flash before his eyes.

Most of all, God, most of all, no baby growing inside her belly.

But it wasn’t a dream.

Everything that was happening was hideously real, from the red light blinking with impersonal determination on her answering machine to the man standing in her tiny kitchen, dwarfing it with his size.

With his fury.

As if he had anything to be furious about.

It was she who was pregnant, she who would agonize over the life-changing decisions ahead, she who would pay the price for one night’s madness.

Male and female. Yin and yang. Poets made the balance sound romantic but it wasn’t. Men led. Women followed. That was what the world expected, and what too many women accepted.

She’d always known that. She’d watched her father treat her mother like an amusing, if sometimes trying, possession.

Her grandfather had done his best to deal with her the same way but she hadn’t permitted it. She’d never permitted it…

Until the night she fell into the arms of this stranger who stood watching her through accusing eyes.

At least she had herself under better control now. She took a steadying breath—there was no point in letting him see how upset she was—and looked straight back at him.

“Goodbye, Prince Barbieri.”

It was like speaking to a statue. “Explain yourself,” he growled.

Explain herself? The cold demand chased away whatever remained of her nerves.

She didn’t need to explain herself to anyone.

“It’s a small apartment,” she said evenly. “Do you really need me to explain how to get to the front door?”

Her attempt at sarcasm backfired. The look on his face grew even colder.

“That call.”

“That private call, you mean.”

That, too, got her nowhere. “You are pregnant,” he said flatly.

Aimee said nothing. Nicolo took a step toward her.

“Answer me!”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

His eyes narrowed. “I warn you, this is not a time for games.” He jerked his head toward the telephone. “That message. Does it mean you are with child?”

Such an old-fashioned phrase. Another time, she might have found it charming. Now, she found it a measure of how much Nicolo Barbieri belonged in a world that was as far from her own as Earth was from the moon.

“That message was for me. I have no intention of discussing it with—”

He was on her before she could finish the sentence, his hands hard on her elbows as he lifted her to her toes.

“You are three months pregnant!” His grasp on her tightened. “Three months ago, you slept with me.”

“I told you, I am not going to discuss this!”

“You will discuss whatever I wish, when it concerns me.” He lowered his head until his eyes were on the same level as hers. “How many other men were you with three months ago?”

Oh, how she hated him! And yet, he had every right to think that way about her. She’d gone into his bed with no more planning than the slut he’d called her. With less planning, she thought, or she wouldn’t be pregnant!

“I asked you a question.”

“And I told you to get out.” Aimee’s voice trembled; she hated herself for the show of weakness. “You have no right—”

“You will answer me! How many others were there?”

She wrenched free of his hands. “A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand! Are you satisfied?!”

The expression on his face was terrifying. She didn’t care. Let him think whatever he liked. Let him think anything, so long as he went away and left her alone.

“I assume,” he said, his voice clipped, “that is an exaggeration. Still, all things considered, do you actually know who the father is?”

She’d asked for the insult by her behavior that night and by her answer a moment ago. Still, it took all her control not to launch herself at him and claw out his eyes.

“Whoever it is, it isn’t your problem.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re going to—”

He caught her again, pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her savagely.

“Does that shake your memory, Aimee? Does it remind you that I have every right to demand answers—or have you forgotten I spent half the night spending myself inside you three months ago?”

Her face flamed. “I hate you,” she said, struggling against his iron grip. “You’re a bully. You’re disgusting. You’re—”

He kissed her again, harder than before, his lips, his teeth, his hands all a harsh reminder of his power.

“I am all that and more. Now answer the question. Who fathered the child you carry? Was it me?”

Her mind raced. All she had to do was say no. That would be the end of it.

And yet, how could she?

She didn’t care about lying to Nicolo. But lying to the tiny life within her…

There was something terrible in that.

She knew thinking that way was crazy but everything that had happened today was crazy. Why not this, too?

Besides, the truth wouldn’t change anything. This was her responsibility. She wasn’t naïve; she knew how these things went. In school and then here in the city, she’d known women who’d been in the same fix. Things always ended the same way. The men denied being responsible. Or, if confronted by irrefutable proof, made some kind of settlement to avoid a nasty legal action and then went on with their lives.

The women ended up making decisions that would affect them forever. Abortion. Adoption. Single-mother-hood. Choose the one you hoped would be best for you, for your baby, then live with it.

This would be no different. Considering that Nicolo hadn’t already run out the door, his solution to the problem was surely going to be money.

Not that she gave a damn.

She was not weak. She could handle this on her own, and to hell with Nicolo Barbieri.

The sooner he understood that, the better.

“Is this baby mine?” he demanded.

Aimee looked up in defiance. “You’re goddamned right it is.”

Except for the almost-painful tightening of his hands on her flesh, he showed no emotion.

“You are certain?”

An ugly question, but she didn’t flinch. “Absolutely.”

“There was no one else who could have—”

“No.”

“Because, I promise you, Aimee, I will demand blood tests.”

“What you’d want is a DNA test,” she said coldly. “They’re a much more reliable proof of paternity, according to a law class I took in college.” She smiled thinly. “But bothering with the test would be a waste of time.”

His lips drew back from his teeth in what might have been an attempt at a smile.

“That decision will be mine. It will not be yours.”

His accent was growing more and more pronounced. She’d already figured out that was a sure sign he was having trouble controlling his temper.

Too bad.

She had a temper, too. And there was a limit to how many insults a woman, even an imprudent one, had to take.

“Believe me, Prince Barbieri. I’ve only done a few foolish things in my life.” Aimee jerked free of his hands. “And going to bed with you rates as number one.”

His face darkened. “Insulting me at a time like this is not wise.”

“Then don’t insult me by calling me a liar! You asked the question. I answered it. Unfortunately you don’t like the answer, but that doesn’t change that fact that it was you who made me pregnant.”

“I made you pregnant.” His words were filled with soft malice. “Such an interesting way to phrase what happened that night, cara.”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “What happened was that I’d had too much to drink.”

“I don’t recall you having anything to drink.”

His assessment was closer to the mark than hers. She’d had one drink. Actually, a couple of sips of one drink, but she wasn’t going to be sidetracked into a discussion of why she’d had sex with him when she didn’t understand it herself.

“The point is, you impregnated me.”

“Now you describe a laboratory experiment.” He moved toward her slowly, gaze locked to hers, and though she hated herself for it, she took a step back. “But that was not what happened in that bathroom or in my bed.”

“There is no reason to have this conversation.”

“Ah, but there is.” He was a breath away now, his eyes glittering with heat as her shoulders hit the wall. “I think you need reminding of what we did that night.”

“I have all the reminding I need.”

“Si. So it would seem. My child in your womb.” His gaze flattened. “Was this part of the great plan?”

Aimee blinked. “What?”

“Such an innocent face, cara.” His mouth twisted with derision. “And such a devious scheme. The clever meeting on the street. The coincidental meeting at the club. The seduction.” He cupped her face, raised it to his until the midnight-blue of his eyes filled her vision. “And now, this. An heir to your grandfather’s kingdom. A child of my blood from the womb of a Stafford-Coleridge-Black descendant.” His gaze darkened. “Such an amazing set of coincidences.”

“You are,” Aimee whispered shakily, “an evil man.”

“I am a logical man. One who assumed you were using protection.”

“I was. It failed.”

“How convenient it failed when failure was most necessary.”

Her eyes filled with angry tears. “I despise you!”

“That really breaks my heart, cara.”

“When I think that—that I let you touch me—”

“You let me touch you?” Nicolo gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You begged me to touch you. I remember every word. Every whisper.”

“I must have been out of my mind.”

Aimee’s face was white with exhaustion. Clearly this was taking its toll and, just for a second, Nicolo’s anger lessened.

She was pregnant. And she had been so ill just a short while ago…

So what? he thought coldly.

She had brought it all on herself. Did she really expect him to believe her birth control protection had failed? A woman like her…Surely she would know all about such things.

And what about you?

The thought whispered its way from the depths of his conscience. He had to admit, it was a fair question.

He had taken Aimee without a condom. And he always used a condom, even if a woman said it wasn’t necessary.

Perhaps he was old-fashioned but protection was a man’s responsibility, especially in today’s sometimes ugly world.

So, what had become of his sense of responsibility that night?

It had flown out the window along with the ability to think with his brain instead of his body.

He’d wanted Aimee more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. Dio, he was getting hard, just remembering.

Nicolo cursed, spun away from her and paced across her kitchen. He ran his hands through his hair and told himself he was crazy.

His entire world had been upended and he was thinking about what it had been like to make love to a woman who was a stranger to him in every way that mattered.

What he had to think about was not that. It was what he should do next.

Should he contact his attorney? Demand to speak with her physician? What were his financial responsibilities, now and in the future?

Whenever an acquaintance married and had a child, he’d think, yes, I suppose I shall have a son, too, sometime in the future. Perhaps because his father had hardly ever been around when he was growing up, being a parent had never seemed anything more than a vague idea.

Now, it was fast becoming reality, assuming a lab test said Aimee Black was telling the truth. Assuming she wanted to remain pregnant.

Nicolo’s jaw tightened.

That would, of course, be her decision.

But it was a great deal to take in all at once. A child. His child. In the womb of a woman who had stirred him so that he’d forgotten everything he’d ever known about self-control.

To hell with that. Angry at Aimee, angry at himself, he swung toward her again.

“I assume you’ve made plans.”

“They don’t concern you.”

“What are those plans?”

“I just said—”

“Whatever you do, you will need proper care.”

“Didn’t you hear me? What I do is not your concern.”

“The message from your doctor. I gather he found you well.”

“She found me well,” Aimee said, with a lift of her chin.

Could a man laugh at such a moment? Nicolo found that at least he could smile.

“I stand corrected. And this—this OP?”

“OB-GYN. And we’re not going to have this conversation.”

“This is a specialist?”

“Damn it, Barbieri—”

“I see I am no longer that magnificent creature, the prince,” he said dryly.

“You are an intruder. And I want you to out of my home immediately.”

“What is this OB-GYN?”

“An obstetrician. Must I phone the police to get rid of you?”

“And tell them what, cara? That it annoys you to discuss your pregnancy with the man responsible for it?” He flashed a thin smile. “I suspect the officers who respond to your call would enjoy something to lighten their day.”

“Nicolo.” Her voice was weary. “Why are you doing this?”

He strode to her and cupped her elbows. “I am doing it,” he said sharply, “because you claim my child lies in your belly.”

“You asked for the truth. Don’t blame me if…” Aimee gasped and tried to catch his hands. “What are you doing?”

“Opening your robe,” he said calmly, as he undid the sash. “I want to see this pregnancy of yours.”

“I told you, it’s not…” Her breath caught as he spread the lapels of her robe wide. “Damn you, Nicolo—”

“It is my right,” he said coldly.

It was. Wasn’t it? The right of a man to see the body of a woman who claimed she carried his baby?

Dio, he had almost forgotten how beautiful she was.

The night they met, she’d worn something wickedly sexy under that incredible crimson dress. A black bra. A black thong. Both silky and small enough to hold in the palm of his hand.

Now, she wore sensible white cotton. A bra and panties. And it didn’t matter. She had the kind of body that didn’t need black silk to make it sexy.

Was it too soon to see the changes his child would bring? Her belly was still flat. Her breasts…were they already a little fuller?

“Nicolo.” Her voice was husky. “Nicolo…”

“I’m just curious, cara.” His voice was husky, too. And rough. As rough as the sudden pounding of his heart. He reached out, placed his hand over her belly again. “Still flat,” he said, as if it didn’t matter that he could feel the heat of her skin through the plain white cotton panties.

“Nicolo.”

He looked up, his eyes dark as they met hers. She was trembling; her lips were slightly parted and he remembered how they had parted for him that night. How greedily he had tasted her mouth. Her ineffable sweetness.

“What of your breasts?” he said in a low voice. Eyes locked to hers, he cupped one delicate mound of flesh. She gave a little moan; her eyes went from violet to black. “Have they changed yet?”

He felt her nipple engorge behind the cotton of her bra. She moaned again as he moved his thumb across the swollen tip and he knew he could have her. Take her again and again, until he’d rid himself of this need to possess her…

Dio, perhaps he had lost his mind! Quickly he stepped back.

“So,” he said briskly, as if nothing had happened, “we must discuss what to do next. What is right.”

Aimee pulled her robe together. She was shaken; he could see it, but he could see that she wasn’t going to admit it.

“What is right,” she said, “is for you to get out of my life.”

“I intend to as soon as we settle this.”

“It’s settled. This is my problem and I’ll decide what’s right.”

Nicolo nodded, but was that correct? Was the choice solely hers? What did a man do at a time like this? He’d never had to make the decision but he knew the obvious answers.

The trouble was that the obvious answers didn’t apply when you were the man involved in actually making the decision.

And what a hell of a decision this was.

He had made Aimee Black pregnant. Forget the nonsense about other men. He had always trusted his gut instinct in business; he trusted it now. He would own up to his responsibility, financially.

That was his decision.

What she did after that was hers.

Nicolo reached into his pocket, took out his checkbook and a gold pen.

“I don’t want your money!”

He looked up. Aimee was watching him, her eyes almost feverish in her pale face.

“You said you will do whatever is right. And so shall I.” He uncapped the pen. “Five hundred thousand. Will that be—”

“Five hundred thousand dollars?”

His eyebrows rose. “Is it not enough?”

Aimee flew at him and slapped the checkbook and pen from his hand. “Get out,” she growled. “Get out, get out, get—”

“Damn it,” Nicolo snarled, grabbing her wrists before she could slug him, “are you insane?”

“Do you think your money can change what’s happened? That it can buy back my dignity?” Tears of anger rose in her eyes to glitter like jewels on her lashes. “I don’t want your money, Nicolo. I don’t want anything from you except your promise that I’ll never see your face again!”

Her tears fell on his hand like the rain that had fallen on them both the day they’d met.

He suspected he would never forget that meeting, or Aimee.

Her defiance. Her passion. Her determination.

An inadvertent smile lifted the corner of his mouth. If ever a man wanted sons—even daughters—Aimee would be the woman to bear them. Such fire. Such courage…

His breath caught.

Suddenly he knew what was right. How had it taken him this long to see it?

He let go of Aimee’s hands. Then he picked up his checkbook, retrieved his pen, put them both back in his pocket. A roll of paper towels hung over the kitchen sink. He tore off half a dozen sheets and held them out to her.

She shoved them away.

“I just said, I don’t want anything from you!”

“Perhaps you’ll make an exception,” he said calmly, “considering that your nose is running.”

She flushed, grabbed the towels, put them to her nose and gave a long, noisy blow.

“Much better.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to offend Your Highness’s delicate sensibilities.”

Her voice was shaky but he could see her self-control returning. He had the feeling she was going to need it.

“I know you’re being sarcastic, cara, but—”