The Pregnant Princess Read online

  Arrows of desire sizzled a path through his nerve endings from her teasing tongue straight to his groin, and he groaned, abandoning her breasts to slide his hands around her bottom and pull her higher against him. He pushed a muscled knee between her slim legs, parting them and moving steadily forward until she rode one hard thigh. She brought a hand down then, exploring him through his pants, and the feel of her small palm rubbing over his cloth-covered erection drove him wild. Holding her in place, he fumbled with his belt, roughly unzipping his pants and then stepping away from her momentarily to discard the rest of his clothing.

  Elizabeth stood with her back against the bed, her chest rising and falling with her quickened breathing, her arms braced behind her on the mattress. He stepped forward again, pulling her against him, and they both made anguished sounds of frustration and delight at the feel of naked flesh against naked flesh. His hot, pulsing column pushed at the mound of her belly and when she slowly rocked back and forth, caressing him with the small motion, he closed his eyes and threw his head back, giving himself to her ministrations.

  With his eyes closed, every touch of her fingers to his skin made him tremble. She smoothed her hands over his chest, flicking lightly over his nipples again, then made small circles that moved steadily lower and lower. Over his rib cage, down into the tiny well of his navel, then even lower until she was brushing the thicket of black curls that surrounded his aching hardness. She toyed with him, straying down to the creases where his thighs met his torso, stealthily sliding her fingers along those folds to the heavy sac that hung between his legs, gently cupping him in her hand with her fingers slowly slipping back and forth. But she didn’t touch him as he longed for her to, and he felt himself getting harder and larger, and more and more frantic for her touch.

  Finally he couldn’t take another second of her sly teasing. “Touch me,” he growled, dropping his head to seize her earlobe between his teeth and deliver a not-so-gentle nip of warning. He slid his own hands down her body to her hips and held her firmly with one, while with the other he dipped boldly into the shadowed cleft between her legs, finding her hot and wet and unbelievably slick and ready.

  She wrapped her fingers around his straining shaft, feeling the silky heat, running her thumb up over the tip and discovering the slipperiness already forming there. She rubbed her fingers around the broad head, then down again, clasping him in a firm hand and beginning to stroke him rhythmically.

  “Like this?” she whispered.

  His breath whistled in and out between his teeth in agonized pleasure. His hand between her legs pushed her thighs apart until she widened her stance, then found the humid entrance to her and pushed one long finger steadily, slowly but firmly up into the tight feminine channel. “Like that,” he managed. He matched his finger’s motion to the strokes of her hand, feeling the pace quicken far too fast, knowing this was going to be over in a matter of moments, but he couldn’t bring himself to drag her hand away. Instead, he found himself covering her hand with his free one and showing her an even more intense rhythm, tutoring her in the hot, fierce pleasures of sensual fulfillment.

  But all too soon, he began to shake uncontrollably with the effort to retain control, and he had to force himself to draw her hand away, twining her fingers with his when she made a sound of protest and reached for him again. The tip of his erect staff brushed against her belly and he groaned. He knew he didn’t have much time. Withdrawing his hand from her steamy center, he grabbed her by the hips and boosted her up to perch on the edge of the high bed, placing her in a perfect position to receive him. His body was so ready for release that he groaned aloud as he clasped himself in one big hand and positioned himself for the final claiming. Then he pulled her off the edge of the bed.

  She slid onto him in a deep, smooth stroke so perfect she might have been made for the moment, wrapping her legs around his hips and drawing him even more closely to her. He thrust deeply into her and she cried out as her most sensitive knot of tiny nerves banged against his pelvis.

  She threw her head back and looked up at him, her eyes wide, pupils dilated with passion. “I can’t…I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can.” Scarcely able to restrain himself, but still in control enough to know that he didn’t want to go without her, he pushed his hand between them and found the little bump of pouting flesh with his thumb. Her body was quivering around him and he’d barely started a steady circling when her back arched and she screamed.

  Inside her, strong muscular contractions squeezed his bursting flesh, and as she shuddered and heaved in his arms, Rafe felt himself gathering into one giant sensation all centered on the hot flesh snugly ensconced within her body. His hips thrust, withdrew and thrust again, slamming against her, and she screamed with each contact of flesh against flesh. His body drew taut, sensation dancing down his back, starting deep within him and pushing his seed up and out, arching him against her again and again, bucking wildly as he emptied himself into her receptive woman’s well.

  Finally there was nothing left to give, nothing left to feel but satiated pleasure and drowsy exhaustion. His legs trembled; her ankles slipped from their clasp behind his back and her legs slid to the floor.

  He reached behind her to the gold coverlet, pulling it back before lifting her and placing her gently on the crisp sheets. Drawing the cover up around her, he walked around the foot of the big bed to the other side and climbed in. She turned to him as she had the night before on another continent and he slipped one arm beneath her, drawing her close, conscious of how small and fragile she seemed. Her hand came up to rest on his chest and she nestled against him with one leg over his thigh; the mound of their child pushed into his side, cradled between them and he felt her give a deep sigh.

  Rubbing his thumb over the silky skin of her upper arm, he turned his head and kissed the top of her head. “Tired?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She snuggled closer.

  It was amazing what a warm, sweet woman cuddling up to you could do…when it was the right woman. He lifted a hand and put a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to his so that he could kiss her, long and tender. “Then sleep. I’ll hold you.”

  He woke before she did. Easing his arm out from under her head, he grinned when she grumbled and curled into a little ball next to him. Shifting himself onto one elbow, he took a moment to study her features.

  She was so pretty. Her complexion was roses and cream with a light sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her dark lashes concealed those incredible eyes— those penetrating eyes that made him feel she could see every thought in his head.

  The first night they’d met, she speared him with one look from those eyes and he’d been lost. His body had leaped with interest, but it was more than that—it was as if he’d known from the very start that she was going to be his.

  And she was. Satisfaction filled him. She’d finally agreed that marriage was their best choice given the situation. Idly, he wondered what would happen if he’d met her today, in Phoenix, with no pregnancy to make marriage a necessity.

  Would he still have been drawn to her so strongly? Would he have called her again? Would he even consider asking her to be his wife?

  Of course. That was how it was supposed to work. Arranged marriages were ridiculous, and seemed even more so now that he understood what it was like to be anticipating marriage to the woman he loved—

  The woman he loved.

  My God, it had been between them the whole time. How had he not known? How had he not recognized it?

  On the other hand, why would he? He hadn’t grown up knowing what it felt like to be loved. He’d never allowed himself to need another person, either, like he needed her. He needed her. It was a frightening thought to know that his happiness depended on this one small woman lying beside him.

  Shifting onto an elbow, he watched the slow rhythm of her breathing. The milky globes of her breasts were hidden beneath the arms she had folded under her chin and one leg was draw
n up, hiding the soft female treasure that had welcomed him earlier. Her belly, stretched and swollen, was tilted down to rest against the bed and he wondered how much bigger she would get.

  She was going to need him, too, in a very physical sense that had nothing to do with sex, he realized. For assistance as her body grew even more bulky and cumbersome, but more than that, for reassurance. He wouldn’t let her doubt for a single moment that he found her desirable despite her pregnancy. The fact that she carried a child made from the two of them, from their very first, memorable meeting, only made her more precious in his eyes.

  Gently, he laid his hand over her stomach, over the womb where his baby rested.

  His baby. Their baby. For a few moments he allowed himself to dream about the child growing within her womb. What would he be like as a father? he wondered. He’d promised himself over the years that any children of his never would have to know the sting of critical words, never would cry themselves to sleep because they hadn’t measured up, never would choose to spend lonely holidays at boarding school rather than go home. Hell, his kids wouldn’t even go to boarding school.

  He’s sorry, you know, even if he can’t say it. Roland’s words echoed in his head.

  Oh, his father couldn’t have been an easy man to live with even if he had mellowed, as Roland claimed. And his mother…she’d followed her husband’s lead her entire life. Rafe had sensed more than once that she’d have liked to be warmer, more demonstrative and loving with him, but she’d never disobey the Grand Duke’s edict that too much coddling would spoil the boy.

  Rafe’s children were going to know they were loved in every way there was. If that spoiled them, then too bad. It beat rejection.

  He came out of his reverie then to see Elizabeth lying quietly, sleepy emerald eyes studying his face. She reached out a hand and laid it gently on his cheek and he turned his face into her palm, pressing a whisper-light kiss there before taking the hand and bringing it to the back of his neck. Slowly he leaned over her and set his mouth on hers, kissing her with all the tenderness his newly realized love gave him. When he lifted his head, there were tears in her eyes and he knew she’d caught something of his feelings in the gentle caress.

  Dinner with his family was more of a success than he’d have believed was possible before this day. But now, Rafe caught himself thinking of the legions of ancestors who had lived in this very building. It would be exciting to share that with his child someday, on a visit to his father’s homeland.

  On a visit… For the first time he had a moment’s dissatisfaction with his life-style. His child’s heritage was here, where hundreds of years had passed under his family’s rule. It was a remarkable legacy…was he wrong to reject it so completely?

  Flying back to Wynborough that evening, to the palace where Elizabeth was staying with her parents, he remembered what she’d been pestering him about during their trip the previous afternoon. Though talking about his childhood wasn’t high on his list of favorite activities, he said abruptly, “My parents—my father in particular—had very set ideas on how to raise a little duke-to-be. I had to ride, hunt, fish, speak French, read Latin, excel at mathematics and science, study the classics, recite every rule of etiquette, know proper forms of address—you name it, my father believed I should do it.”

  Elizabeth put a hand over his where it rested on the wheel of the car he drove. “Your childhood must have been busy.”

  “Busy.” He laughed, but even he could hear the pain in the sound. “I wanted to please. I can remember lying awake as a very small boy, rehearsing over and over again how to greet the King of Wynborough at my first formal presentation the next day. But when the next day came, I was so nervous that I threw up while we were waiting in line to be presented. My father was livid.”

  Her fingers tightened briefly on his.

  “They sent me to school when I was five because my father felt I lacked proper self-discipline. It was horrible. Cold showers every morning, standing in perfect lines at all times, no extra servings at meals. For a growing boy, that alone was torture. But do you know what the worst thing was?”

  He sensed rather than saw her shake her head in the dark interior of the vehicle. “The worst thing was that soon, too soon, I preferred that hellish school to my own home. At school, hard work had rewards. At home, hard work only meant more difficult tasks and more criticism.”

  He stopped speaking. There was no point in going on. She got the picture.

  “Rafe…” Her voice was soft and hesitant and when he glanced at her he could see the tracks where tears had slipped down her cheeks. “I promise our child will never be a…a product to be perfected. Our children will be works of art, great treasures to be protected and preserved for their own unique characteristics.”

  Her words moved him, and the fact that she’d said “children” wasn’t lost on him. Reaching across the car, he wiped away the telltale moisture with the pad of his thumb and caressed her cheek before returning his hand to the wheel.

  “Mother, I’ll be back in five days, I promise.” Elizabeth hugged the Queen of Wynborough. “Plenty of time to get your wedding gown altered to fit a pregnant bride.”

  “But why go at all?” her mother asked plaintively. “It isn’t as if there’s anything in Phoenix for you to do in the next two weeks.”

  But there is. According to Laura, Sam Flynn is back in town. It would be wonderful if I could bring my brother home for my wedding!

  But aloud all she said was, “I have to go. I don’t want to be away from Rafe so long. You make the rest of the arrangements as you see fit.” That wasn’t a lie. She didn’t want to be away from Rafe. At all.

  “We’ll keep it simple,” Gabriella promised. She smiled wistfully. “Although it would have been nice to throw a huge wedding for at least one of my daughters!”

  Elizabeth laughed ruefully, thinking of the men who had claimed each of her sisters, the whirlwind weddings and the after-the-fact announcements. “Oh, Mother, I’m sorry. We spoiled your dreams, every single one of us.”

  The Queen took her daughter’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “No, dear, you didn’t. In fact, you’ve all fulfilled the only dream your father and I have ever had for you. You’ve found love.”

  Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at Rafe, talking with the King. “Is it that obvious?”

  “What, that you adore each other?” Her mother smiled. “Only to eyes that know how to spot it.”

  If only it were true, Elizabeth thought as they completed their good-byes and Rafe helped her into the car. He’d begun to treat her as if he truly did care for her. She’d started to hope that maybe her marriage would be more than a one-sided love affair for the rest of her life.

  The trip back to Phoenix was tiring, if uneventful. She slept much of the way on both planes while Rafe read and watched movies. When they stepped out of the car into the brilliant winter sun outside his home, Elizabeth smiled and raised her face to its warmth. “I didn’t even realize I’d missed this until now. Oh, Rafe, I do love this town!”

  He laughed as he walked around to the trunk to get their bags. “It’s a good thing. My business is firmly established here. I’d hate to have to move it now.”

  Halfway up the sidewalk, she stopped and turned to him. “You’d actually consider moving if I asked you to?”

  There was a moment of stillness in the dry air. Slowly Rafe set down the bags he carried. “Well,” he said, “I’d prefer not to move to Wynborough unless you can’t be happy anywhere else, but yes, if you really wanted me to, I’d move my business.” He reached down and took her hands, holding them in his much larger ones as he held her eyes with his intense blue gaze. “Don’t you know I’d do anything to make you happy?”

  She felt her eyes filling with tears at his tender tone, and she swallowed. “All it takes to make me happy is you.”

  Something wild and bright flared in his eyes for a moment, then he dropped her hands and gathered her into his arms
. “I might have been too stubborn to admit it, but you’ve owned my heart since the first time I looked across a ballroom and saw those green cat-eyes watching me.” Dropping his head, he found her mouth with his, kissing her until she hung limp in his arms, gasping for breath with her body melded to his from breast to knee. “Let’s go inside,” he growled against her lips, “so I can make us both very happy.”

  In the middle of the night he was awakened by an odd sensation.

  Rafe came fully alert in an instant with Elizabeth still in his arms. Confused, he glanced around the shadows of the bedroom he’d soon be sharing with his wife—his wife!— and then he felt it again.

  A tiny thudding right at the spot where the mound of Elizabeth’s full stomach was pressed against his side. Shifting himself fractionally, he placed his hand on the spot, then waited impatiently. There! Again, the same motion. And now that he was watching more closely, he could see by the full moonlight streaming in the window that there was a slight but definite movement beneath the surface of her skin. Someone in there wanting to come out, he thought whimsically.

  “Hey, you in there,” he whispered. “It’s the middle of the night. This is when people sleep. You might as well get that concept down right now.”

  A snuffling noise told him Elizabeth had awakened. Then she giggled more loudly. “Are you talking to the baby?”

  “Yes. He’s keeping me awake.”

  He could see her raised eyebrows in the dim light. “He? I’m hoping ‘he’ is a ‘she.”’

  The words jogged a memory, and without really thinking about it, he said, “You and Roland. Am I the only one who wants a boy?”

  She went still beneath his hand. So still that he’d swear she wasn’t breathing. Then, in an instant, she relaxed. “Maybe,” she said. But there was something in her voice that bothered him.

  The memory came back more clearly now and he recalled the odd phrasing that he’d been too distracted to question that day. “Roland said it would be simpler if it was a girl. Why?”