Abby and the Playboy Prince. Raye Morgan
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followed the hard planes of his chest down to where his flat stomach muscles tightened around his navel, then disappeared beneath the sheet, for a second or two, she forgot how to breathe. Greek statues had nothing on this man.
Very carefully, she regained her composure and then slipped off the bed and padded to the door. She looked back for a moment, then stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.
“Well, that wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” she murmured to herself hopefully. With a mischievous smile, she pulled the ring of keys out of the deep pocket of her nightdress. She’d done what she’d come to do anyway and now she had access once again to the pantry where she’d stored the baby formula.
“Just another couple of minutes, Bree-baby,” she murmured softly, though she knew the little infant couldn’t hear her at this distance. “I’ll have your bottle for you. Just hold on.” With a sigh of relief, she hurried toward the kitchen.
The rain turned to light drizzle a little before noon. Abby was pacing nervously through the casual breakfast area, wondering just how much longer the prince would sleep. She’d prepared a three-course breakfast with cinnamon rolls, fruit salad, a spiced frittata, sausages and rich, dark coffee. Luckily, the kitchen was well stocked with canned things, but she’d had to use a couple of the precious fresh eggs that she’d bought at the train station to round out the meal, and if he didn’t come down soon, it would hardly be worth it. The table was set. Everything was ready. It was all part of her plan to win him over to her point of view.
She had the perfect scenario in mind. He would come down, fully rested, and she would have this nice breakfast prepared and laid out and he would smile and turn to her in surprise, then thank her.
And she would smile back as he sat down to eat and ask nicely, “Do you mind if I stay here for a couple of days? I just need a place where I can be away from everyone else and think about my life for a while.”
And, full of good food and rested cheer, he would see that she meant him and his family no harm, that she was really good-hearted and he would say, “Sure, be my guest.”
After all, he was probably headed to a party or a country weekend or a romantic tryst or whatever. He’d obviously just stopped here to sleep and would be on his way once he was rested. Would he let her stay here if she asked? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t run for the border in this weather, not carrying a baby. The fact that he knew her uncle well ought to help. After all, Dr. Zaire had been permanently attached to the royal family for generations. She didn’t see any reason why things shouldn’t go just the way she was planning.
In her mind she could see him finish his meal, sigh happily, then get up to leave, waving goodbye as he went, perhaps calling back, “Take good care of the old place for me, won’t you?”
“Of course,” she would respond as he got back into that fancy car she’d watched arrive with such anxiety the night before and drove off into the mist toward—whatever place he was on his way to.
Simple. Logical. Why not?
There were only a few things that could make it all go wrong. The first was the fact that the food she had prepared so carefully would get so cold it would turn to cement if he didn’t come down to eat soon. And the second was… what if the baby cried?
Baby Brianna. She threw a glance at the stairway. There was no sign that the prince was awake. Quickly she made her way to the back of the house, to the tiny maid’s room where she had the baby in a makeshift crib, fashioned from a dresser drawer and some baby blankets.
A wave of emotion hit her as she looked down at the sleeping child her sister had given birth to less than two months before. Protecting Bree was all she cared about now. She was such a pretty baby with her downy peach fuzz hair and her rounded pink cheeks.
“I’m going to be your mommy from now on, sweetheart,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she thought of her sister’s tragic death. “I just hope I can do a decent job of it. I promised Julienne, and I’m going to try as hard as I can to keep that promise.”
The promise was the last thing she’d said to her sister as she lay dying. She hadn’t realized how soon she would have to put her promise to the test. As soon as she’d understood what her uncle was planning, she knew she had to get her sister’s child out of his control. Luckily, he’d been so consumed with his plotting that he hadn’t noticed the time she took to come here to the chalet and prepare to bring Brianna here.
This was to be the first step on their journey. The plan was clear. She would get on a bus, just like they’d taken to get here in the first place. As they neared the border, she would get off and head for the countryside. They might be intercepted, and just in case, she’d printed up some fake id cards on the computer. They ought to pass if no one looked too closely.
But she wasn’t really worried about that part of the trip. She’d done it many times before with her family when she was young. During the recent war, it had sometimes been the only way to get from her grandparents’ estate in Dharma back into Carnethia. She knew the route and how to avoid the checkpoints. It would be harder carrying the baby, but she could do it. She would be in Dharma in just a couple of hours, and from there it was just a short train ride to Northern Italy.
And then—what? Yes, that was the question.
Brianna’s tiny baby lips puckered for a moment, but then she sighed, still asleep. Abby smiled through her tears. She couldn’t keep thinking about the suffering in her life. For Brianna’s sake, hope was going to be the watchword from now on. Hope for a beautiful future. Hope would make her strong.
That, and just a little luck ought to do it.
Mychale closed his eyes and enjoyed the water as it beat down on his long, lean naked body. The water pressure was great here, all that energy from the mountain rivers. A shower such as this was like a good massage. If only he could beat the kinks out of his mind the same way.
He’d had a fantasy the night before of washing away Stephanie’s scent, as though that would somehow help clear up the Stephanie problem. But in the bright light of day, he knew that wasn’t going to work. Stephanie was here to stay and he was stuck with her. The wedding was scheduled for the fall.
He groaned. The whole thing was insane. How had he let his brother Dane talk him into this? But he knew exactly how. All that guilt- inducing rhetoric about duty and honor and what he owed his country and the royal house of Montenevada. He’d let Dane wear him down and now he was betrothed to a woman he could barely stand to be in the same room with. Something had to give, and he was here to figure out what that something was.
He felt better after a shower, clean and fresh and almost fully rested. He was going to find a way out of his quagmire. No problem. He would think of something. For just a moment, a wave of nausea came over him and he leaned against the wall, wondering what the hell was going on. But it evaporated quickly, leaving him with a slight sense of unease, but not much more. He would probably feel better after he ate something. And that was contingent on there being any food in the house.
He pulled on slacks and a clean shirt out of the closet. As he was buttoning his cuffs, he remembered about Abby Donair and groaned again. Another problem woman to deal with. But maybe their encounter had scared her off. Most likely, once she realized she wasn’t going to have the run of the place on her own, she’d headed out to greener pastures. The sound of rain against the windowpanes put a damper on that idea, but he kept his optimism alive.
He went down the stairs with a spring in his step. He’d always loved this big old house with its massive fireplaces and the dark wood and glass everywhere. In its day, it had seemed state-of-the-art for the sort of mansion that hung off the side of the mountain, but now it could certainly use a bit of updating. The plumbing was ancient and the colors were gloomy.