The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters
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with every amenity a wealthy bachelor could want. Instead, as her driver pulled up the long gravel drive, what she got was a scene straight out of Hansel and Gretel.
Sam lived in a quaint cottage tucked deep in the forest and nestled under a canopy of towering pines and lazy oaks so dense only dappled sunshine dotted its sagging roof. It was quiet, and secluded, and utterly charming. Not to mention a security nightmare.
“Maybe we should have had dinner at the palace,” she told her bodyguard, Gunter, who sat in the front seat beside her driver.
“Is no problem,” he replied in a thick Russian accent. He checked his reflection in the side mirror, running a hand through his blond brush cut. Preening, she thought with a quiet smile. Physically Gunter bore a striking resemblance to Arnold Schwarzenegger in his early Terminator days, with a face that, Anne hated to admit, was far prettier than her own. Women swooned in his presence, never suspecting that a man so ridiculously masculine and tough lived with a cat called Toodles and a life partner named David. He had a killer fashion sense and was more intuitive than most women she knew. In fact, he had guessed that she might be pregnant before anyone in her family had even noticed. She had been in serious denial and Gunter showed up for duty with a pregnancy test.
“Is good you should know, yes?” he’d said, then he’d sat on her bed waiting while she took the test, then listened to her vent after it came back positive.
He was also ex-KGB and could snap a man’s neck like a twig without breaking a sweat.
The car rolled to a stop and Gunter got out to open her door.
“I do sweep,” he said, as he helped her out.
“He’s the father of my child. Is that really necessary?”
Gunter just gave her one of those looks and she knew it wasn’t even worth arguing. She blew out an exasperated breath for good measure and in her best annoyed tone said, “Fine.”
The door to the cottage opened as they started up the walk and there stood Sam, looking too adorable for words, wearing dark blue slacks and a sky-blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He smiled, both dimples showing, and she caught herself hoping that the baby looked just like him.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Gunter’s brows lift, almost imperceptibly, and she could swear she heard him say, Nice, under his breath.
Up until that instant she had only been a little nervous about seeing Sam, but suddenly her heart was going berserk in her chest and her hands were trembling.
“Hi,” she said as she stepped up to the tiny, covered porch complete with a rickety rocking chair and a terra-cotta pot overflowing with yellow and purple petunias.
Sam leaned casually in the doorway, the sweet smile not budging an inch, taking in her taupe cotton skirt and yellow silk sleeveless blouse. It was the most cheerful outfit she could dredge up that still fit. Only lately had she realized just how dark and dreary her wardrobe had become over the past few years. She swore that when she got around to buying maternity clothes they would be in only bright and cheerful colors. She was turning over a new leaf so she could be someone her baby would respect and be proud of. The way she respected her own mother.
Sam’s eyes traveled very unplatonically down her body then back up again, clearly liking what they saw. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. You look nice, too.” Talk about swooning. Being close to him did funny things to her head. Neurons misfired and wires crossed, creating total and utter chaos.
You’re only here to talk about the baby, she reminded herself, not to indulge your ridiculous crush.
Beside her Gunter softly cleared his throat. Right. The sweep.
“Would you mind terribly if Gunter did a quick security check of the house?” Anne asked Sam.
It was the kind of request that might insult some people, but Sam just shrugged, gestured inside and said, “Have at it, Gunter.”
Gunter pinned her with a look that said, Don’t move, but she knew the drill.
“Wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley,” Sam said, after he disappeared inside. “Gunter. German, right?”
“On his mother’s side, but he was raised in Moscow.” Anne peered past him into the cottage. It was just as quaint and old-fashioned as the exterior, with older but comfortable-looking furniture and more knickknacks that even Gunter would deem appropriate for a man. And it smelled a little like…old people.
“Your house is lovely,” she said. “Not at all what I expected.”
“Needless to say, I’m exceedingly secure in my masculinity.”
“I guess so.”
He laughed. “I’m sorry but no man is that secure. The truth is, it’s my grandmother’s place.”
Which explained the geriatric bouquet. “You live with her?”
“Only in spirit. She passed away three years ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m just staying here temporarily. While my place is being worked on.”
“You’re remodeling?”
“You could say that, although not by choice. I’ve had a leak in the roof for a while, but when my bedroom and kitchen ceilings started to droop, I decided it was time to finally do something about it. But then I figured, since I would be gone anyway, it only made sense to update the kitchen while I was at it. So, three days’ worth of work turned into more like three weeks.” He gestured inside. “Can I give you the tour?”
“I can’t, not until I get the all clear.”
“Right,” he said. “Just in case I have an assassin hiding under the davenport.”
“I know, it’s ridiculous.”
His expression turned serious. “Not at all,” he said, then he reached out and placed a hand over her baby bump. The gesture was so surprising, so unexpected, that her knees went weak. His eyes locked on hers, clear and intense, and his mouth was close. Too close. “Not if it keeps you and Sam Junior safe.”
Hadn’t they agreed that it would be prudent to keep a safe physical distance? That when they got too close they— Wait, what did he say? “Sam who?”
He grinned and gave her belly a gentle pat before he moved his hand away. “Sam Junior.”
“So you think it’s a boy?”
“That’s the beauty of it. It works for a boy or a girl. Samuel or Samantha. Either way we call it Sam.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “It would seem you have it all figured out.”
He pinned his eyes on her, his gaze so intense she swore she could feel it straight through to her bones. “I’m a man who knows what he wants, Your Highness.”
His eyes said he wanted her, but she knew he was probably only teasing. But if Gunter hadn’t reappeared at that very second, she might have melted into a puddle on the doorstep.
“Is all clear,” Gunter said, stepping onto the porch and gesturing her in. As Sam closed the door, Anne knew that Gunter would stand on the porch, in a military stance, unmoving until it was time to leave.
“Ready for that tour?” Sam asked and she nodded. Although, honestly, there really wasn’t that much to see. The front room had just enough space for a couch, glider and a rickety television stand with a TV that was probably older than her. The kitchen was small but functional, with appliances that dated back to the dark ages. But if the flame under the pot on the stove, and the hum of refrigerator, were any indication, they were both still working. The loo was also tiny, with an antique sink and commode and an antique claw-foot tub.
Next he took her into the bedrooms. The smaller of the two