The Pregnant Princess. Anne Marie Winston
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thought about her a great deal since then. She’d been gentle and sweet, with a hint of innocence that had turned out to be more than a hint. But she’d been so warm and willing that he’d found himself unable to resist her, even though he had better sense. At least he’d told her right up front that he would be leaving the next morning, he thought. She couldn’t accuse him of not being honest about his intentions.
But that was a moot point. He hadn’t told her who he was, and he had never expected to see his pretty lover again. He just hadn’t anticipated that she’d be so deeply embedded in his memory that he caught himself thinking of her at all hours of the day and night.
Yes, he’d thought about her far too much.
Irritably, Rafe drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. Although he couldn’t imagine that she’d known who he was, years of thwarting his father’s machinations had honed his suspicious nature. His mouth tightened. Did he discern his father’s matchmaking hand in the princess’s sudden appearance in Phoenix? Had the old man found out somehow about that night?
He felt his shoulders tensing and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. Maybe it was simple coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t even the right princess, if indeed his mystery lover had been one of the Wynborough princesses.
Then again, maybe years of living away had dulled his instinct for self-preservation. His father had an incredible capacity for trying to force the issue of a royal marriage on his firstborn son. If he’d even heard any of Rafe’s firm denials, there certainly was no evidence of it.
But he didn’t intend to marry anybody with royal blood. Ever. Being heir to the damned title his family so revered had caused him more grief in his childhood than any kid should have had to bear. He had no intention of foisting it onto any offspring of his own. No, the Duchy of Thortonburg would pass to his younger brother Roland.
As for marriage…when and if he ever felt the time was right, he planned to find a nice American girl of common ancestry and settle down in anonymous wedded bliss.
No way was he marrying a princess!
He picked up the discarded paper and read the article again. She was staying at the newly opened Shalimar Resort. Now that was handy. His company had gotten the bid to complete work in a courtyard at the Shalimar, and he still had a crew there. Maybe he’d run by there right now and see how the work was progressing.
It was a lovely hotel, Elizabeth thought, admiring the muted dusty rose and pale marble colors of Phoenix’s newest five-star resort. But then, she was used to lovely things. What she wasn’t used to was freedom.
She supposed to most of the people milling around in the lobby as she moved toward the restaurant, walking alone through a five-star hotel was so ordinary as to be forgettable. But to her, accustomed as she was to bodyguards and security systems, schedules and surveillance cameras, it was incredibly exciting. Daring.
A little scary.
“Ma’am, do you have a reservation?” the maitre d’ asked as she approached.
She smiled. “Yes. Elizabeth Wyndham. One for dinner.”
Instantly, the man’s inquiring expression changed to one of delight. “Ah, Princess Elizabeth! Your Royal Highness, may I welcome you to La Belle Maison. Your table has been prepared.” He bowed low and gestured for her to precede him, pointing to a candlelit alcove where a server stood with napkins at the ready.
Elizabeth took the seat they had prepared, allowing the men to fuss over her every comfort, refusing wine and asking for a menu. But as she perused the selections, her mind was still out in the lobby, where for a few minutes she’d walked alone, free, with no one to worship her, no one to worry about every step she took or every person she passed.
She sighed. “I’ll have the special, a salad with your house dressing, and the carrots. No potato, thank you.”
As the waiter rushed off, she felt a slight but very real movement pushing at the wall of her womb. Discreetly covering her abdomen with one hand, she patted the small bulge beneath her fashionably loose-fitting pants and tunic top. Hello, my sweet one. Perhaps we’ll meet your daddy today.
She rested her chin on one hand. Oh, how she hoped she’d be able to find the mysterious man with whom she’d shared such a wonderful night of loving five months ago. He’d said he was American, though he’d sounded as if he’d been a native of her father’s kingdom. And though he’d had to return to the States, he’d left behind his card—a clue—letting her know where she could find him.
Thorton Design and Construction, Phoenix, Arizona. U.S.A. Apparently her baby’s father worked for the firm.
She’d hoped he would come back for her and, of course, that was still possible. In fact, she was sure he would, since she was absolutely positive he had felt the extraordinary bond between them as strongly as she had.
But she couldn’t wait much longer. He didn’t know she was on a rather urgent schedule now. Her spirits took a mild plunge. Soon she was going to have to tell her parents about her pregnancy. It was becoming difficult to hide it with clothing. When she’d had the opportunity to come to the States with her three sisters to search for their long-lost brother, she’d seized the chance, hoping for the opportunity to slip away and seek out her mystery lover.
It had been the sheerest good fortune that their search had led them to Hope, Arizona, to a foster home where their kidnapped brother might have been brought nearly thirty years ago. And even better fortune that Catalina, where she was going to interview a man who might be that brother, was but a few hours’ drive from her current location, providing her with a perfectly good reason to stay in Phoenix.
Arranging a charity event for the hospice project had been easy. Now she could only hope that the excuse the event had given her to visit Phoenix brought back into her life her Prince Charming from the charity ball.
Oh, he’d been so handsome, so wonderful. From the moment their eyes had met across the crowded ballroom at her sister Alexandra’s annual Children’s Fund Ball, she’d known he was destined to be someone very special in her life. They’d danced and drunk champagne, and within hours she’d fallen head over heels in love with a man whose name she didn’t even know! No, that wasn’t true. She’d fallen in love the moment their eyes had made a connection across the ballroom. And she was fairly sure her lover had felt the same way.
The memory of that perfect evening still made her smile. She’d talked Serena into telling the guards she already had retired to her rooms for the night. And then Elizabeth had led him to the little octagonal pavilion at the far end of the formal gardens.
The glass-walled house was furnished with simple chaise lounges for whiling away long, lazy summer afternoons. One of those lounges would forever linger in her memory. He’d kissed her until she thought she might die of pleasure, and then he’d gently drawn her down onto the chaise and—
“Take me to the princess’s table.” The brusque, masculine voice penetrated her daydreaming.
“The princess is dining alone, sir. I don’t think—”
Her heart began to beat frantically as it recognized her lover’s voice. She’d planned on visiting him tomorrow, hadn’t expected to see him so soon! She half stood, and her napkin slid to the floor.
But she didn’t notice. All her attention was riveted on the man standing in the archway of the dining room.
The man whose steady gaze compelled her not to look away, as memories of their hours together sizzled through the air between them as surely as a silky finger over sensitive skin.
His eyes were a dark, dangerous blue, screened by thick black eyelashes that any woman would have killed for. The last time they’d met, those blue eyes had been warm with desire. Right now, they were flashing with a combination of puzzlement, wariness and what she was pretty sure was a touch of anger.
“Never mind. I see her.” His voice