Pregnant!: Prince and Future...Dad? / Expecting! / Millionaire Cop & Mum-To-Be. Christine Rimmer
had been when they left Gullandria.
Liv looked out the window and saw a throng of reporters waiting on the tarmac—along with a shiny black limousine and an undistinguished-looking white four-door sedan: her cab.
She scrawled the address and phone number of her summer sublet on the back of a business card and gave it to the flight attendant along with a fifty. ‘‘Make certain my bags get to that address tonight.’’
‘‘Yes, Your Highness. I’ll see to it. Thank you for flying with us.’’
Liv smiled politely and moved on. She got out the door first, ahead of Finn. The cameras started clicking the minute she appeared on the small landing at the top of the steps. And the questions came at her as she descended.
‘‘Princess Liv, how’s your sister, the warrior’s bride?’’
‘‘Elli is blissfully happy.’’
‘‘Where will they honeymoon?’’
‘‘You know, I can’t say for certain….’’
‘‘I see Princess Brit isn’t with you. Why?’’
‘‘She decided to extend her visit in my father’s country.’’
Finn was right behind her. And they noticed. The women in the crowd waved and called to him—by name. ‘‘Prince Danelaw!’’
‘‘Prince Finn, this way!’’
Finn grinned and waved. Click-click-click went the cameras. More than one woman fanned herself and sighed.
‘‘Princess Liv, we understand that you and Prince Finn will be celebrating a wedding of your own very soon.’’
She’d been smiling until then. ‘‘I beg your pardon, I hardly know Prince Finn.’’ Well, it was true. Just because she’d slept with him, didn’t mean she knew him. ‘‘He’s visiting Sacramento. We merely flew here on the same plane. We are not engaged—I’m not engaged to anyone.’’
‘‘But my sources have it that—’’
‘‘Your sources have it wrong.’’ Liv elbowed her way through the jostling crowd as quickly and smoothly as she could manage it, with the questions still flying and the cameras clicking away.
She couldn’t believe it. How could they possibly have any clue about her and Finn? But then she thought of her father and decided this was just like him: to plant false information and put her in the embarrassing position of having to deny it.
Finn stayed right with her, too close for comfort. He was at her side when she reached the cab. The cabby hadn’t thought to get out and open her door for her.
Finn did the honors. He reached for the handle and then stopped to grant her a heart-twisting smile. ‘‘Are you sure you won’t ride with me? I’d be happy to take you wherever you’d like to go.’’
Oh, I’ll just bet, she thought.
Click-click-click-click. The cameramen kept shooting away.
Live returned his smile, but only because she’d been taught by her mother that one must never let the paparazzi see one sweat. ‘‘No, thank you. I’ll be fine. Enjoy your visit to Sacramento.’’
His gaze tracked to her mouth, then flicked up to collide with hers again. ‘‘Yes. I have a feeling I’m going to be very glad I came.’’
Another of those infuriating, purely sexual shivers quivered through her. She went on smiling and spoke very softly. ‘‘Open that door or I’ll spit in your eye.’’
With a flourish, he pulled the door wide.
Liv gave the cabby her address and turned to look out the rear window as the cab pulled away from the crowd of reporters. She wanted to make certain Finn didn’t follow her.
Still waving at the clicking cameras, he strode over to the long, black limousine. The limo driver jumped out and opened the door. Sable hair shining in the fading light of early evening, the prince ducked inside.
Liv kept watching, until the limo went another way. Apparently, Finn had better sense than to try tailing her home. A wise move on his part. If he had, she’d intended to call the police on him.
She could see the headlines now: Princess Liv And Her Handsome Stalker, The Prince. Royal Engagement A No-Go. His Highness In Jail. It would be ugly. And he would fully deserve whatever embarrassment he suffered.
Where would he go? she found herself wondering, though she knew she shouldn’t spare another thought for him. Some exclusive hotel, no doubt. Wherever. She didn’t care. She was jet-lagged and emotionally exhausted and she needed a good night’s rest. She had to be at work tomorrow.
The cabby let her off in front of the cute, attractively renovated two-story Victorian on T Street. It belonged to a friend of her mother’s—a friend who was visiting Alaska for the summer. Ingrid had wanted Liv to stay in her old room at the Land Park house where Liv and her sisters had grown up. But Liv treasured her independence too much. She wanted to come and go as she pleased and know she wouldn’t be worrying her mother. Plus, the T Street house was downtown, closer to the State Attorney General’s Office and her job.
Inside, she brewed herself a cup of soothing tea and checked in with her message service. There was one from Simon, which brought a fresh twinge of guilt.
He was in town—Simon was spending his summer on the campaign trail with a senatorial candidate they both supported—and he wanted her to call him at his hotel. He reminded her about the rally tomorrow, the one she’d promised him several weeks ago that she’d attend.
She thought of a thousand excuses why she didn’t have to call him right then. None of them added up to anything but the desire to evade an unpleasant duty. She picked up the phone.
In the instant before she punched up his number, the doorbell rang. Her bags.
She had the driver lug them in. He left them in a neat row inside the front door at the foot of the stairs. She tipped him and locked up. Then she grabbed her overnighter—the rest she’d worry about tomorrow—and went on upstairs.
The phone rang as she was pulling on her thick terry bathrobe. She knew it was going to be Simon. She considered not answering.
‘‘Coward,’’ she muttered, and picked up the receiver.
It was her mother.
‘‘Liv darling, you’re home.’’ Her mother always called her darling. She’d never thought a thing about it. But now, the word stood out when Ingrid said it, making Liv think of the infuriating Prince Finn.
‘‘Liv?’’ Ingrid asked, a note of concern creeping in.
‘‘Sorry, Mom. I’m beat. And yes, I’m home. Safe and sound.’’
‘‘Good trip?’’
‘‘Can’t complain. Nonstop. The king’s luxury jet.’’ Liv waited, somewhat grimly, for her mother to start in about Brit staying on in Gullandria and Elli marrying ‘‘that big Gullandrian thug.’’
But she didn’t. She only said, ‘‘It’s a long flight, I know. Take a hot bath and get some rest.’’
Liv heaved a grateful sigh. She wanted to be there for Ingrid, to listen to her worries and provide a shoulder to cry on. But tonight, it really would have been one big scene too many. She said warmly, ‘‘A bath and a good night’s sleep. My intentions exactly.’’
‘‘And how about dinner, tomorrow night? I’ll have Hilda make your favorite stuffed pork chops. Say sevenish?’’
‘‘Sounds wonderful. I’ll be there.’’
Liv was just about to say good-night when it occurred to her that her mother might hear about her so-called