Ruling Passions. Laura Wright
over, far from resolved. He grabbed her hand.
When she whirled back to face him, her expression screamed antagonism. “You’ve got some nerve, buddy.”
A grin tugged at Alex’s mouth. No one had ever spoken to him with such ferocity. Granted, she didn’t believe he was the crown prince of the country, but still her pluck intrigued him.
“What do you plan to do while you wait for the repairs on your boat?” he asked.
She tugged her hand from his. “I haven’t made any immediate plans yet.”
Alex looked out toward the ocean, saw the boat thrashing around and made a quick assessment. “With damage like that, repairs will take a few weeks at the very least.”
“We’ll see. I’m pretty good with boats, so maybe I’ll lend a hand.”
“I don’t think Mr. Verrick will allow such a thing, but of course, there is no harm in trying.”
“Thanks for the advice. Can I go now?”
“Just one more thing. Where will you stay while your boat is healing?”
“I don’t know,” she said impatiently. “In town, I guess.”
Alex shook his head, a vehemence he didn’t know he possessed seeping into his blood. There was no way he was going to send this woman off to some hotel room. No matter how unwise, he wanted her close, where he could keep an eye on her, where he could protect her—where he could make certain she wouldn’t leave Llandaron without his knowledge.
Not with the ominous possibility of his child growing inside her.
“You will stay here at my beach house.”
Her brows shot together. “Just who do you think you are?”
“I told you who I am.”
“Right. Future king. Right.” She gestured around her. “I don’t see any guards.”
“I don’t allow my guards in my private residence, nor are they allowed on the grounds.”
“That’s a little unsafe for the future king, isn’t it?” she asked sarcastically.
“Perhaps. But after a lifetime of living ‘beneath the shield of protection,’ so to speak, it is what I have chosen.”
She met his imperious gaze without flinching. “Look, buddy, what happened here was a mistake, okay? Can’t we leave it at that? We weren’t thinking. All that fog and having your life flash before your eyes can—”
“Can make one foolish?”
She pointed at him. “Exactly.”
“Well, that doesn’t stay the fact that you might be pregnant.”
On a tiny gasp, her mouth dropped open and her gaze dropped to her belly. There was a long silence before her eyes finally met his once again. And when they did he saw pure unadulterated shock. Then, like a shifting breeze, anxiety and wonder filled those sea-green depths.
She said quietly, almost to herself, “Did you ever think that maybe I’m on the pill?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And why would you think that?” She lifted her impish chin. “Am I so undesirable that I wouldn’t have a steady boyfriend?”
Undesirable? Alex fairly chuckled at the thought. The word sounded like insanity coming from that full, sweet mouth he wanted to taste again. Just as the word boyfriend rang like an irritating bell in his brain.
His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to think of her with another man, he didn’t want to think of her taking birth control for an active love life. Both thoughts made his gut twist. But such feelings were dangerous.
“I wasn’t meaning to insult you,” he said tightly. “I just assumed… Well, you’ve been out to sea for at least four months. Alone. The need for companionship—”
She cut him off, her tone shaky, “How in the world could you know that I’ve been at sea for four months?”
“I saw you.” The image of her standing on that boat, hair wild, all mind-numbing curves, slammed into his mind—along with the white-hot need that accompanied it.
“When?” she demanded. “When did you see me?”
“In Scotland. Back in May. I was on the beach. You were standing on the bow of your boat.”
As the salty wind whipped around them, her eyes darkened to a rich green, pink stained her cheeks. “That was you?”
Alex nodded, his pulse jumping to life in his blood.
So she’d seen him, too.
Sophia knew her face was turning bright red in front of this man, and she hated herself for it. She wasn’t one for embarrassment or awkward situations. In fact, she pretty much ran headfirst into conflicts so they could be resolved and done with. But around this gorgeous creature she wasn’t herself. And the fact that she’d had dreams, even fantasies about seeing him, bare-chested and formidable, etched into Scotland’s rocky coastline for a full month afterward, made her even more disheartened.
“Who are you? Really?” she asked him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Crown Prince Alexander William Charles Octavos Thorne.” The grin he gave her made her knees soft as cream. “Really.”
“You’re lying.”
He shook his head. “I don’t lie.”
Breath held, she studied him in the light of the fading sun. Her grandfather had always said she was a great judge of character. But this man was harder to read than most. He seemed to have iron bars shooting up around him.
But even so, in those heather-colored eyes, in that solemn set of his jaw she saw honor—she saw truth.
She turned away, back toward the sea, with a groan. This was impossible. Impossible. Such things didn’t happen in real life. A prince, for heaven’s sake. Had she really gone and done something so outrageous as to make love to a prince?
Her hand went to her stomach.
A child… An oh-so-familiar ache surged into her throat. She’d been an only child, treated as an adult with all the responsibilities that came with it since the age of five. Ever since, she’d dreamed about having a family, a brood of kids. Teaching them to read, to sail, to swim and, most important, to be silly and carefree—to be a kid.
But having a child this way…
And with royalty…
For a moment Sophia thought that maybe she’d fallen asleep on the deck of the sloop that afternoon. Under the hot sun. Maybe her mind had played tricks and this was all just one crazy dream. The crash, the fog, the man…
With a dash of hope in her heart, she reached over and pinched her arm. A sudden sting told her that she was very much awake.
“And your name?” he asked.
Sophia glanced up at him and muttered a bleak, “Sophia Dunhill from San Diego, California.”
With a grim smile the prince took her hand. “Come back to my house, Sophia, dry off, then we’ll have your boat rescued.”
“Good God. Not another American,” the king exclaimed.
Leaning back against the palace library’s black-walnut mantel, Alex crossed his arms over his chest and watched his brother, Maxim, and his newly-pregnant sister, Cathy, turn to their American spouses and break out into laugher.
Ten minutes ago Alex had left his spunky little mermaid to her bathing. She’d sworn up and down that she would stay put “at least for tonight,” she’d said. He didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but what he did know was that if he