The Prince's Holiday Baby. Brenda Harlen
“A little out of sorts this morning?”
“I work nights,” she reminded him. “The hours before noon aren’t my best time.”
“Should I come back?”
She shook her head. “We might as well just get this over with.”
His lips quirked. “What, exactly, are we getting over?”
“The awkward morning-after conversation that we managed to avoid the morning after.” She reached into the cupboard for two mugs, filled both with coffee, then slid one across the table to him.
He’d drank black coffee at the bar that night, she remembered, which was good because she didn’t have any cream. She dumped a generous spoonful of sugar into her own cup and stirred. She planned to make the switch to decaf soon, but the doctor had assured her a couple of cups a day wouldn’t hurt the baby and she needed the caffeine right now.
“Well, you could explain why you didn’t want Scott and Fiona to know we’d met before.”
“Because they would have had questions about how and when, and I wasn’t sure how to answer.” She sipped her coffee, felt it churn uneasily in her stomach.
“How about the truth?”
“The whole truth?”
“I’m not ashamed of what happened between us. We’re both adults, we were attracted to one another, we acted upon that attraction.”
“I don’t do one night stands with strangers,” she told him.
“I seem to recall you telling me that already—right before you invited me back to your apartment.”
She felt her cheeks flush at the reminder—or maybe it was the heat in his gaze that was causing her own body temperature to rise. She wasn’t in the habit of having sex with men she barely knew, and she’d never had sex with a man she’d met only a few hours earlier. But she’d let herself give in to the yearning because she never expected to see him again.
It was supposed to be a crazy, once-in-a-lifetime impulse, a chance to prove to herself that she could be wild and spontaneous and not tie herself up in knots about it forever after. Except that it turned out to be a crazy, once-in-a-lifetime impulse that was going to have some major, long-term repercussions.
Repercussions Prince Eric still didn’t know about.
“Just because I slept with you once doesn’t mean I’ll do so again just because circumstances have thrown us together and it’s convenient.”
He smiled at her across the table—a smile that made all of her bones turn to jelly and made her grateful she was sitting down.
“I wasn’t thinking about the convenience factor so much as the it-was-really-great-sex factor.”
“The only reason I made an exception to my rule was because I didn’t expect to ever see you again.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, either,” he admitted. “And yet, you’ve been on my mind almost constantly over the past few weeks, and it was always my plan upon returning to Texas to find you.”
“That wasn’t our agreement,” she reminded him.
“So let’s make a new agreement.”
“What do you propose—lots of hot sex in the few weeks leading up to Scott and Fiona’s wedding, after which I go back to serving drinks and you go back to doing whatever it is a royal does?”
Something in her tone must have given her away, because his brows lifted. “You’re annoyed that I didn’t tell you I’m a prince,” he guessed.
“Do you think?”
“Why don’t I remember your affinity for sarcasm?”
“Maybe because we really didn’t know one another at all before we fell into bed together.”
“Are you saying your decision to sleep with me would have been different if you’d know I was a prince?”
“Yes,” she asserted vehemently.
“Why?”
“Because then I would have known that I meant nothing more to you than another conquest in another town.”
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