The Doctor Takes a Princess / Pregnant with the Prince's Child. Leanne Banks
said.
Ryder swore. “I’d say you pretty much nixed that tonight. Between you and the twins, who needs birth control?”
Marshall chuckled. “Sorry, bud, better luck next time. I thought I’d see if Suzanne was hanging around tonight. She stays late for you sometimes.”
Realization struck Ryder. “You didn’t come by to see me. You came to see my nanny. I’m telling you now. Keep your hands off my nanny. She’s not your type.”
“Who says?”
“I say.”
“Why isn’t she my type? She’s pretty. She’s nice,” he said.
“She’s six years older than you are,” Ryder said.
“So? She doesn’t look it. She’s got a fresh look about her and she’s sweet. Got a real nice laugh,” Marshall said.
“I’m not liking what I’m hearing,” Ryder said, stepping between Marshall and the television. “So far, Suzanne is the perfect nanny. I don’t want you messing with her. The boys and I need her.”
“She’s an adult. She can decide if she wants me to mess with her,” he said with a shrug.
“Marshall,” he said in a dead-serious voice. “She’s not like your dime-a-dozen girls running fast and loose. She’s not used to a guy like you who’ll get her in the sack and leave her like yesterday’s garbage.”
Marshall winced. “No need to insult me. I’ve had a few long-term relationships.”
“Name them,” Ryder challenged.
“Well, there was that redhead, Wendy. She and I saw each other for at least a couple of years.”
“She lived out of town, didn’t she?” Ryder asked. “How many other women were you seeing at the same time?”
Marshall scowled. “Okay, what about Sharona? We lived together.”
“For how long?”
“Seven weeks, but—”
“Enough said. Keep your paws off Suzanne.”
Marshall slugged down the rest of the wine and stood. “You know, I’m not a rotten guy.”
“Never said you were.”
“I just haven’t ever found the right girl,” Marshall said.
“As long as you and I understand that Suzanne is not the right girl for you, everything will be fine.”
Three days later, Bridget returned from her trip to Chicago. She hadn’t snagged any doctors, but she’d persuaded one of the specialists she’d met to visit Chantaine and offer lectures and demonstrations. She was getting closer to her goal. She could feel it. Even though what she really wanted to do tonight was soak in a tub and watch television, she was committed to attend a charity event for Alzheimer’s with the governor’s son, who was actually quite a bit older than she was. Part of the job, she told herself as she got ready. She thought about calling Ryder, but every time she thought about him, she felt a jumpiness in her stomach. Bridget wasn’t sure how far she wanted to go with him because she knew she would be leaving Dallas as soon as she accomplished her mission.
There was something about the combination of his strength and passion that did things to her. It was exciting. And perplexing.
Preferring to have her own chauffeur, Bridget met Robert Goodwin, the governor’s son, in the lobby of her hotel. He was a distinguished-looking man in his mid-forties who reminded her of one of her uncles. She decided that was how she would treat him.
Her bodyguard Raoul, who occasionally played double duty in making introductions, stepped forward. “Your Highness, Robert Goodwin.”
She nodded and extended her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Goodwin. Thank you for escorting me to an event that will raise awareness for such an important cause.”
“My pleasure, Your Highness,” he said, surprising her when he brought her hand to his mouth. “Please call me Robert. May I say that you look breathtaking?”
“Thank you very much, Robert. Shall we go?”
By the time they arrived at the historical hall, Bridget concluded that Mr. Goodwin’s intentions were not at all uncle-like and she prepared herself for a sticky evening. Cameras flashed as they exited the limo and Mr. Goodwin appeared to want to linger for every possible photo as he bragged about her title to the reporters.
“Everyone is excited to have a real princess at the event tonight. People paid big bucks to sit at our table.”
“I’m delighted I could help the cause.” Sometimes it amazed her that a single spermatozoa had determined her status. And that spermatozoa had originated from a cheating jerk of a man who had never gotten her first name right. Her father.
“Would you join me in a dance?” Robert said, his gaze dipping to her cleavage.
“Thank you, but I need to powder my nose,” she said. “Can you tell me where the ladies’ room is?”
Robert blinked. “I believe it’s down the hall to the left.”
“Excuse me,” she said and headed for the restroom, fully aware that Raoul was watching. She wondered if she could plead illness. After stalling for several moments, she left and slowly walked toward her table. Halfway there, Ryder stepped in front of her.
“Busy as ever,” he said.
Her heart raced at the sight of him. “So true. I arrived back in town this afternoon and had to turn right around to get ready for this event.”
“With the governor’s son,” Ryder said, clearly displeased.
“He could be my uncle,” she said.
“Bet that’s not what he’s thinking,” Ryder countered.
She grimaced and shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to manage unwelcome interest, and if my appearance generates additional income for this good cause …”
“True,” he said, his eyes holding a misery that grabbed at her.
“What brings you here?”
“Dr. Walters. He has had an impact on hundreds of doctors, but now he can’t recognize himself in the mirror.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her heart hurting at the expression on his face. “Seeing you, hearing you, makes me glad I came. I’m ashamed to confess that I was tempted to cancel because I was so tired after returning from Chicago.”
His gaze held hers for a long emotional moment. “I’m glad you didn’t give in to your weariness this time.”
“Even though I have to face Mr. Anything-but-Good Robert Goodwin,” she said.
“Give me a sign and I’ll have your back,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “That’s good to know. I can usually handle things. This isn’t the first time.”
His gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again. “That’s no surprise.”
Her stomach dipped and she cleared her throat. “I should get back to my table. I’m told people paid to sit with me. I’m sure it has nothing to do with my title.”
His lips twitched. “Not if they really knew you,” he said.
“You flatter me,” she said.
“Not because you’re a princess,” he said.
“Call me tomorrow.”
“I will,” he said.
Bridget returned to her table and tried to be her most charming self and at the same time not encouraging Robert Goodwin. It was challenging,