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The Prince's Holiday Baby
Brenda Harlen


This dashing Prince is getting a baby for Christmas! Prince Eric Santiago is stunned to discover that he’s going to be a daddy. But he soon decides to install the mother-to-be – beautiful Texas waitress Molly Shea – in the royal palace. The rebellious royal has no patience with appropriate protocol! Rumours are flying about whether the couple will tie the knot before the baby is born.Will Molly say yes and get the happy ending of her dreams – and give Tesoro del Mar a royal Christmas wedding they’ll never forget?







Molly’s breath caught. “I have never seen a sunset like that.”

“And I have never seen anything like you framed by the sunset,” he said.

Then his mouth covered hers.

His lips were warm and firm, confident in their mastery. And, once again, there was no hesitation in her response.

The warm strength of his arms around her wasn’t just familiar, it was right. And the explosion of sensations made her mind spin, her heart pound and her body yearn.

He found the pins that held her twist in place and slipped them out so that her hair spilled into his hands. His fingers sifted through the tresses, caught the ends to tip her head back, changing the angle and deepening the kiss.

She wanted him—there was no denying that fact. But she couldn’t let herself get caught up in the moment, the romance, the fantasy.

There was too much at stake now.


Brenda Harlen grew up in a small town surrounded by books and imaginary friends. Although she always dreamed of being a writer, she chose to follow a more traditional career path first. After two years of practising as a lawyer (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up her “real” job to be a mum and to try her hand at writing books. Three years, five manuscripts and another baby later, she sold her first book.

Brenda lives in southern Ontario with her real-life husband/hero, two heroes-in-training and two neurotic dogs. She is still surrounded by books (“too many books,” according to her children) and imaginary friends, but she also enjoys communicating with “real” people. Readers can contact Brenda by e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com (mailto:brendaharlen@yahoo.com).




The Prince’s Holiday Baby

Brenda Harlen





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In memory of Tom Torrance—January

28, 1951-March 6, 2008

A teacher and mentor and friend;

a genuine prince among men.




Prologue


“You didn’t need to come over here, Grandma. I told you on the phone that I was fine.”

Theresa Shea plunked her purse on the bar and narrowed her gaze on her granddaughter behind the counter at Shea’s Bar & Grill. Yes, she certainly looked fine. But Molly had always been one to keep her chin up no matter how much her heart was breaking inside. And she’d had a lot of heartbreak to deal with over the past six months.

“Maybe I needed to see for myself.”

“And now you have.”

“And now that I’m here, maybe I’d like a cup of coffee.”

Molly poured her a cup of coffee, pushed it across the counter.

She’d been working there for so many years now, she didn’t even have to think about the tasks anymore. Everything was automatic, routine, and not at all what James Shea wanted for his daughter.

“What are you doing here?” Theresa asked softly.

“Right now? Trying to figure out the produce order for next week.”

“He wanted you to go to college, to do something more.”

Her granddaughter’s fingers tightened around the pencil in her hand, but there was no other outward sign of the emotions that were churning inside her. Molly didn’t talk about her father but Theresa knew he was in her thoughts almost constantly, especially here, at the restaurant that had been his livelihood and his life. And she knew that Molly was so determined to hold on to Shea’s because it was the only part of her father she had left.

“I’m happy here,” Molly finally said.

“Are you?”

Molly continued punching numbers into the calculator, frowned.

Theresa tried a different tack. “Do you ever write anymore?”

“I write checks to pay the bills.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s all I have time for right now.”

“You have to learn to take time for the things that are more enoyable than necessary.”

“I will,” Molly promised. “After all the necessary things are done.”

Theresa picked up her purse. She knew when she was banging her head against a wall and her granddaughter’s stubbornness was a brick wall.

“All right, I’ll go. But if you need anything—”

Molly leaned across the counter to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “I won’t. I’ll be fine.”

Which was exactly why Theresa was worried.

The phone rang as she turned away, and Molly reached for it. Theresa didn’t hear the words she spoke, but the tone gave her pause. When Molly hung up, she said only one word, “Abbey.”

Molly’s sister, Theresa’s youngest granddaughter, had disappeared ** a few days earlier after leaving a note that said only “don’t worry—I’ll be home in a few days” and absolutely nothing about where she was going or who she was with.

“Where is she?”

“Las Vegas.” Molly swallowed. “With Jason.”

Theresa didn’t want to ask, was certain she already knew, and her granddaughter’s next words confirmed it.

“She just married my fiancé.”




Chapter One


Nine years later—

Prince Eric Santiago lied when he told his best friend that he had a plane to catch. The truth was, his pilot wasn’t coming to pick him up for the return trip to Tesoro del Mar until the following morning, but after almost two weeks with Scott Delsey and his soon-to-be-wife, Eric needed some space. Spending so much time with the blissful couple and seeing how in love they were only made him more aware of what was missing from his own life.

When he’d accepted the invitation to visit Scott’s ranch in Texas, he’d thought his friend might want to offer him a job at DELconnex, his communications company. On more than one occasion in the past, Scott had mentioned that he could use someone with Eric’s education and experience, though they both knew Eric had no intention of leaving the Tesorian navy.

Now, of course, the situation had changed, and Eric was willing to consider any possibilities his friend presented. It turned out one of those possibilities was to stand up as the best man at Scott’s wedding.

It seemed that everywhere around him people were getting married and having babies. First it was his eldest brother, Rowan, who had been forced by tragedy and tradition to the altar. Luckily for him, he’d managed to fall in love along the way. After six years of marriage, he and Lara were happier than the day they’d exchanged their vows, even with—or maybe because of—the two active young sons who did their best to run their parents ragged.

Three years after Rowan pledged “till death do us part,” their youngest brother, Marcus, had found a woman who inspired him to do the same. Recently, he and Jewel had welcomed their first child into the world—a beautiful baby girl who looked just like her mother and already exhibited the legendary charm of her father.

Both of his brothers had lucked out, and Eric was genuinely happy for them. But the only mistress Eric had ever been committed to was the sea—and she’d tossed him aside, carelessly discarding everything he’d given her and taking away everything he was.

As he drove his rented Mercedes northeast toward San Antonio, he forced himself to acknowledge the truth he’d been avoiding for too long—he wasn’t just alone, he was lonely.

He envied what Rowan had with Lara, what Marcus had with Jewel, what Scott had with Fiona. And he wondered why he’d never met a woman who made him think in terms of marriage and forever. Okay, having spent the better part of the last twelve years on board a ship might have something to do with it. Add to that the uncertainty of never knowing if the women he’d been with were genuinely interested in him or only attracted to his title or his uniform, and it probably wasn’t surprising that he’d reached the age of thirty-six without ever having been in a long-term, committed relationship. Still, the realization wasn’t going to fill his life or keep him warm in bed at night.

The rumble of his stomach finally broke through his introspection and a neon sign announcing Shea’s Bar & Grill snagged his attention.

Despite the fact that the building was smack in the middle of nowhere, there were several vehicles—mostly dust-covered pickup trucks—in the parking lot. His empty stomach again protested his decision to leave his friend’s ranch before dinner and he flicked on his indicator to make the turn.

He parked his shiny rental between an ancient red pickup and a mud-splattered Jeep and sat for a moment, wondering if he would look as out of place in the bar as his vehicle did in the parking lot. A man who’d grown up in the public eye wouldn’t usually worry about such things, but Eric had become more sensitive to the attention—and the speculation that surrounded him—since the accident.

He pushed out of the car, slowly limped toward the entrance. The deliberate, unhurried movements helped ease the stiffness from his hip so that he was walking almost normally by the time he reached the door. His therapist had warned that he might always have the limp and the discomfort—at the time, he’d thought it was a small price to pay for being alive. When he’d had to leave the navy, he’d realized the physical scars weren’t the biggest price.

A sign inside the door invited him to seat himself. He bypassed several empty tables around the perimeter of the dance floor and made his way to the bar. As he slid onto a vacant stool, he forgot about his hip and everything else as he glimpsed a vision that was more impressive than anything he’d seen while sightseeing in Texas.

Hermoso…espectacular…perfecto.

Her hair was as dark as midnight and tumbled over her shoulders like a silky waterfall. She was wearing a deep, V-neck shirt that revealed just a hint of cleavage and was tucked into slimfitting jeans that molded to narrow hips and long legs.

His gaze skimmed upward again and locked with hers.

He felt a sharp tug of attraction deep in his belly, an almost painful yearning, and he could tell by the sudden widening and darkening of eyes the color of a clear summer sky that she was experiencing the same sensation. Instantaneous, raw and powerful.

But then she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled easily.

“Hey, handsome.” The slow Texas drawl made him think of lazy Sunday mornings spent lounging in bed—and wasn’t that an unexpectedly intriguing image? “What can I get for you?”

She smiled again, and suddenly he was wanting a lot more than he’d come in for, but he forced himself to respond just as casually. “A beer would be good.”

She grabbed a clean mug from the shelf behind her. “Any particular kind?”

He tore his gaze from the stunning face to glance at the labels on the taps. He noted the familiar Amstel, Heineken and Beck’s brands, but opted for one that he guessed would have a more local flavor. “Lone Star.”

She tipped the glass beneath the nozzle to catch the ambercolored liquid that flowed out. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

She slid the beer across the bar to him. “Well, you don’t sound like a local, and if you were, I would have seen you before now.”

He didn’t think she was flirting with him exactly. But she seemed, if not interested, at least curious, and he couldn’t resist testing the waters.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his tone intended to convey both disbelief and disappointment.

She made change for the ten he gave her and leaned across the bar in a way that greatly enhanced his view of her cleavage. “If I don’t remember, you obviously didn’t make much of an impression.”

He grinned at her quick response and lifted his glass to his lips as she moved down the bar to serve another customer.

He’d struck out with the sexy bartender, but it was his first time at bat after a long absence from the plate and, the way he figured it, it was only the top of the first inning. There was a lot of the game still to be played.

Eric ordered a barbecued pork sandwich with a side of spicy fries and washed it down with another draft as he watched the woman who’d eventually introduced herself as Molly Shea check on her customers at the bar. She took a moment to chat with each one as if they were all old friends, and he knew some of them probably were.

“How long have you been a bartender?” he asked her.

She poured a glass of water and squeezed a wedge of lime into it. “Forever.”

“Has it always been your ambition?”

“It’s honest work,” she said.

“I wasn’t implying otherwise,” he told her. “You just seem like a woman who could do so much more.”

“I can make all the fanciest drinks,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. “But we don’t have much call for them here.”

“You’re determined not to give away anything about yourself, aren’t you?”

“Bartenders don’t make confessions, they listen to them.”

“I thought that was just a stereotype.”

“I used to think so, too. But I learned quickly that a sympathetic ear and a shot of Scotch whiskey is a lot more successful at loosening tongues than a long couch and a fifty-minute clock.”

His gaze skimmed over her face. “The ears are nice,” he agreed. “But I’ll bet it has a lot more to do with your soft voice and warm smile.” And the idea of this woman on a long couch—minus the fifty-minute clock—was more than a little intriguing.

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “Are you looking to unburden your soul?”

“My soul isn’t burdened.”

Her only response was to raise her eyebrows.

“No more than most,” he clarified.

She smiled at that, and he felt a funny little kick in his belly. It was lust, he was certain of it. Certain that what he was feeling for this intriguing bartender couldn’t be any more than that.

Eric picked up his cup and frowned when he found it empty. He’d switched to coffee after his second draft, and he’d already had one refill, making him wonder just how long he’d been sitting at the bar.

“It’s almost eleven,” Molly told him, somehow anticipating his question as she brought the pot over to refill his cup again. “Isn’t there somewhere else you should be?”

“Not anymore,” he told her.

Her eyes were unexpectedly sympathetic as she asked, “Did she kick you out?”

“Who?”

“Whoever’s responsible for that lost look in your eyes.”

“No one kicked me out.” Then he smiled at her. “Not yet, anyway.”

She laughed. “You’ve got another hour.”

He was still there at the end of the hour.

And Molly was still as conscious of his presence as she’d been from the minute he walked in the door. Conscious of his attention focused on her as she began tidying up her workspace and wiping down the counters after last call.

She was flattered, of course. The man was sinfully good looking with that dark hair and those smoldering eyes, a mouth that made her think of long, slow kisses and shoulders that looked as if they could carry the weight of the world.

But he didn’t belong there. She’d recognized that fact even before he’d opened his mouth and started speaking in that smoothly cultured voice that spoke of private schools and a wealth of other privileges.

And she wondered what he was doing in Texas or, more particularly, what he was doing in her bar.

She did know that every time she caught him looking at her, her pulse spiked. And when he smiled, her heart pounded and her blood heated. Though her experience with men was limited, she recognized her reaction for what it was: lust, pure and simple. And when a man looked like the one sitting at her bar, she was certain he had more than enough experience being the object of women’s desires.

The stirring of her own desire, however, was unexpected.

She wasn’t the type of woman to fantasize about having sex with a man she didn’t even know. Of course, her lackluster experience with Trevor had pretty much nixed her fantasies about sex—and the few brief relationships she’d had since then hadn’t given her reason to hope for anything different.

But she poured herself a single glass of wine—part of her usual closing up routine—and slid onto the stool beside his. “Are you really waiting for me to kick you out?”

“I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere else.”

“If I’m going to let you stay while I close up, I’ll need to know more about you.”

“Such as?”

“Where you’re from—because we both know it’s not Texas.”

“Tesoro del Mar,” he told her.

“Treasure of the Sea,” she translated.

“You speak Spanish?”

“A little.” She sipped her wine. “And is it—a treasure of the sea, that is?”

“Absolutely.”

“What brought you from there to here?”

“I was visiting a friend.”

“A girlfriend?” she guessed.

“No,” he said, then, “yes, there was a woman.”

She lifted a brow. “Only one?”

He smiled. “My best friend is getting married. His fiancée is the only woman I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”

“How long has that been?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“And why is it that you’re alone in a bar at quarter after twelve on a Sunday night?”

He made a point of looking her over. “I’m not exactly alone now, am I?”

“Alone except for the bartender,” she clarified.

“I would say alone with an incredibly beautiful woman.”

The heat in his gaze added weight to his words, but Molly wasn’t going to let herself get all tongue-tied and weak-kneed just because a handsome man paid her a compliment.

“I’m flattered,” she said. “But you’re going to be disappointed if you think a few smooth words will convince me to go home with you.”

“Since I don’t even have a hotel room booked, I was hoping you would invite me to go home with you.” There was something in his tone that told her he was only half joking.

“Not going to happen,” she told him.

“Is there anyone special in your life?”

She smiled. “There are a lot of special people in my life.”

“I meant a boyfriend,” he clarified. “Since you’re not wearing a ring, I’m guessing there’s not a husband or fiancé.”

She shook her head. “I don’t really have time to date. Too many other things going on.”

“That might be a valid excuse for neglecting to return a phone call,” he noted, “but it hardly explains not dating.”

“Does a broken engagement explain it better for you?”

He nodded. “Broken heart, too?”

She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “No, and maybe that’s one of the reasons I haven’t been dating. I realized how close I’d come to making a very big mistake, and I needed some time to figure out what I really wanted.”

“And have you?”

“I’m still working on it.”

“Me, too,” he admitted.

“I would have figured you for the type of man who knew exactly what he wanted.”

“I used to be.” His eyes held hers for a long moment, then his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Not only did I know what I wanted, but I knew how to get it.”

Then he leaned down and kissed her.

And she kissed him back.

She, Molly Shea, who didn’t do anything spontaneous or impulsive, was kissing a stranger in a bar—and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

Because—WOW—he knew how to kiss.

Her brain scrambled to find an explanation for this inexplicable turn of events. She wanted to blame the wine, though she’d only had half a glass. She might consider the lateness of the hour, except that she was accustomed to working nights and wasn’t at all tired. Or maybe it was just the strength of a purely physical attraction that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

His tongue slid between her lips and the random thoughts and desperate explanations faded into nothingness as her brain seemed to stop functioning altogether.

His hands slid up her back, drawing her close, closer. Her breasts grazed the solid wall of his chest. Her nipples tightened, her belly quivered. He drew her to her feet, and she pressed herself against him, shocked—and aroused—to feel the hard ridge of his erection against her belly.

He wanted her.

Of course, he was a man and the state of his arousal might have more to do with that fact than the identity of the woman in his arms, but she wasn’t going to worry about that now. She was just going to bask in the knowledge that she was wanted, revel in this affirmation of her feminine power. At least for another minute.

Had she ever been kissed so thoroughly? Until her blood felt like molten lava pulsing through her veins and her knees went weak and everything inside her started to quiver? Never.

Not even Trevor’s kisses had made her feel like this. He was the first man she’d ever been intimate with, and she’d never responded to him the way she was responding now. Of course, her relationship with Trevor had come on the heels of the break-up of her engagement, when she’d been desperate to feel wanted by someone. But even then, she’d never wanted to be with him as desperately as she wanted to be with Eric now.

And the wanting terrified her.

She forced herself to ease away from him and when she spoke, she kept her voice light, careful to give no hint of the churning inside. “You know what? You’re as sexy as sin and when you kiss me, it makes my heart pound like you wouldn’t believe, but I don’t do one night stands with strangers.”

“I don’t, either…as a rule.” He slid his hands up her back, and she shivered as his fingers traced lazily along the ridges of her spine. “But there’s an exception to every rule.”

“And you think you should be mine?” she asked skeptically.

“I think you could be mine.”

She pushed his arms down, stepped away from him and temptation. “I might be a small-town girl, but even I can recognize a big-time con.”

He winced. “Okay, it did sound like a line.”

“You think?” What was even worse than the obvious script was how much she still wanted to give in to the desire thrumming between them.

“What I think is that, for the first time in a long time, I’ve met an interesting woman and I’m not ready to say goodbye to her yet.”

He sounded sincere, but if she’d learned nothing else from her failed relationships, she’d learned that she didn’t have a clue when it came to understanding the motivations of men. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, I do.”

His voice was sure, his gaze steady, and despite the doubts and insecurities that swirled inside her, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet, either.

“I’m not working tomorrow,” she finally said. “If you wanted to meet me back here around ten, maybe we could spend the day together.”

“I’d really like that,” he said. “But I won’t be here tomorrow.”

Disappointment weighed heavily in her belly. “You won’t?”

“My plane’s scheduled to leave at 8:00 a.m.”

“You’re going back to Tesoro del Mar?”

He nodded, and though she regretted that it was true, she knew his leaving wasn’t any reason to throw caution to the wind and do something completely crazy.

“I guess this is goodbye then,” she said.

“I guess it is,” he agreed.

Then he tipped her chin up with his finger and brushed his lips against hers. It was a gentle kiss this time, as fleeting as their time together had been.

“Goodbye, Molly.”

“Goodbye.” She watched him cross the room. She watched as he flipped the lock and pushed on the door, and she felt all of her reason and common sense sweep through the open portal and into the night.

“Wait.” The word sprang from her lips without conscious thought.

He turned back. Waiting.

She could let him go—and always wonder what might have been. Or she could be wildly spontaneous and spend the night with a man whose kiss had singed her right down to her toes.

She’d always believed it was better to regret something she’d done than something she’d left undone, and while it was possible she’d wake up with regrets in the morning, she knew she would regret it more if she let him walk away.

Eric sensed the battle waging inside Molly and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep his hand clamped around the handle of the door to keep from reaching for her again. If they were going to spend the night together—as he very much wanted them to do—it would need to be her decision. And he knew it wasn’t one she would make lightly.

She’d admitted that she didn’t date much, and he knew a woman as beautiful and warm and friendly as Molly didn’t sleep alone unless it was what she wanted. So what made him think that she would break her self-imposed rules to spend the night with him?

Chemistry.

It had crackled between them from the first moment their eyes had locked across the bar and had been building and deepening ever since. The sizzling kiss they’d shared was further proof of it.

His body was still humming from the after-effects of that kiss, or maybe it was almost three years of self-imposed celibacy that had everything inside him churned up. Whatever the reason, he knew what he wanted. He was just waiting for Molly to reach the same conclusion.

She looked at him now, her eyes locked with his, and she said only one more word.

“Stay.”

He flipped the lock on the door and moved back to her.

She met him halfway—her arms lifting to circle his neck, her body pressing against his, her mouth opening for his kiss.

His hands moved over her, hotly, hungrily. She gasped and sighed in response to his touch, and those sexy little sounds nearly snapped the last of his control. She was so eager and passionate, as hungry for him as he was for her, and it was an effort not to tear away her clothes where they stood and bury himself inside her.

The woman had him tied up in knots, desperate and aching with desire.

He cupped her breasts and felt her nipples pebble in response to the brush of his thumbs. She arched against him, a silent plea for more. Even through the layers of their clothing, the erotic friction of her hips pushing against his was almost too much.

She was sexy and sweet, giving and demanding.

And she was his.

The thought came from out of nowhere, the sudden drive to take and claim and possess both unfamiliar and undeniable.

He was leaving in the morning. They both knew they wouldn’t have anything more than this one night together. But he was determined to make it a night neither of them would ever forget.

This was crazy.

Even as Molly led Eric up the stairs to her apartment over the bar, she knew it was outrageously insane to even consider having sex with a man she’d never laid eyes on a few hours before, who would be leaving again in another few hours and whom she would probably never see again after that.

She didn’t care.

Right now all she cared about was getting naked with him.

And he wanted the same thing, if the trail of clothes they left in the hall on their way to her room was any indication. She led him unerringly through the dark to the bed, then pushed him back onto the mattress and tumbled down with him.

She reached for the small lamp on the night table, but he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed her palm, nibbled on her fingers, and sent sparks of heat zinging through her system.

Oh, yes, there was heat. And Molly gloried in this confirmation that she wasn’t unresponsive or dispassionate, she’d just needed a man who knew how to touch her the right way. And Eric definitely knew how to touch a woman the right way.

She wanted to touch him—was desperate to touch him—too. With limited experience to fall back on, she allowed her instincts to guide her. She ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms. She reveled in the feel of all those hard, tight muscles bunching and flexing in response to her eager touch. His skin was warm and smooth and taut; his body exquisitely carved and sculpted. Everywhere she touched, he was hard and strong, so completely and perfectly male. And for now—for the next few hours that remained of the night—he was hers.

Her fingertips paused in their exploration, hovering over the puckered ridge of skin she’d discovered beneath his lowest rib.

She felt him tense as she slowly traced the diagonal line of the scar toward his hip bone. Her fingers moved lower, finding a wider, longer scar on his upper thigh, and she instinctively knew this was the reason he hadn’t wanted the light.

His perfect body wasn’t quite perfect after all. And yet, the physical scars on his body somehow enhanced rather than detracted from his appeal.

“A recent injury?” she asked softly.

“Not so recent,” he said, but offered nothing more.

She traced her fingertips over the scars again, as if her touch could ease the strain she heard in his voice, the tension in his muscles. “What happened?”

“A naval training exercise went wrong.”

His simplistic explanation was a clear indication that this wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. But his response had given her another valuable insight about this man. “So you’re a sailor.”

“Was,” he corrected.

“With a woman in every port?” she teased to lighten the moment.

“Never more than one at a time.”

“Good to know.” She kissed him then, deeply, hungrily.

She kissed his lips, his throat, his chest. Her hair spilled over his shoulders, providing a curtain behind which she continued her exploration. She’d never been so aroused, so tempted, so bold. But she let her instincts, and his throaty groans of appreciation, guide her. She nibbled her way down his belly, savored the salty masculine flavor of his skin. Then her lips found the ridge of scar tissue her fingers had recently discovered, and her avid mouth gently feathered soft kisses along the puckered skin.

“If you’re trying to kiss away the pain, where I’m really hurting is just a little bit lower,” he told her huskily.

She chuckled, letting her tongue taste, tempt, tease. She heard the sharp intake of his breath, and knew her bold acceptance of his challenge had surprised and aroused him.

She heard the crinkle of plastic as he unwrapped the condom he’d snagged from his pocket before discarding his pants somewhere in the hall, and was grateful he’d had the foresight to think of protection. She let him sheath himself, then kissed her way back up his body, her taut nipples grazing his chest, her hips rocking against his. His hands skimmed over her thighs, his fingers curled around her buttocks, pressing her closer.

She waited for him to press into her, to take control in search of his own pleasure. But he didn’t seem to be in any big rush to the finish line. In fact, he seemed more than content just to touch her, tease her, taste her.

Molly endured the exquisite torture for as long as she could, then she straddled his hips, positioning herself so that the tip of his erection was at the juncture of her thighs.

Slowly she lowered herself, moving just the tiniest bit, taking only a fraction of an inch inside of her. Then a little more.

His hands were on her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh. She could feel the tension in him and knew he was fighting against the instinct to drive into her. He was bigger than her, stronger, and they both knew she was only in control at the moment because he wanted her to be, but still, the sense of power was exhilarating.

She continued to tease him, taking him a little bit deeper inside, then drawing back again. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, and they were intently focused on her. Watching her as she watched him.

Watching her as his hands skimmed up her sides to her breasts, as his fingers toyed with her nipples, circling, stroking, squeezing.

Desire curled like a fist deep in her belly, tight, tighter, until she cried out with her release.

It was the signal he’d been waiting for, and his hips jerked off the mattress and he buried himself deep inside of her in one powerful thrust that had her crying out again at the shock of the next climax that ripped through her, leaving her weak and breathless and shattered.

But Eric wasn’t finished with her. He held himself perfectly still until her body had stopped shuddering, then he flipped her over, so that she was on her back and he was stretched out on top of her, pressing deep inside of her.

He whispered to her, speaking softly in Spanish. She didn’t understand all of the words, but his tone was as sensual as a caress, and just as arousing. He began to move. Slow and deep strokes that touched her very core. Then hard and fast thrusts. Harder. Faster.

She’d thought she was sated. He’d made certain she was satisfied before he’d pursued his own pleasure, and yet, she could feel the desperate, achy need building inside of her again. Her heels dug into the mattress, her nails bit into his shoulders, and her hips matched his frantic rhythm as her desire escalated again until the world dropped away and there was nothing to hold on to but each other.

He collapsed with his head on her pillow, his arm wrapped around her, and his heart beating against hers.

They made love twice more before exhaustion finally overrode passion, and Molly fell into a deep and blissful sleep in the warm comfort of his arms.

She woke up in the morning, cold and alone, and found herself regretting not the hours she’d spent with Eric but that he was already gone.




Chapter Two


“Pregnant?”

Molly stared at the doctor for a minute, then laughed as she shook her head.

“I think you’re going to want to run that test again.”

Dr. Morgan looked at her with both understanding and compassion in her deep green eyes. She’d been Molly’s doctor for more than twenty years, long before her dark hair had become so liberally streaked with grey and the faint lines around her eyes and mouth had multiplied.

“I’ll rerun the test,” she told her. “If you can look me in the eye and honestly tell me that you haven’t had sex in the past two months.”

Molly’s fingers curled around the edge of the examining table, her damp palms sticking to the paper. “Not unprotected sex.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Dr. Morgan said. “But you know there isn’t any method of contraception that is one hundred percent effective.”

She could only stare at her as the reality of what the doctor was saying began to sink in and her heart began to hammer out its panic against her ribs.

“It was one night,” she whispered.

One night after four years of going to bed alone.

“That’s all it takes,” the doctor said gently.

Molly shook her head, still unwilling to believe what the doctor was saying. “But I don’t feel pregnant. I don’t feel any different—just tired.”

“That’s often one of the first signs.”

“I haven’t been sick.”

“Not every woman experiences morning sickness. You might be one of the lucky ones.”

Lucky? Molly was too stunned to really know how she was feeling, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t lucky.

“That’s assuming you want to continue with this pregnancy,” Dr. Morgan continued gently. “It is still early and—”

Molly shook her head again. She knew what the doctor was going to say—she was going to tell her there were options. She knew what those options were. She also knew there was only one choice for her—and it was the same choice her own mother had made thirty-one years earlier.

“I’m going to have the baby,” she said.

“Do you know the father?” Dr. Morgan asked gently.

Her cheeks burned with shame as Molly realized she probably should have kept her “one night” comment to herself, but she managed to choke out the lie, “Of course.”

She knew his name—his first name, anyway. And she knew he was from a country called Tesoro del Mar. And she knew that he kissed like there was no tomorrow and made her feel as no man had ever made her feel before. Beyond that, she knew almost nothing at all.

“If you’re going to have this baby, the father should be told,” Dr. Morgan said. “This isn’t something you should have to go through on your own.”

She nodded, because she knew it was true. She also knew that if she somehow managed to track him down, Eric wasn’t likely to be thrilled to learn that he’d knocked up some woman he picked up in a bar. And that was the tawdry truth of what had happened between them, even if, at the time, it hadn’t seemed tawdry at all.

But the soul-deep connection she’d been certain she’d felt in the darkest hours of the night had been illuminated as to what it really was in the bright light of day—a good healthy dose of lust that temporarily overrode common sense—and a passion that was apparently stronger than latex condoms.

Molly walked from the doctor’s office to Celebrations by Fiona. The exclusive boutique was ten blocks from the medical arts building and she was more than halfway there before she questioned the wisdom of undertaking such a stroll in low-heeled sling-backs and ninety-degree heat. But she’d needed some time to think about the news she’d been given and she knew that when she got to Fiona’s, she wouldn’t have a minute to do so.

Her cousin had established a reputation as one of the premier event planners in Texas and her services were sought by everyone who was anyone in the state. She’d planned the island nuptials of a Cowboys’ quarterback, personally oversaw every detail of the small garden wedding for an Oscar-winning actress and coordinated the renewal of vows to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the governor and his wife.

But it turned out that her most challenging assignment and most demanding client wasn’t a celebrity or politician, it was herself. And her mistake, in Molly’s opinion, was in not hiring someone else to oversee the details of her own wedding—a wedding at which Molly would be the maid of honor the following month.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Molly had been shopping for dresses and bouquets of flowers, dreaming of “happily ever after.” She’d been so full of hope for her future, eager to marry the man she loved, looking forward to raising a family together.

Though that engagement had fallen apart, she’d still believed that someday she would find someone special to share her life and build a family with. Now she’d skipped over the marriage part and was going straight to motherhood—definitely not her childhood dream but a reality that she would have to deal with it.

First, however, she had to tackle the issue of a bridesmaid dress.

Fiona was hovering just inside the door, waiting for her, when she finally arrived.

“Goodness,” she said, noting her cousin’s flushed cheeks. “You look like you just finished running a marathon.”

“Even a short walk feels like a marathon in this heat,” she said, not wanting to admit how far she’d walked or where she’d come from.

Fiona scooped a bottle of water out of the minifridge in her office and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” Molly took the bottle and sank into an empty chair. “Have you finally picked a dress for me?”

“Sort of.”

Molly arched a brow as she uncapped the water.

Fiona gestured to a garment rack that was crowded with gowns.

Molly stared. “There must be a dozen dresses there.”

“Sixteen,” her cousin admitted.

“I realize the layered look is in, but sixteen might be a bit excessive.”

“I couldn’t decide,” Fiona said, a trifle defensively.

“Couldn’t you at least have narrowed it down?”

“That is narrowed down.”

Molly shouldn’t have been surprised. Even with all of Fiona’s contacts in the industry, it had taken her cousin three weeks and trips to both New York City and San Francisco to finally decide on her own gown—from a local boutique.

“I know that pastels are all the rage for summer weddings,” Fiona was explaining now, “but I think jewel tones work better with your coloring and, since you’re my only attendant, you can pick whatever you want.”

Whatever she wanted so long as it was sapphire, emerald or ruby, Molly noted, and rose from her chair for a closer examination of the gowns.

But as she sorted through the collection, her mind slipped back to another examination, to her conversation with Dr. Morgan and the one word that continued to reverberate inside her head.

Pregnant.

“Any thoughts?” Fiona asked.

I thought I would regret it more if I didn’t spend the night with him.

Of course, that thought was immediately followed by a wave of guilt. As much as she hadn’t planned to get pregnant at this point in her life, she wouldn’t regret the child that she would have. The baby growing inside of her probably wasn’t the size of a pea yet, but Molly loved her already.

“Molly?” The prompt drew her attention back to the rack of dresses.

“They all look great,” she said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Fiona told her.

Molly went with her instincts and grabbed a strapless floor-length gown of deep blue silk and slipped through the door. She stripped away her clothes, careful not to look at her refection in any of the mirrors that surrounded her. She didn’t want to look at her body, to think about the changes that were happening inside of her—changes that she knew were invisible to the outside world but essential to the tiny life inside her.

She tugged the zipper up, straightened the skirt and stepped back outside to show her friend.

“Oh. Wow.” Fiona grinned. “That’s it—it’s perfect.”

Molly exhaled a silent sigh of relief that she would be spared having to model the other fifteen dresses.

“You are going to knock his socks off in that dress,” her cousin said.

“Whose socks am I knocking off?” she asked warily.

“The best man’s.”

Molly wasn’t so sure that she wanted to be near any man even taking his socks off, because the last time that happened she’d ended up pregnant. Well, at least she’d had the chance to experience the most amazing sex of her life first. Yeah, it was good to know that she’d discovered a sex drive just in time to put it on the back burner for the next several years while she raised the illegitimate child of a man whose last name she didn’t even know.

“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Fiona said, for the millionth time since she’d first met her fiancé’s childhood best friend. “If I wasn’t so in love with Scott…” She deliberately let her words trail off, then grinned. “But I am in love with Scott, so it would be really great if you managed to hook up with him.”

“I’m not looking to hook up with anyone,” Molly said firmly.

Fiona forged ahead, as if she hadn’t even heard her. “I really wished you’d met him when he was here, then you’d know what I’m talking about.”

“I’ll meet him at the rehearsal,” Molly reminded her.

“Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”

“You know I’m not.”

“Because he’s not bringing a date, either.”

“Fiona,” she warned her cousin.

“I’m just saying.”

“I know what you’re saying. And I know you just want me to find someone as wonderful as Scott, but I’m really not looking to get involved with anyone right now.” And probably not for a long time. “There’s just too much going on in my life right now to even think about adding the complication of a relationship.”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

And that, Molly knew, was the problem of having a cousin who was also her best friend and who knew her better than anyone else in the world. But she shook her head, not ready to share the news with anyone just yet.

“Your wedding is less than a month away,” she reminded Fiona. “You should have enough to think about without worrying about my love life.”

Her statement succeeded in deflecting her cousin’s attention, as she knew it would, and they talked about flowers and music and other details until Fiona’s next appointment arrived and Molly was able to escape.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Almost two months after he’d returned to Tesoro del Mar, Eric still couldn’t stop thinking about Molly Shea. At first, he’d been certain it was just the memories of spectacular sex that haunted his dreams. He’d wanted to believe it was nothing more than that. But as six weeks turned into seven and he still couldn’t forget her, he finally admitted it was more than the incredible sensation of her body wrapped around his that kept him awake at night—it was the sparkle in her eyes, the way she smiled, the sound of her laughter.

It was all those memories that plagued his thoughts and made him wonder if he shouldn’t have stayed in her bed instead of worrying about his flight home the next morning. But really, what difference would another day or two have made, except maybe to make him even more reluctant to leave the haven of her arms?

Still, he was a prince. He most certainly wasn’t going to let himself get tied up in knots over any woman, and especially not an American bartender. But with each day that passed, the memories he’d expected to dim only grew sharper, and the need inside him grew stronger.

Or maybe he just had too much time on his hands.

He’d been at loose ends since the accident that had prematurely ended his naval career, and without any direction or focus. He’d assumed some duties back home, but as important as he knew the royal family was to the country, he wasn’t sure he could imagine making a career out of public appearances and shaking hands with foreign diplomats.

His recent conversation with Scott hovered in the back of his mind, but he knew the offer to work at DELconnex wasn’t the answer. Or not the whole answer. He wanted something more than a new career. He wanted a wife—a family.

He frowned at that thought. Not that it was unusual for a thirty-six-year-old man to think about settling down, but it was unusual for him. On the other hand, nothing had been “usual” for Eric since he’d left the navy, and maybe it was time he gave serious consideration to the thought of marriage.

His brother Rowan hadn’t been given the luxury of time before he’d been pressured to find a wife. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of women had put themselves forward as bridal candidates when it became known that the prince regent was required to marry. Rowan had surprised everyone when he’d proposed to the royal nanny rather than a woman with recognizable title and ancestry.

Marcus, his younger brother, had also balked at tradition in choosing his bride, marrying a woman who was a foreigner and a successful business owner. And while there was no doubt that both of his brothers were blissfully happy with their respective wives, Eric had always thought that when the time came for him to marry, he would choose a more traditional kind of wife—someone who understood the role of a royal spouse and would be both suitable and content to fulfill it.

But somehow it was thoughts of a sweet and sexy bartender that hovered in the back of his mind and invaded his dreams. And—seven weeks after a single night together—these thoughts began to cause him serious worry. Never before had he been so preoccupied by a woman. Never before had he yearned so deeply for what he couldn’t have.

Being born a prince meant there were few things beyond his grasp, but Molly was one of them. They’d both agreed there would be nothing between them after that night. At the time, it had seemed like a perfect arrangement—one night, no strings. But even as the sun had begun to rise in the morning, Eric had regretted their bargain.

One night hadn’t been nearly enough to sate the passion that burned so hotly and fiercely between them. Not when, seven weeks later, just thinking of Molly was enough to make him ache with longing.

He wanted to go back to Texas to see her again, and his friend’s upcoming wedding gave him the perfect excuse to do so. Of course, he would have to check in with Rowan first, to ensure there were no pressing matters that required his presence in Tesoro del Mar over the next few weeks.

Having decided he should discuss the matter with his brother, he wasn’t surprised when he received a call requesting his presence in the prince regent’s office. He was surprised to see Cameron Leandres leaving as he was entering.

“Who’s going to get fired for letting our cousin through the front gates?” he asked Rowan.

“No one.”

Eric took a seat across from his brother’s desk and raised his brows.

“I invited Cameron here to discuss the environmental concerns to be addressed at the summit in Berne next month.”

“The summit I’m attending?”

“The summit you were going to attend,” Rowan corrected. “I’ve asked Cameron to take your place.”

Eric was genuinely perplexed by this turn of events. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to be too busy overseeing the expansion of DELconnex U.S.A. into Europe to give this matter the attention it deserves.”

Eric scowled. “I haven’t told Scott I’d take the job.”

“But you want to.”

“How do you even know that he offered it to me?”

“I had to call to decline, with sincere regret, the invitation to Scott and Fiona’s wedding because it coincides with the opening of the new youth center in Rio Medio that I’ve already committed to attending. And while I was talking to him, I asked him what kind of offer he’d made to you this time.”

Everyone in the family knew that his friend had been trying to entice Eric to join his company since he first launched DELconnex nearly a decade earlier.

Eric and Scott had been friends since two decades before that, when six-year-old Scott Delsey had come with his family to Tesoro del Mar when his father was appointed U.S. ambassador to the small Mediterranean nation. As ambassador, Thomas Delsey had spent a lot of time at the palace, frequently with his wife and son. Scott had become friends with all of the princes but had developed a particularly close bond with Eric, who was also six at the time. It was a bond as strong as any of blood, and that had endured even after the ambassador had finished his tenyear term and returned with his family to the United States. Eric and Scott had gone to the same college and though they’d later gone their separate ways in life, they’d always remained in touch.

“It’s a tempting offer,” Rowan said now.

“I’ve resisted temptation before,” Eric told him, even as memories of his trip to Texas taunted him with the knowledge that he’d also succumbed to temptation—and quite happily.

“Why are you thinking of resisting?” his brother asked, and it took Eric a moment to haul his mind out of Molly’s bed and back to their conversation.

“Because you need me here.”

“I need a minister of international relations, and I think Cameron is well-suited to the position.”

“There was a time when he thought he was well-suited to your position, and tried to take it from you,” Eric felt compelled to remind him.

“That was six years ago.”

“Do you really think he’s changed?”

“I think I’d rather know what he’s doing than have to guess at it.”

Which Eric thought was a valid point. But he was still uneasy about his brother’s decision to give any real authority to their cousin—or maybe he was just feeling guilty that Rowan’s plan would allow him to do what he wanted when Rowan hadn’t been given the same choice.

“I’ve neglected my duties to this family for too many years already,” he protested.

“I probably can’t count the number of diplomatic dinners and political photo ops you skipped over the past dozen years,” the prince regent admitted. “But those were more than balanced out by the fact that you were serving your country.”

Eric was uncomfortable with the admiration and pride he heard in Rowan’s voice because he knew his service hadn’t been any greater than that of any of his brothers. “Which is no more than you did by giving up your life in London when Julian died, and coming home to run the country and raise his children. And you still do the diplomatic dinners and political photo ops, and more than anyone probably even knows.”

“It hasn’t all been a hardship,” Rowan said, with a smile that told Eric his brother was thinking of his wife and their family.

Eric lowered himself into the chair facing his brother’s. “How did you know Lara was the right woman for you?”

“I didn’t at first,” he admitted. “Or maybe I did but refused to admit it, because I knew getting involved with the royal nanny would create a situation fraught with complications. And it wasn’t so much that she was the right woman as she was the only woman—the only one I couldn’t get out of my mind, the only one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.”

“The only one who would put up with him, more likely,” Lara said from behind him.

Eric glanced at his sister-in-law, who was standing in the doorway with a ten-month-old baby tucked under one arm and a three-and-a-half-year-old holding her other hand. Her strawberry-blond hair looked a little more tousled than usual, and there was a stain on the shoulder of her blouse that he knew was courtesy of the baby, but despite the lateness of the hour and the obvious busyness of her day, her smile was still vibrant and beautiful.

Rowan had definitely lucked out when he’d fallen in love with Lara Brennan, Eric thought, with just the slightest twinge of envy. As Marcus had also done when he’d stopped by a little café in West Virginia and met—and eventually fallen in love with—Jewel Callahan. As Eric hoped he might luck out someday and find his own soul mate.

Unbidden, thoughts of Molly again nudged at his mind, but he pushed them aside.

“And I will forever be grateful for that,” Rowan said, smiling back at his wife.

“You can prove it by tackling the bedtime routine with a stubborn three-year-old,” she told him.

“It would be my pleasure,” Rowan said, holding out his arms to the little boy, who went rushing into them.

Eric had to smile at the obvious bond between father and son. It was hard to believe that when Rowan had taken on the responsibility for Julian and Catherine’s three children he had almost no experience with—and even less knowledge about—raising kids. Now Christian was seventeen and about to start college in the fall, Lexi was thirteen with a maturity well beyond her years and Damon was nine and still reveling in the joys of childhood and wreaking havoc on the household. Since their marriage, Lara and Rowan had added two of their own, and Rowan had not only embraced fatherhood but managed to juggle his various responsibilities to reflect his commitment to his family.

Eric wasn’t really surprised by the apparent ease of his older brother’s transition from footloose financier to responsible prince regent. Rowan had always taken his obligations seriously. More surprising to Eric was that his younger brother had willingly made similar changes in his life. He’d never seen Marcus look happier than when he was with Jewel and their baby daughter.

It was at the baptism for young Princess Isabella that Eric was first confronted by the emptiness of his life. Up until then, he’d never thought about what was missing. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that nothing seemed to be missing because his career had fulfilled him so completely.

Over the past three years, he’d had too much time to think, too much time to wonder if there should be something more, although he hadn’t really thought about his restless yearning for more in terms of a relationship until he’d met Molly.

“Bath time and story?” Rowan’s question to his son drew Eric’s attention back to the scene in the library.

“Story!” Matthew repeated with enthusiasm.

“After the bath,” his mother interjected firmly.

Matthew scowled as Rowan rose with him in his arms.

Eric chuckled. “What is it about little boys that makes them inherently allergic to bathwater?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Lara said, crossing the room to settle into the chair her husband had vacated. The baby rubbed his face on his mother’s shoulder, then popped his thumb in his mouth and snuggled in with a sigh.

Eric felt an unexpected pang as he watched Lara cuddle her infant son. Children were something else he hadn’t thought much about because he’d never been in a position to be a father, but spending time with his brothers’ children had changed that, too. He wanted a family of his own—a wife and children to come home to at the end of the day, to make plans and share dreams with and to simply be with.

Dios, that sounded pathetic, as if he couldn’t endure his own company. Or maybe he’d just been enduring his own company for too long. After unsuccessful romances, it had seemed easier to accept solitude than yet another relationship failure. But maybe it was finally time to reconsider that position.

“You and Rowan sure do make beautiful babies,” he commented to his sister-in-law now.

Lara smiled. “As much as I want to take credit, the dark hair and eyes are trademark Santiago.”

“But Matthew has your mouth and your smile, and William’s bone structure is just like yours.”

“Do you think so?” She seemed pleased that he would notice such details.

“As I said, you make beautiful babies.”

“And you’re a flatterer as much as both of your brothers,” she mused. “So what deep conversation between you and Rowan did I interrupt?”

“Nothing deep,” he assured her.

“You’ve met a woman,” she guessed.

He stared at her, baffled.

She laughed, and automatically rubbed the baby’s back when he started to stir. “I heard you ask your brother how he knew I was the right woman for him—it wasn’t much of a stretch to think that you’ve met someone who has you thinking in those terms.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot about my life and my future,” he hedged. “And I wanted to tell Rowan about my plan to go back to Texas. It occurred to me that, as the best man, I should be available to help Scott with anything that needs to be done in the last few weeks before the wedding.”

Lara’s smile was just a little smug. “She’s in Texas, isn’t she?”

“Whatever you want to believe,” he said, knowing it was pointless to deny it.

The widening of her smile only proved she knew she was right. “When are you leaving?”




Chapter Three


Molly pulled a brush through her hair and wrapped an elastic band around it to hold the heavy mass off of her neck. It was only the end of May, not even officially summer yet, but even three days of almost steady rain had done little to alleviate the humidity and forecasters were warning that the season was going to be a brutal one.

As she stripped out of her shorts and T-shirt to change for work, she thought she could use a change of scenery and a break from the oppressive heat—a week or two away from the neverending problems at home. And she found herself wondering what the weather was like in Tesoro del Mar, if the summers were hot or if there were cool ocean breezes to regulate the temperature.

She wondered if Eric lived somewhere on the coast or in a crowded apartment in the city—or even if there were cities in Tesoro del Mar. She didn’t really know anything about the country, or even how big it was, and she didn’t know—if she decided to take a trip to the island, as she’d been thinking she might do—if there was any chance her path would cross with his.

It was a crazy idea—almost as crazy as spending the night with a man she didn’t know—and yet it was an idea that refused to be discarded.

She’d thought about him a lot since that single night they’d spent together, and not just since she’d learned that she was carrying his child.

But five days after her appointment with Dr. Morgan, she’d still made no effort to find her baby’s father and she knew it was past time she did so. She had plenty of legitimate excuses for the delay—including the hundred-and-one daily tasks that kept her at the restaurant for ten or more hours a day.

But the truth was, not one of those things had made her forget about the child she carried or the obligation she had to notify her baby’s father. She just didn’t know how she was going to track him down.

She booted up the computer and considered what she knew about Eric. Beyond his name, she knew that he lived in a country called Tesoro del Mar and that he’d been in the navy. It wasn’t much, but at least it was a start.

A swarm of butterflies winged around in her stomach as she logged onto the Internet and typed the words “Tesoro del Mar,” “Eric” and “naval accident” into the search engine.

She’d barely clicked Enter when the results filled the page.

Tesorian Navy News. Coast Guard Newsletter. Navy News—International Edition. MedSeaSecurityReport. Royal Watch. Naval Briefs. The Spanish Sailor.

She clicked on the first result, scanned the headline.

Prince Eric Injured in Naval Training Accident.

Prince Eric?

Definitely not the right Eric, she decided, and started to close the document when she noted the photo a little bit farther down on the page.

Her breath caught and her brow furrowed as she leaned closer to the screen for a better look.

It was him.

Her heart started to beat harder, faster.

She skimmed the article, barely noting any details of the accident that had resulted in the end of his career. Nothing seemed to matter beyond the title that jumped out at her from beneath his picture. “First Officer Prince Eric Santiago.”

It occurred to her that maybe “prince” wasn’t a royal title but a naval title. It certainly seemed a more feasible explanation than a member of a royal family wandering into her restaurant—and ending up in her bed.

She tried a different search this type, entering only “prince eric” and “tesoro del mar.”

Again, the results were almost instantaneous, and her hand trembled as she clicked on “theroyalhouseofsantiago.”

The site opened to a home page that showed a stunning castle of gleaming white stone in front of a backdrop of brilliant blue sky. She clicked on a link labeled “Members of the Royal Family,” which popped up a row of photos with names and links beneath them—one of which was Eric, “Principe de la Ciudad del Norte.”

She stared at the image, stunned by this confirmation that Eric wasn’t just a guy in a bar—he was a member of the royal family of Tesoro del Mar.

She’d slept with a prince.

And now she was pregnant with his child.

She had to tell him—the logical, rational part of her brain wouldn’t let her consider anything else. And now she knew where to find him, though she couldn’t imagine that she’d simply be permitted to walk up to the front door of the royal palace and announce that she was carrying the prince’s baby.

She couldn’t think about this right now—just the thought made her head spin.

Pushing away from the desk, she grabbed her cell phone before heading downstairs to make sure the restaurant was set up for dinner. She noticed the voice mail icon on the display and sighed as she dialed into her mailbox, determined to ignore whatever crisis had her sister tracking her down now. But it wasn’t Abbey’s number on the display, it was Fiona’s, and her cousin’s voice was quiet and muffled, as if she was trying not to cry.

Fiona wasn’t prone to dramatics, so her brief and teary “the wedding’s off” message had Molly detouring through the restaurant only long enough to make sure that Karen could stay behind the bar until she returned. As she drove the familiar route to her cousin’s ranch, it occurred to her that whatever had Fiona in a panic, it had succeeded in taking Molly’s mind off of Prince Eric Santiago.

At least for the moment.

When Eric contacted Scott’s fiancée to let her know that he was coming back to San Antonio, Fiona promised that a room would be ready for him and chatted excitedly about the final preparations for the wedding. But something happened between the time of his phone call and his arrival at the door so that she was no longer bubbling over with happiness but with tears.

Having spent most of his adult life in the navy, Eric felt completely out of his element when confronted by a weeping woman. Not that it was his job to comfort his friend’s fiancée—and thank God Scott was there to do that—but he still felt helpless. And clueless.

“We got a call from the manager of Harcourt Castle,” Scott explained, when Fiona’s sobs had quieted enough that conversation was possible.

“That’s where the wedding’s going to be, right?”

His friend gave a small shake of his head as he continued to pat Fiona’s back consolingly. “We’ve had a lot of rain over the past couple of days and some of the lower lying areas experienced flooding, including Harcourt.”

Eric knew a flood indicated water damage, which meant the venue was likely out of commission for several months—definitely past the date of the wedding.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Fiona sniffed.

“It’s not a sign,” Scott soothed his bereft fiancée. “Except for the fact that we’ll need to find another location for the wedding.”

She brushed her tears away and looked up at him, incredulous. “Less than a month before the date?”

For the first time since Eric had arrived on the scene, Scott looked uncertain. “Does that seem unlikely?”

“Not unlikely—” the tears began falling again, her words barely comprehensible “—impossible. And—” she gulped in a breath “—you know why I wanted the castle.”

“We met at Harcourt,” Scott explained to Eric.

“And he took me back there to ask me to marry him,” Fiona said, suddenly sobbing harder.

Yeah, Eric was definitely out of his element, and desperately wracked his brain for a solution—any solution—to stop the tears.

“Okay, so we’ll postpone the wedding for a few months,” Scott suggested.

“We’ve already sent out the invitations, ordered the cake, the flowers and—”

“I said postpone,” her fiancé interjected, “not cancel.”

She sighed. “It seems like we’ve been waiting so long already, and I just want to be married to you.”

“Then let’s do it,” Scott said impulsively. “Let’s forget all the chaos and crises, hop onto a plane to Vegas and get married.”

Fiona’s nose wrinkled. “Vegas?”

“I know it’s not what we’d planned, but we can have a big, blowout reception back here in a few months, when Harcourt Castle is reopened.”

His fiancée still hesitated.

Eric had never been to Vegas, but he’d seen enough movies to form an impression of the city and he could understand Fiona’s reluctance. She wanted ambience and elegance, and what Scott was offering was loud and garish. Okay, maybe that wasn’t an entirely fair assessment considering that he’d never stepped foot in the town, but he thought he’d gotten to know his friend’s fiancée well enough during his last visit to be certain it wasn’t what she’d envisioned.

“Vegas,” she said again, more contemplative than critical this time.

He figured it was a testament to how much Fiona loved Scott that she was even considering it.

“Or you could hop on a plane to a picturesque island in the Mediterranean and have a quiet ceremony on the beach and an intimate reception at the royal palace,” Eric offered as an alternative.

The future bride and groom swiveled their heads in his direction.

“Could we?” Scott asked.

“You said it was a small wedding?”

“Fifty-two guests,” his friend confirmed.

“We’d need to charter a plane but otherwise, there shouldn’t be any problem. So long as there’s nothing going on at the palace on that date, we could fly everyone in a few days early for a brief vacation on the island, then have the wedding as planned on Saturday.”

Fiona glanced from Eric to Scott and back again. “That sounds awfully expensive,” she said, but the sparkle was back in her eyes, revealing her enthusiasm.

“It would be my wedding gift to you,” Eric told her.

“A Crock-Pot is a wedding gift,” she said. “What you’re offering is…a dream.”

He shrugged. “You make my best friend happy. If this makes you happy, it’s a fair trade.”

Her smile was radiant. “Then I’ll say ’thank you.’ But we’ll stick with Scott’s plan to hold a formal reception back here in a few months and just have immediate family for the ceremony in Tesoro del Mar. And Molly, my maid of honor, of course.”

When Molly arrived at the ranch, she was both surprised and immensely relieved to learn that the crisis had already been diverted.

“I didn’t think anything could be more romantic than being married at Harcourt House,” Fiona gushed, all smiles instead of tears now. “But a wedding at a royal palace might just top everything else.”

Molly sank down onto the arm of a chair. “A royal palace?”

“Scott’s in the other room with Eric now, confirming the arrangements.”

The butterflies were swarming again.

Eric. The best man. The friend of Scott’s that Fiona had been talking about for months who somehow had access to a royal palace. Could it be—

No. It wasn’t possible. She’d just been so unnerved by the realization that her baby’s father was a prince that she was jumping to conclusions. Because as much as her cousin had talked about the best man, Fiona had never mentioned that he was royalty. Molly definitely would have remembered that.

She managed to smile. “So where is this royal palace?”

“It’s on an island in the Mediterranean called Tesoro del Mar. I’d never even heard of it before I met Eric, and I didn’t even know he was a prince until a few days ago. Scott said they’ve been friends for so long he doesn’t think about the fact that Eric is in line for the throne, but I nearly fainted when I found out. Can you believe the best man at my wedding is a prince?”

“Unbelievable,” Molly agreed, as thoughts and questions whipped around in her mind like dry leaves in a hurricane. And before she could grasp hold of even one of them, he was there.

He was standing in front of her—okay, across the room, but the distance did nothing to dilute the effect of his presence. His legs were as long as she remembered, his shoulders as broad, his jaw as strong, his eyes as dark.

Yes, she remembered all of the details—the thickness of his hair, the curve of his lips, the skill of his hands. But she hadn’t quite remembered—maybe hadn’t let herself remember—how completely fascinating he was as a whole.

He smiled at Fiona. “Everything’s confirmed.”

She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, Eric. You’re the best.”

“That’s why he’s the best man,” Scott said, unconcerned by the fact that his fiancée was embracing another man. Eric chuckled.

The sound of that laugh, warm and rich and familiar, sent shivers down her spine, tingles to her center.

It was Scott who spotted Molly first, and he smiled. “Hey, Molly.”

Eric’s head turned. His gaze locked on hers, and widened in shock.

Molly thought she had some idea just how he felt.

“Eric—” Scott turned to his friend “—you haven’t met Molly yet, have you?”

“No, we haven’t,” Molly answered before he could, rising to her feet and praying that her wobbly legs would support her.

“But I’ve certainly heard a lot about her,” Eric said, his eyes never leaving Molly’s face.

She definitely hadn’t remembered everything—like how one look could make her pulse race and her knees quiver, as her pulse was racing and her knees were quivering now.

“And here she is,” Scott said. And to Molly, “This is His Royal Highness, Prince Eric Santiago of Tesoro del Mar.”

“Should I curtsy?” she asked lightly.

“No need,” he said.

She didn’t actually remember offering her hand, but she found it engulfed in his, cradled in his warmth. It was a simple hand-shake—there was nothing at all inappropriate about it. And yet she felt her cheeks heat, her skin burn, as memories of his hands on her body assaulted her mind from every direction.

The heat in his eyes told her that he was also remembering, and though her mind warned her to back away, her body yearned to shift close, closer.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Molly,” he said in that low, sexy voice that had whispered much more intimately and explicitly in her ear as they’d rolled around on her bed together.

“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun together in Tesoro del Mar,” Fiona said, then to Molly, “You will come, won’t you?”

A wedding on a Mediterranean island sounded romantic enough, throw in a royal palace, and Molly could understand why her cousin was glowing with excitement and anticipation. And no matter how much Molly’s brain warned that going to Tesoro del Mar was a very bad idea—that going anywhere with Eric Santiago was a very bad idea—she couldn’t refuse something that meant so much to Fiona.

So she ignored the knots in her stomach and forced a bright smile. “Of course I’ll be there. You can hardly get married without your maid of honor.”

Fiona threw her arms around Molly, just as she’d done with Eric, and hugged her tight. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Molly hugged her back. “I just want your wedding to be perfect for you.”

“It will be now,” her cousin said confidently.

Molly was pleased that Fiona’s problems were solved, but couldn’t help but think her own had just multiplied.

It had been unsettling enough to accept that she was pregnant with a stranger’s baby, but learning that the stranger was her cousin’s fiancé’s best friend added a whole other layer of complications. And she couldn’t help but wonder how differently everything might have played out if she’d known two months ago what she knew now about Prince Eric Santiago.

“Okay, now that the crisis has been resolved, I should get back to work,” Molly said, eager to make her escape.

But she felt the heat of Eric’s gaze on her as she made her way to the door, and acknowledged that this new information might not have changed anything. Because even now, she wanted him as much as she’d wanted him then.

This time, however, she was determined to prove stronger than the desire he stirred inside of her.

At least, she hoped she would.




Chapter Four


Molly knew Eric would show up at her door the next morning. She only hoped to have a cup of coffee in her system before she had to face him again—a hope that was obliterated when the knock sounded just as she was measuring grinds into the filter. She set the basket into place, pressed the button and went to respond to his knock.

He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a collared T-shirt, much as he’d been the first night he walked into the bar. And though he looked better than any man had a right to look, there certainly wasn’t anything about his appearance or his attire that warned he was a prince. And even now, even knowing all the details she’d learned from the Internet, she found it difficult to think of him as royalty. She could only remember that he was a man—a man she’d taken to her bed and with whom she’d shared intimacies and pleasures she’d never before imagined.

“Good morning,” he said.

To which she responded with a barely civil, “Come in.”

“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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