SECRETS OF A PREGNANT PRINCESS Read online

  Around them, as usual, the piazza teamed with people and noise, and for the past half an hour the two of them had been people-watching.

  He knew Samira was homesick because in the past few days she'd spoken longingly of home, but hadn't mentioned being ready to return.

  He wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but knew she couldn't put off the inevitable forever. Eventually they would have to return to Tamir and together they would have to face her parents.

  Farid couldn't guess what Sheik Ahmed's reaction might be to the news of their marriage and Samira's pregnancy. Certainly the sheik's temper was legendary and Farid had a feeling he certainly wouldn't be thrilled with their news.

  In the back of his head, Farid still believed Samira would crumble and want out of the marriage once they returned to Tamir.

  She would buckle beneath her father's questions and would end up telling him the truth. Once that happened, there was no way to guess what the future would bring.

  He gazed at Samira now, wondering if she had any idea of how lovely she looked. Clad in a dark-pink dress that complemented her dark eyes and hair, she looked warm and alive and achingly touchable.

  He took a sip of his cold drink in an attempt to cool the eternal flame that had ignited in him since the night they'd made love a week before.

  "I've been thinking about names," she said as she stirred her drink with the straw. "Do you have any preferences?"

  "I'm pretty partial to mine. I don't see any reason to choose a new one," he replied teasingly.

  He was rewarded by her laughter and she gave him a playful slap on the arm. "I'm being serious, Farid," she exclaimed, her dark eyes sparkling prettily. She set her glass down. "What was your mother's name?"

  "It doesn't matter," he replied, the familiar tightness pressing against his ribs as thoughts of his mother fluttered through his mind. Would the anger never cease? "I think it better to give children their own names rather than name them for somebody."

  He realized his voice had held a harsh edge and she looked at him in surprise. "I'd still like to know the name of the woman whose ring I wear," she said.

  Farid sighed, realizing it was easier to tell her than to make a big deal out of not telling her. "Raisa. Her name was Raisa."

  "Raisa." She looked down at the ring on her finger, then back to him. "That's a beautiful name. And your father's?"

  "Hashim." This one came more easily to his lips and brought with it not only the warmth of love, but also the ache of enormous loss.

  She picked up her glass once again and took a sip, her gaze never leaving his face. "Why are you so angry with your mother?"

  "I'm not," he replied, guessing that the words sounded as false to her as they did to his own ears. "I just don't want to name my daughter after her." He knew his answer hadn't satisfied her. "Let it go, Samira," he said softly. "It's a complicated issue."

  She studied him another long moment, then he saw the corners of her lips curve upward in a faint smile.

  "Okay, then if we have a boy we'll call him Bubba, and if it's a girl we'll call her LulaBelle."

  He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him and he returned her grin, shoving aside thoughts of his mother. "How did you know those are my favorite names of all time?" he said, refusing to rise to her baiting.

  Again he was granted the luxury of her laughter. For a moment, he tried to imagine his life without the sound of her laughter and was struck with a feeling of bereavement that twisted his insides.

  She turned her attention to the people passing by the restaurant patio area and he kept his attention focused on her.

  Making love with her had been a big mistake. In his wildest dreams he hadn't imagined that making love to Samira would be so wonderful.

  She had been far more responsive, far more passionate and giving than he'd ever dreamed possible. He'd been intoxicated by the taste of her, the feminine scent of her. He'd been exhilarated by her sweet sighs and her throaty moans as he'd taken complete and total possession of her.

  "You're staring at me, Farid," Samira now said, her cheeks coloring a becoming shade of pink as she directed her gaze back at him.

  "It's one of the pleasures of being your husband," he replied. "Didn't you know that in our marriage contract it says I have the right to stare at you?"

  She gifted him with a teasing smile. "Does that mean as your wife I have the right to stare at you, too?"

  "Of course," he said. "Marriage is an equal opportunity staring institution."

  She leaned across the table, her chin cupped in her hand and stared at him unabashedly, the teasing smile still curving the corners of her luscious lips.

  It bothered him, how much he liked her smiles, how much he loved those early morning minutes when he awakened to find her, warm and sleeping in his arms.

  It bothered him that he enjoyed her laughter, that he found so many of her habits endearing rather than irritating. In the past two weeks of their marriage, he'd become far too taken with her presence in his life, and he knew that was dangerous.

  The worst thing he could do was to convince himself that anything about their arrangement was permanent. She'd married him on the rebound, frantic with worry and heartbroken by another man.

  She was a woman who believed in and had dreamed of a romantic valentines-and-flowers kind of love that he would never be able to give her.

  She had married him for expediency, not for love. She had slept with him because they were husband and wife. She had slept with Desmond Caruso because she believed herself in love with him.

  Over the past week he'd fought with himself to keep from making love to her again, knowing that it would only make it more difficult for them both when they returned to Tamir and she left him. Nor had she made any move toward making love, as if she, too, knew it would only make the inevitable more painful.

  He took another sip of his drink, returning her steady gaze. "Surely you can't find that much interesting to look at in this face," he said dryly.

  "On the contrary, I find your features very fascinating." To his surprise she reached out and placed her palm on his cheek, her fingers cool from the glass they'd been holding.

  It was the first time she'd consciously touched him since the night they had made love and it electrified him with immediate want.

  "Your features are filled with such strength," she said softly. Her fingers warmed as they lingered on his skin. "You radiate determination and authority, and a confidence that is not only admirable, but appealing."

  Again her cheeks reddened slightly, but she didn't remove her hand from him. Instead she trailed her fingertips down his cheek, across the line of his jaw, then lightly brushed them across his mouth.

  It was the most seductive, provocative thing she'd ever done and he grabbed her fingers and kissed them. "If you continue to look at me that way, to touch me, then we'll be in bed before the day is over and I'm not talking about sleeping."

  She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that he'd never heard before. It infused him with heat and accelerated his pulse. Once again she placed her fingers against his lips.

  She leaned so close to him he was surrounded by her scent and could see his own reflection in the shiny depths of her dark-brown eyes. "And your problem with that would be?"

  Before he had an opportunity to reply, motion out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. At a nearby table, the familiar blond-haired man stood, a camera up to his face.

  Farid sprang into action, his stomach knotted with rage. In four long strides he was before the man. He grabbed the camera.

  "Hey! What in the hell do you think you're doing?" the man demanded as Farid ripped open the back of the camera to expose the film.

  "I'm helping you with your processing," he said tersely as he pulled the film completely out.

  The camera was a professional one, and he spied the notepad and pen peeking out of the man's breast pocket. A reporter. He should have known. Dammit, he should have paid more attention
when he'd first had a bad feeling about the man.

  "You can't do that," the man exclaimed in obvious outrage.

  "I just did." Farid set the camera on the table, then turned and walked back to Samira, who had risen from the table with a hand across her mouth.

  "The public has a right to know about Princess Samira's activities," the man yelled to them. "Princess … how about an interview? What are you doing here in Montebello and who is the creep who just screwed up my pictures?"

  "Come on, let's get out of here," Farid said, aware that they had drawn the interested gazes of the people around them. He grabbed her by the arm and together they left the patio area.

  "What was that all about?" she asked.

  "I'm pretty sure the man was a paparazzi. I saw him snapping a picture of us together."

  She shot him a worried glance. "He recognized me."

  "Yes, apparently he did."

  Her frown deepened. "I can just see the headline that might have accompanied our photo in one of the tabloids. Bodyguard or Lover?" She sighed miserably.

  He squeezed her arm. "Don't worry, there won't be a photograph from that particular roll of film."

  She nodded and they walked for a little while in silence. "I wonder how many other photos he might have taken of us over the last week or so?"

  "I don't know." Anger coursed through him once again. He should have confronted the man that day on the beach, when he'd had the feeling that he was following them. "It's my fault," he said, his anger evident in his voice. "I should have been paying more attention."

  "It's not your fault," she protested. "And in any case, there wasn't much you could do about it.

  "It's time to go home, isn't it Farid?" she finally asked in a small voice.

  "Yes, Princess. I think it's time we go home." Farid felt the weight of depression settling over his shoulders.

  He knew their return to Tamir would, in all probability, mark the end of his duty where Samira was concerned. And he also knew that their return to Tamir would mark the beginning of the end of their marriage.

  * * *

  Desmond stroked a hand up Ursula's naked hip, fighting the anger that had grown with each day that had passed. They had just indulged in a rowdy bout of lovemaking, and more than once during the act Desmond had had to stifle his impulse to wrap his hands around her slender neck and squeeze until she breathed no more.

  For over two weeks she'd been dangling her secret before him like a coveted carrot. He'd wined and dined her, played the role of besotted lover and now his patience had reached an end.

  He had also leaned only that morning that Samira was here in Montebello, staying in one of the guest cottages, but he had yet to find a minute to himself in order to see her. Ursula had been like his shadow, constantly in his face since the moment she'd arrived. If he could escape Ursula's presence for just a few minutes, he intended to find Samira and hedge his bet with the lovely princess.

  As if she sensed his restlessness, she raised her head from his chest and looked at him. She didn't look so attractive now, with her eye makeup smeared beneath her eyes and her lipstick gone altogether.

  "That was wonderful, lover," she said, her voice throaty like a contented cat's purr. "Was it good for you?"

  "You know it was," he said dryly. Sex with Ursula was always good. She was an adventurous, uninhibited lover who knew how to please a man.

  She smiled at him, then sat up. "I'll be right back." With the unselfconsciousness of a very young child, she got up from the bed and padded naked into the bathroom. As she closed the door behind her, Desmond got out of the bed and pulled on a pair of boxers.

  Resentment clawed at him as he went to the nearby portable bar and poured himself a healthy dose of scotch. He took a drink and returned to the bed with glass in hand.

  Things were getting worse as far as Desmond's position in the royal family. Too many meetings were taking place behind closed doors, meetings between key players of power.

  Since Prince Lucas's return to Montebello, Desmond had felt himself being systematically squeezed out of all palace affairs, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it one damn bit.

  And the bitch in the bathroom had played him long enough. If she didn't spill her secret tonight, then he was done with her. He still had his ace in the hole … the lovely Princess Samira, although he was beginning to become concerned because he hadn't been able to get in touch with her for almost three weeks.

  Still, if things didn't go well here and he found himself completely on the outs, he would marry Samira and move to Tamir. In that small country he would find a way to ingratiate himself with the Kamal family.

  He took another drink of his scotch and settled back against the thick pillows as Ursula came out of the bathroom. She was now clad in his white terry robe and she'd washed her face and applied fresh makeup.

  She sauntered over to the bar and poured herself a glass of champagne from the bottle he'd opened earlier. As she walked back to the bed she trailed her fingers across the top of his dresser, touching a bottle of his cologne, then the marble base of a statuette of a naked woman that had caught his fancy.

  "A toast," she said as she rejoined him on the bed. She held her glass out toward him. "To our future, may it be as glorious as I think it's going to be."

  He held his glass against his chest and said nothing.

  She frowned. "What's wrong? You aren't going to toast to our future?"

  "I'm not sure we have a future," he replied.

  "What do you mean?" Her frown deepened.

  He took another sip of his scotch, enjoying the slight burn of the alcohol down his throat. It distracted him momentarily from his building rage. "I mean that it's obvious you're either playing games with me or you don't trust me, and in either case that doesn't exactly speak well for us having any sort of future together."

  She quickly set her glass on the nightstand next to the bed, then turned back to him, her expression holding an edge of fear. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You're right, I've been bad."

  She moved closer to him and placed a hand on his chest. "I just wanted to spend some time with you, I wanted us to have some time together before things get crazy."

  Amazement shot through Desmond. The poor bitch fancies herself in love with me, he thought in surprise. Power surged through his veins as he realized he'd made yet another conquest.

  Still he remained silent, utilizing the silence as a tool of displeasure. He could tell it worked when she sat up and grabbed her glass of champagne.

  She took a sip, put the glass back on the stand, then draped herself across him, her head on his chest and her hand once again caressing through the dark hairs on his chest.

  "What do you think it would be worth to the person who could deliver a new heir to Montebello?" she asked.

  Desmond shoved her up off his chest, adrenaline pumping through him at her words. He stared at her in bewilderment. "What are you talking about? What new heir?"

  Ursula tucked a strand of her tawny blond hair behind her ear and once again left the bed. She grabbed her glass of champagne, then walked across the bedroom floor and sat in the brocade chair opposite the bed. "You know that while Prince Lucas was suffering amnesia he worked as a ranch hand on my sister's place in Colorado."

  "I know that," Desmond replied impatiently.

  She took a sip of her champagne, then smiled at him. "But did you know that Prince Lucas and my sister, Jessica, were lovers?" She shook her head. "Poor Jessica, she was so smitten she didn't even think about birth control. And she had no idea she was sleeping with a crown prince. She thought she was sleeping with a down-and-out cowhand named Joe."

  Desmond sat up and placed his glass on the nightstand as the implication of her words sank in. "Your sister is pregnant with Prince Lucas's child?" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and faced her, his blood pumping as hot in his veins as if he were about to have sex.

  "Not anymore. I'm saddened to report that two days after I arr
ived here in Montebello, my poor sister died after giving birth to a healthy son." The glitter in her bright blue eyes belied any sadness she might pretend at her sister's passing.

  "A healthy son? Prince Lucas's child?" Desmond stood and grabbed Ursula's hand and pulled her back on the bed with him. "Why haven't I heard anything about this? No whispers? No rumors? Are you sure the child is his?"

  "Positive. Prince Lucas left the ranch before he knew of Jessica's condition. He has no idea he's a daddy. Nobody knows there is a child."

  He could be a hero again. The knowledge sang through Desmond's veins. He could unite Prince Lucas with his son, give the king and queen their grandson and they would be forever in his debt.

  "You have to tell me everything, Ursula. This is far too important to screw up. I need to know where the baby is now and I need to know exactly what happened to your sister."

  Ursula's features hardened. "Jessica was being a total fool. When she realized that Joe was really the crown prince of Montebello, she refused to use the baby as a pawn. She was in the way of my future."

  A faint chill sliced through Desmond as he stared at her.

  "How did your sister die, Ursula?"

  "How would I know? I wasn't there," she answered flippantly.

  He grabbed her wrist in a tight vise grip. "Don't play games with me. I told you I need to know everything."

  She wrenched her wrist from his grip and rubbed it, giving him a wounded look. "All right, all right. I don't know all the details, I left those up to Gretchen."

  "Gretchen?"

  She nodded. "Gretchen Hanson. She and I have been friends since we were kids. Gretchen's life hasn't exactly been a piece of cake. Since she was twenty and her parents died in an accident, she's been stuck taking care of her idiot brother."

  "Idiot brother?"

  She nodded. "Yeah, Gerald. He's thirty-three and simpleminded. He does odd jobs around Shady Rock, but he's always been a ball and chain around Gretchen's ankles."

  "So, what do this Gretchen and her stupid brother have to do with all this?" Desmond asked with a renewed burst of impatience.