Claiming His Pregnant Princess

That was this morning’s newspaper headline. She’d seen it on the newsstand when she’d walked into work. There had been a picture of heaven knew who on the front page of Italy’s most popular gossip magazine. A shadowy photo showing someone—no doubt a model wearing a wig—looking furtively over her shoulder as she was swept through airport security in Germany. Or was it Holland? Utrecht? Somewhere she wasn’t.

Undercover Princess, indeed.

She pulled her stethoscope back into place around her neck and shrugged the headline away.

It was a damn sight better than the handful she’d seen before sneaking away to lick her wounds on her brother’s ridiculous superyacht for six weeks, ducking and dodging the press among the Greek islands.

There were perks to having a privileged family. And, of course, pitfalls.

Abandoned by the Wolf!

Prince Picks Fair Maid over Princess!

Altar-cation for Italy’s Heartbroken Princess.

Heartbroken? Ha! Hardly.

Love-Rat Prince Crumbles at the First Hurdle

That was getting closer. Or maybe:

Pregnant Principessa Prepares for First Solo as Mama.

Not that anyone knew that little bit of tabloid gold.

Doctor by day...

Her hand crept to her belly. Though she wasn’t showing yet, she knew the little tiny bud of a baby was in there...just the size of an apple seed. Maybe a little more? Bigger, smaller... Either way she’d protect that blossoming life with every ounce of power she possessed. Hers and hers alone. How she’d go about living the rest of her life once the baby was born was a problem she hadn’t yet sorted, but she’d get there. Because she didn’t have much of a choice.

Bea swiped at her eyes, forced on a smile, then pulled open the curtain. Nothing like a patient to realign her focus.

“Leah Stokes?”

She scanned the room, bracing herself against the moment that someone recognized her, air straining against her lungs. Her shoulders dropped and she blew a breath slowly past her lips as all the patients looked up, shook their heads, then went back to their magazines and conversations. All except a young twentysomething woman, who was pushing herself up from her chair. She was kitted out in cycling gear and... Oh. Ouch!

“Looks like some serious road rash there.” Bea’s brow furrowed in sympathy and she quickly walked over to the woman and put her arm around her waist. “Lean on me. That’s right. Just put your arm around my shoulder and let me take some of the weight.”

“I don’t think I can make it all the way.” Leah drew in a sharp breath, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks now that help was here.

“Can I get a hand?” Bea called out.

There were a couple of guys in rescue uniforms at the front desk. She called again to get their attention. When the closest one looked up, the blond...

Her breath caught in her throat.

He wasn’t blond. His hair was hay colored—that was how she’d always remembered it... The color of British summertime.

A perfect complement to startling green eyes.

As their gazes grazed, then caught, Bea’s heart stopped beating. Just...froze.

She’d know that face anywhere. It had been two long years. Two painfully long years of trying to convince herself she’d done the right thing, all the while knowing she hadn’t.

Fate had intervened in saving her from a loveless marriage, but what was it doing now?

Taunting her with what she could never have?

She blinked and looked again.

Those green eyes would haunt her until the end of time.

Before she could stop herself she spoke the name she’d thought she’d never utter again.

“Jamie?”

* * *

For a moment Jamie thought he was hallucinating. It couldn’t be her. Beatrice was meant to be on her honeymoon right now. That and no one called him Jamie.

He’d gone back to James the day she’d left. He’d changed a lot of things since then.

“Jamie, is that you?”

For a moment everything blurred into the background as he looked straight into the eyes of the woman he had once thought he would spend his life with.

Still the same dark, get-lost-in-them irises, but there was something new in them. Something...wary. No, that wasn’t right. Something...fragile. Unsure. Things he’d never seen in them before.

Her hair was different. Still short, but... Why had she gone platinum? Her formerly chestnut-brown hair, silky soft, particularly when it brushed against... A shot of heat shunted through him as powerfully as it had the first time he’d touched it. Touched her.

Instinct took over. She was struggling with a patient. Before he could think better of it, he was on the other side of her, calling to his colleague to find a wheelchair.

“What’s your name, love?” he asked the girl, who was whispering words of encouragement to herself in English.

“Leah,” Beatrice answered for her. “Leah Stokes.”

Jamie hid a flinch as the sound of Beatrice’s voice lanced another memory he’d sealed tight. If he’d doubted for a second that this transformed woman—the blond hair, the uncharacteristically plain clothing, the slight shadows hinting at sleepless nights—was the love of his life, he knew it now. She had a husky, made-for-late-night-radio voice that was perfect for a doctor offering words as an immediate antidote for pain. Even better for a lover whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“The exam table isn’t far away. Instead of waiting shall we—” Beatrice began.

He nodded before she’d finished. Once-familiar routines returned to him with an ease he hadn’t expected. The looks that made language unnecessary. The gestures the said everything. They’d done this particular move when he’d “popped in” accidentally on purpose to help out with her trauma training. Carried patients here and there. Practiced the weave of wrists and hands. Supported each other.

“On three?” The rush of memory and emotion almost blindsided him. He’d been a fool to let her go. Not to fight harder.

But a modern-day commoner versus a latter-day prince?

There’d been no contest. He’d seen it in her eyes.

Like a fool, he looked up.