His Heir, Her Honour / Meddling With A Millionaire: His Heir, Her Honour

Today had proved his failure on that front all too well. Now, he had a full week with her. Seven days to level things with her, setting the course for the rest of his life. He would either tie her to him so they could parent their child or work her out of his system so he could walk away if she’d lied about the baby’s paternity.

To accomplish his goal, he needed to get her away from here, in a setting under his control, no surprises from work or the press.

He fished his phone from the inside of his suit coat and thumbed speed dial for his brother Duarte, the next in line after him for their father’s tarnished crown.

Before the second ring even finished, his brother’s voice came across speakerphone, “Speak to me, brother.”

Carlos didn’t bother apologize for calling late, even more so for Duarte who was three hours ahead on East Coast time. He and his siblings didn’t speak every other day by any means, but when one called, they dropped everything else.

“Just calling to check up on our father.” Enrique Medina had been near death for over six months from a failing liver. “How’s he doing?”

“Still holding on. He’s tough. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he will beat this after all.”

Carlos knew the poor odds too well from a medical perspective so he opted to switch the subject instead. “I may be coming for a visit in a few days. I’m not going to say anything to him until I’m sure—” sure if the baby is mine “—but want to give you the heads-up.”

“Just name the time and Kate and I will be there.”

The sound of rustling sheets and a sleepy female mumble echoed through the phone line. Duarte was engaged to a reporter, a surprisingly illogical choice, especially given his brother’s usual methodical ways. But he’d fallen and fallen hard. There’d been no doubting that when Carlos had seen him with her at Antonio’s wedding a couple of months ago.

Normally, he balked at returning to the isolated compound where they’d relocated after escaping San Rinaldo, so many bad memories linked to their new “home.” The island complex had been outfitted with a top-notch physical rehab center, where he’d spent most of his teenage years. His brothers had been his only friends during those days, and even so with the surgeries and recoveries, there hadn’t been much time to learn about relationships.

Although he felt anything but “brotherly” around Lilah.

His gaze shifted from the shoreline to the historic brick complex housing Lilah’s restored condo. “I may be bringing someone with me.”

“Care to share details?”

“Not yet.”

Looking up to the tenth floor—the penthouse—he could swear he saw Lilah outlined in her window for a second before she clicked off the light. Preparing for bed? He hardened at the thought of peeling off her clothes. Lowering her onto the mattress. Imprinting himself on her. And hoping like hell that baby was his so he could take Lilah again and again, and damn the consequences to his carefully constructed world.

He hauled his attention off her condo and back to the conversation. “She and I are going to spend some time together over the next few days while I check on a couple of Father’s holdings.”

Enrique owned investment properties around the U.S., and even a few outside the States. Savvy financial purchases, yes, but they’d also been bought to create more confusion over where the deposed king had settled.

Enrique had already begun parceling off parts of his estates to each of his sons. While Carlos couldn’t have cared less about any inheritance, he saw the wisdom in protecting the family interests if for no other reason than he could donate additional monies to the charities of his choice. He could make it possible for more children to receive the surgeries they needed, to have a chance at enjoying their youth in a way he couldn’t.

However, he refused to wallow in self-pity or bemoan all he’d lost. He preferred to charge forward and take control of the future, and normally he succeeded. Except on a day like today, the past, the injury, the acute cut of loss, were thrown in his face in an unavoidable way. Flexing his aching leg, he pushed back the temptation to imagine the face of an infant, his child.

God help Lilah if she’d lied to him.

And God help him if she hadn’t. Because then he couldn’t seal himself off from the past with a solitary existence any longer.

“Duarte, I’ll keep in touch. Sleep well, my brother.”

He disconnected the call, his eyes drawn up to the darkened penthouse where Lilah slept. Alone for tonight, but not much longer.

Tomorrow, he would begin his campaign to get back in her good graces with a trip to the family lodge in Vail, Colorado. Hopefully a few intimate nights by the fire would melt her walls and burn away the cold fist that had stayed lodged in his chest since the morning she’d left his bed.

Four

Lilah had been running full-out since the minute she’d rolled out of bed this morning. The day had been jam-packed with continuous phone calls to the hospital in attempts to clear her schedule for a week while she packed, dressed and prepped her condo for her reckless getaway with Carlos.

Now, ensconced in his limousine on the way to the airport, the enormity of what she’d done washed over her until her fingers dug deeply into the supple leather seat.

Late-day rain pattered on the limo’s clear sunroof, streaks muting the already cloudy sky. Much like her nerves, it made her apprehension all the worse. She could barely believe she’d agreed to this crazy plan of his, an impulsive idea so unlike the normally methodical man. Perhaps that’s why she’d agreed. He must be every bit as thrown by life as she was right now to even suggest such a plan.

Although he looked anything but rattled as he checked updates from the hospital on his phone. While he may have transferred his cases to another physician, he obviously hadn’t off-loaded the concerns from his mind. Intense concentration furrowed his brow, his dark, chocolate-brown eyes taking on a distant look as he stared out the window, his mind obviously still on his young patients.

Even in casual jeans and a black cable sweater, he was one hundred percent in charge. His dedication softened her heart, which kept her from tapping on the privacy window and asking the chauffer to take her home.

Today, Carlos was particularly involved in checking up on his very young patient from yesterday’s surgery. The deep, low rumble of Carlos’s bass filled the roomy limo with his exotic Spanish accent. Even with the blast of the vehicle’s heater, the chill of the damp day seeped into her and made her ache to cuddle into the heat of the warm-blooded—undoubtedly hot—man beside her.

Her cashmere blend dress suddenly itchy against her oversensitive skin, she scratched the back of her neck, tucking her hand under the concealed zipper.

Carlos clipped his phone to his jeans and turned his attention toward her. “I assume everything is fine for you to travel. I didn’t even think to ask last night and I should have. My apologies.”

His concern touched her. “I spoke with my doctor this morning to be sure. And yes, travel is fine or I wouldn’t be here. I packed my vitamins and am taking care of myself.”

“Would you like something to drink? Some spring water?” He gestured to the gleaming silver minifridge. “A light snack?”

“No, thank you.” Her hands were trembling so much she would likely spill it anyway. “Maybe later.”

“Any morning sickness?” he asked in his oh-so-familiar physician tone.

“Some,” she responded slowly, curious as to his grilling. “The nausea’s not pleasant, to say the least, but tolerable.”

Suspicion niggled as she wondered if his questions had more to do with relegating her to a safe, distant role of patient rather than genuine concern for her, for their baby.

Hurt grated against her already ragged nerves. “Why the sudden interest in this pregnancy? Are you searching for clues that I’m not as far along as I say? Is that what this trip is really all about? You must realize a person can travel ‘til nearly the eighth month.”

He stretched his arm along the back of her seat, inches away from encircling her shoulders. The scent of him mingled with leather and new car smell. “Let’s not begin a fight. This time together is about finding common ground.”

While he was right on that point, resentment still simmered. “How can you simply shut down unpleasantness in a snap? I’m not accustomed to compartmentalizing my life that way.”

“How then do you function during a crisis at the hospital?” he retorted without missing a beat.

“That’s different.” Wasn’t it? “That’s a unique moment in time. Life isn’t one continual crisis.”

He grunted noncommittally. “If you say so.”

Was her pregnancy being relegated to crisis level? So, then, what was this time with her through his eyes? Damage control? “Surely you must have some way to relax, making time to lower those thick walls you put around yourself.”

A one-sided grin creased his cheek but never reached his eyes. “Letting down your guard is highly overrated, not to mention dangerous.”

Dangerous? A pall settled over their conversation. “Because you’re royalty?”

Which meant her child was a royal as well. She resisted the urge to lean back into the safety, the protection, of the hard-muscled beam of his arm.