The Prince's Secret Baby

But of course, it had to end. He took her shoulders again and reluctantly lifted his mouth from hers.

“Tomorrow,” he said, gazing down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, holding her a willing captive with his light touch at her shoulders, with his tender glance.

“Yes,” she vowed, though she didn’t even know yet what he planned for tomorrow.

He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, and then up to her temple, causing those lovely shivers to course across her skin. “In the morning? I could come and collect you and your little boy. We could … visit a park, maybe. A park with swings and slides, so he’ll have a chance to play. My little niece and nephew love nothing so much as a few hours in the sunshine, with a sandbox and a slide.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a niece and a nephew.”

He nodded. “My older brother, Max, has two children—say yes to tomorrow.”

“But I already did, didn’t I?”

“Say it again.”

“Yes—and why don’t you come for breakfast first? You can meet my best friend, Lani, who has a degree in English literature, is a fabulous cook and takes care of Trevor while I’m at work.”

“I would love breakfast. And to meet your friend, Lani.”

“I have to warn you. Breakfast comes early at my house.”

“Early it is.”

“Seven-thirty, then.” She took his hand, automatically threading her fingers with his, feeling the thrill of touching him—and also a certain rightness. Her hand fit perfectly in his. “Come on.” She pulled him back toward her car. “I’ll give you my address and phone number.”

“Where’s Michael?” Sydney asked, when she let herself in the house at quarter of eleven and found Lani sitting on the sofa alone, wearing Tweety Bird flannel pajama bottoms and a yellow cami top.

“How was the big date?” Lani asked, with a too-bright smile.

Sydney slipped off her red shoes and dropped to the sofa beside her friend. “It was better than … anything. Wonderful. I’m crazy about him. He’s coming for breakfast at seven-thirty.”

“Good. I can check him out. See if he’s good enough for you.”

“He’s good enough. You’ll see. I thought maybe one of your fabulous frittatas …”

“You got it.” Lani took off her glasses and set them on the side table.

“Hey.” Sydney waited until her friend looked at her again. Then she guided a thick swatch of Lani’s dark, curly hair behind her ear. “You didn’t answer my question about Michael.”

Lani’s big eyes were a little sad, and her full mouth curved slightly down. “Tonight, when I watched you getting ready to meet this new guy, putting on your makeup, fixing your hair, waffling over that perfect red dress …”

“Yeah? Tonight, what?”

“I thought, ‘That. What Syd’s feeling. I want that.’“

“Oh, sweetheart …”

Lani’s shoulders drooped. “And then you left and Michael came over and I thought what a nice guy he is … but I couldn’t go on with him. Because he’s not the guy.” She laughed a little, shaking her head. “Do you know what I mean?”

Sydney reached out. Lani sagged against her and they held each other. “Yeah,” Sydney whispered into her friend’s thick, fragrant hair. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

The next morning, the doorbell rang at seven-thirty on the nose.

“I get it!” Trevor fisted his plump hand and tapped the table twice. “Knock, knock!” he shouted. “Who’s there?”

Sydney kissed his milk-smeared cheek. “Eat your cereal, Bosco.”

“Banana!” Trev giggled. “Banana who?”

Lani said, “The coffee’s ready and the frittata’s in the oven. Answer the door, Syd.”

“Orange. Banana.” Trevor was totally entranced with his never-quite-right knock-knock joke. He banged his spoon gleefully against the tabletop. “Orange your … banana …”

Lani took his spoon from him. “Well, I guess I’ll have to feed you, since you’re not doing it.”

“Lani, no! I eat. I do it myself.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

She handed him back the spoon. “Go,” she said to Sydney, canting her head in the general direction of the front door.

Her heart doing somersaults inside her chest, Sydney went to let Rule in.

“Hi.” She said it in the most ridiculous, breathy little voice.

“Sydney,” he replied in wonderful melted-caramel tones. Could a man get more handsome every time a woman saw him? Rule did. The bright April sunshine made his hair gleam black as a crow’s wing, and his smile had her heart performing a forward roll. He had a big yellow Tonka dump truck in one hand and a red ball in the other.

“I see you’ve come armed for battle,” she said.

He shrugged. “In my experience, little boys like trucks. And balls.”

“They do. Both. A lot.” She stared at him. And he stared back at her. Time stopped. The walls of her foyer seemed to disappear. There was only the man on the other side of the open door. He filled up the world.

Then, from back in the kitchen, she heard her son calling out gleefully, “Orange. Banana. Banana. Orange …”

Lani said something. Probably, “Eat your cereal.”

“It’s the never-ending knock-knock joke,” she said, and then wondered if they even had knock-knock jokes in his country. “Come in, come in …”

He did. She shut the door behind him. “This way …”

He caught her elbow. Somehow he had managed to shift the toy truck to the arm with the ball in it. “Wait.” He said it softly.

She turned back to him and he looked down at her and …

Was there anything like this feeling she had with him? So fine and shining and full of possibility. He pulled her to him.