The Prince's Secret Baby

She shook her head. “You amaze me, Rule.”

He arched a raven-black eyebrow. “In a good way, I hope?”

“Oh, yeah. In a good way. You make me want to believe all the beautiful things that you say to me.”

He took her hand. Enchantment settled over her, at the warmth of his touch, at the lovely, lazy pulse of pleasure that seemed to move through her with every beat of her heart, just to be with him, to have her hand in his, flesh to flesh. “Would you prefer if I were cruel?”

The question shocked her a little. “No. Never. Why would you ask that?”

He turned her hand over, raised it to his lips, pressed a kiss in the heart of her palm. The pulse of pleasure within her went lower, grew hotter. “You fascinate me.” His breath fanned her palm. And then, tenderly, he lowered their hands to the snowy tablecloth and wove his fingers with hers. “I want to know all about you. And truthfully, some women like a little more spice from a man. They want to be kept guessing. ‘Does he care or not, will he call or not?’ They might say they’re looking for a good man who appreciates them. But they like … the dance of love, they revel in the uncertainty of it all.”

She leaned closer to him, because she wanted to. Because she could. “I like you as you are. Don’t pretend to be someone else. Please.”

“I wouldn’t. But I can be cruel.” He said it so casually, so easily. And she realized she believed him. She saw the shining blade of his intention beneath the velvet sheath that was his considerable charm.

“Please don’t. I’ve had enough of mean men. I …” She let the words trail off. The waiter was approaching their table. Perfect timing. The subject was one that desperately needed dropping.

But a flick of a glance from Rule and the waiter turned around and walked away. “Continue, please,” Rule prompted softly. “What men have been cruel to you?”

Way to ruin a beautiful evening, Syd. “Seriously. You don’t need to hear it.”

“But I want to hear it. I meant what I said. I want to know about you, Sydney. I want to know everything.” His eyes were so dark. She could get lost in them, lost forever, never to be found. And the really scary thing was that she almost felt okay with being lost forever—as long as he was lost right along with her.

“What can I say? There’s just something about me …” Lord. She did not want to go there. She tried to wrap it up with a generalized explanation. “I seem to attract men who say they like me because I’m strong and intelligent and capable. And then they get to work trying to tear me down.”

Something flared in his eyes. Something … dangerous. “Who has tried to tear you down?”

“Do we have to get into this?”

“No. We don’t. But sometimes it’s better, I think, to go ahead and speak frankly of the past.” Now his eyes were tender again. Tender and somehow completely accepting.

She let out a slow, surrendering sigh. “I lived with a guy when I was in law school. His name was Ryan. He was fun and a little bit wild. On the day we moved in together, he quit his job. He would lie on the sofa drinking those great big cans of malt liquor, watching ESPN. When I tried to talk to him about showing a little motivation, things got ugly fast. He said that I had enough ambition and drive for both of us and next to me he felt like a failure, that I had as good as emasculated him—and would I get out of the damn way, I was blocking his view of the TV?”

Rule gave one of those so-European shrugs of his. “So you got rid of him.”

“Yes, I did. When I kicked him out, he told me he’d been screwing around on me. He’d had to, he said. In order to try and feel at least a little like a man again. So he was a cheater and a liar, too. After Ryan, I took a break from men. I stayed away from serious entanglements for the next five years. Then I met Peter. He was an attorney, like me. Worked for a different firm, a smaller one. We started going out. I thought he was nothing like Ryan, not a user or runaround or a slacker in any way. He never formally moved in with me. But he was … with me, at my house, most nights. And then he started pressuring me to get him in at Teale, Gayle and Prosser.” She said the name of her firm with another long sigh.

“You weren’t comfortable with that?”

“No, I wasn’t. And I told him so. I believe in networking, in helping the other guy out. But I didn’t want my boyfriend working at the same firm with me, especially not if he was hired on my say-so. There are just too many ways that could spell trouble. He said he understood.”

Rule still had his fingers laced with hers. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “But he didn’t understand.”

“Not in the least. He was angry that I wouldn’t give him ‘a hand up,’ as he put it. Things kind of devolved from there. He said a lot of brutal things to me. I was still an associate at the firm then. At a party, Peter got drunk and complained about me to one of the partners. By the time he and I were over, I …” She sought the right way to say it.

He said it for her. “You decided you were through with men.” She glanced away. He caught her chin, lightly, gently, and guided it back around so that she met his eyes again. “Are you all right?” He sounded honestly concerned. She realized that her answer really mattered to him.

She swallowed, nodded. “I’m okay. It’s just … when I talk about all that, I feel like such a loser, you know?”

“Those men. Ryan and Peter. They are the losers.” He held her gaze. “I notice you haven’t told me their last names.”

“And I’m not going to. As I said, it’s long over for me, with both of them.”

He gave her his beautiful smile. “There. That’s what I was waiting to hear.” He let go of her hand—but only to touch her in another way. With his index finger, he traced the line of her jaw, stirring shivers as he went. He caught one of the loose curls of hair that Lani had pulled free of her French twist, and rubbed it between his fingers. “Soft,” he whispered. “Like your skin. Like your tender heart …”

“Don’t be too sure about that. I’m not only prickly, I can be a raving bitch,” she whispered back. “Just ask Ryan and Peter.”

“Give me their last names. Ryan and Peter and I will have a long talk.”

“Hah. I don’t think so.”

He touched her cheek then, a brushing caress of such clear erotic intent that her toes curled inside her Jimmy Choos. “As long as you’re willing to give men another chance.”

“I could be. If the right man ever came along.”

He took her untouched champagne flute and handed it to her. Then he picked up his own. “To the right man.”

She touched her glass to his, echoed, “The right man.” It was excellent champagne, each tiny bubble like a burst of magic on her tongue. And when she set the glass down again, she said, “I always wanted to have children.”

He answered teasingly, “However, not nine of them.”

Suddenly, it came to her. She realized where she’d been going with her grim little tale of disappointed love. It hadn’t really been a case of total over-sharing, after all.

“Actually,” she said. “This is serious.”

“All right.”

“There’s something I really do need to tell you.”

His expression changed, became … so still. Waiting. Listening. He tipped his head to the side in that strangely familiar way he had. “Tell me.”

She wanted—needed—for him to know about Trevor. If learning about Trev turned him off, well, she absolutely had to know that now, tonight. Before she got in any deeper with him. Before she let herself drown in those beautiful black eyes. “I …” Her mouth had gone desert-dry. She swallowed, hard.

This shouldn’t be so difficult, shouldn’t matter so very much. She hardly knew this man. Holding his interest and his high regard shouldn’t be this important to her.

Yet it was important. Already. She cared. A lot. Way, way too much.

He seemed too perfect. He was too perfect. He was her dream man come to vivid, vibrant, tempting life. The first minute she saw him, she’d felt as though she already knew him.

Yes, she should be more wary. It wasn’t like her to be so easily drawn in.

And yet she was. She couldn’t stop herself.

She thought of her grandmother, who had been a true believer in love at first sight. Grandma Ellen claimed she had fallen for Sydney’s grandfather the first time she met him. She’d also insisted that Sydney’s father had fallen in love with her mother at first sight.

Could falling in love at first sight be a genetic trait? Sydney almost smiled at the thought. She’d believed herself to be in love before—and been wrong, wrong, wrong.

But with Ryan, it hadn’t been like this. Or with Peter. Nothing like this, with either of them.