Carrying A King's Child

Except that Rafael Montoro IV was a playboy and they’d had a fling. She wrinkled her nose as she tried to come up with something else to call it, but a two-night stand didn’t cover it, either. One weekend spent in each other’s arms. She could lose herself in the memories if she wasn’t careful.

Hell, she hadn’t been careful. Which was precisely why she was here. Pregnant and determined. She walked down the hallway toward the sounds of Jay-Z playing in the distance. She paused in the doorway of his bedroom.

She’d had to charm her way upstairs, but no way could this wait another moment. Rafe needed to know before he left. She needed to tell him.

She felt queasy and swallowed hard.

There were right and wrong ways to deliver this news, and as appealing to her sense of outrage as it would be to throw up on his carpet, she was hoping for a little sophistication. Just a tiny bit.

After all, she’d seen pictures of his sister and jet-setting mother, though his mother wasn’t really in the picture since her divorce from Rafe III. Still she was an elegant woman.

She cleared her throat.

She listened to Jay-Z and Kanye West singing about how there’s no church in the wild. She almost laughed out loud as she watched Rafe stop packing his suitcase and start to rap along. She leaned against the doorjamb and admitted her anger was really fear. She wasn’t mad at him. She just wanted him to be a different kind of guy so that she could have the fairy tale she wanted.

Not a castle and a title, but a man who loved her. A man who wanted to share his life with her and raise children by her side.

And no matter how fun Rafe was, his path lay somewhere else. He was duty-bound to become the constitutional monarch of Alma. She was determined to return to Key West and live out her life. She wasn’t interested in being involved with a royal; besides, she’d read in the papers that the heirs would have to marry people with spotless reputations.

He was really getting into dancing around the room and rapping.

She applauded when he finished and he turned to look at her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, shock apparent on his face.

His body was tense. She suspected he was a tiny bit embarrassed to be caught rapping. Nerves made her mouthy. She knew that. So she should just say she was sorry for using her friend’s key to get into his penthouse.

But that wasn’t her way.

“Hello to you, too, Your Majesty. Should I curtsy or something? I’m not sure of the rules.”

“Neither am I,” he admitted. “Juan Carlos doesn’t like it when I am seen doing something...well, so American but also undignified.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she said. “Who is Juan Carlos?”

“Juan Carlos Salazar II, my cousin, head of the Montoro Family Trust and advocate of decorum at all times.”

“He sounds like a stuffed shirt,” she said. “I doubt I’d meet with his approval.”

“Emily, what are you doing here? And how did you get up here? Security is usually very hard to get past.”

“I have my ways.”

“And they are?” he asked.

“My charm,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’m going to have to warn them about feisty redheads.”

“I actually used a key that I procured from your maid service.”

“You’ve been reduced to criminal behavior. Curiouser and curiouser. Why are you here? Did you decide that you wanted to give me a proper send-off?” he asked. He strode over to her, his big body moving with an economy of motion that captivated her. The same way it had when she’d first glimpsed him in the crowded Key West bar where she worked as a bartender.

He was tall—well over six feet—and muscly, but he moved with grace and she could honestly watch him all day long.

“Why are you here, Red? You said goodbye was forever.”

Goodbye.

She’d meant it when he’d left. He was a rich guy from Miami and experience had shown her they were only in Key West for one thing. Having given it to him she’d wanted to ensure she didn’t give into temptation a second time.

“I did mean it.”

“Help me, Red. I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” he said.

She chewed her lower lip. Up close she could see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes.

He was easily one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. He’d make a killing in Hollywood with those thick eyelashes and those cheekbones. It wouldn’t matter if he could act, just putting him on screen would draw the masses in.

She wished she were immune.

“I’m pregnant.”

He stumbled backward and looked at her as if she’d just started speaking in tongues.

* * *

Pregnant!

He stepped back and walked over to the Bose speaker on the dresser to turn off the music. A baby. From what he knew of the tough-as-nails-bartender, he could guess she wouldn’t be standing in his penthouse apartment if he wasn’t the father. His first reaction was joy.

A child.

It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he wanted. He hardly knew Emily so had no idea if she was here for money or something else. But knowing his child was growing inside of her stirred something primal. Something very powerful. The baby was his.

Maybe that was just because it gave him something to think about other than the recent decision that had been made for him.

He’d been dreading his trip to Alma. He was flattered that the country that had once driven his family out had come back to them and asked him to be the next king, but he had grown up here in Florida. He didn’t want to be a stuffy royal.

He didn’t want European paparazzi following him around and trying to catch him doing anything that would bring shame to his family. God, knew he worked and played hard.

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Emily asked.

He had. A baby. Lord knew his father hadn’t been the best and as a result, Rafe had thought he’d never have kids. It wasn’t as if either of his parents had set a great example. And he was still young, but damn if he wasn’t feeling much older every day.