The Princes' Brides: The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride / The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife / The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride

“Now you describe a laboratory experiment.” He moved toward her slowly, gaze locked to hers, and though she hated herself for it, she took a step back. “But that was not what happened in that bathroom or in my bed.”

“There is no reason to have this conversation.”

“Ah, but there is.” He was a breath away now, his eyes glittering with heat as her shoulders hit the wall. “I think you need reminding of what we did that night.”

“I have all the reminding I need.”

“Si. So it would seem. My child in your womb.” His gaze flattened. “Was this part of the great plan?”

Aimee blinked. “What?”

“Such an innocent face, cara.” His mouth twisted with derision. “And such a devious scheme. The clever meeting on the street. The coincidental meeting at the club. The seduction.” He cupped her face, raised it to his until the midnight-blue of his eyes filled her vision. “And now, this. An heir to your grandfather’s kingdom. A child of my blood from the womb of a Stafford-Coleridge-Black descendant.” His gaze darkened. “Such an amazing set of coincidences.”

“You are,” Aimee whispered shakily, “an evil man.”

“I am a logical man. One who assumed you were using protection.”

“I was. It failed.”

“How convenient it failed when failure was most necessary.”

Her eyes filled with angry tears. “I despise you!”

“That really breaks my heart, cara.”

“When I think that—that I let you touch me—”

“You let me touch you?” Nicolo gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You begged me to touch you. I remember every word. Every whisper.”

“I must have been out of my mind.”

Aimee’s face was white with exhaustion. Clearly this was taking its toll and, just for a second, Nicolo’s anger lessened.

She was pregnant. And she had been so ill just a short while ago…

So what? he thought coldly.

She had brought it all on herself. Did she really expect him to believe her birth control protection had failed? A woman like her…Surely she would know all about such things.

And what about you?

The thought whispered its way from the depths of his conscience. He had to admit, it was a fair question.

He had taken Aimee without a condom. And he always used a condom, even if a woman said it wasn’t necessary.

Perhaps he was old-fashioned but protection was a man’s responsibility, especially in today’s sometimes ugly world.

So, what had become of his sense of responsibility that night?

It had flown out the window along with the ability to think with his brain instead of his body.

He’d wanted Aimee more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. Dio, he was getting hard, just remembering.

Nicolo cursed, spun away from her and paced across her kitchen. He ran his hands through his hair and told himself he was crazy.

His entire world had been upended and he was thinking about what it had been like to make love to a woman who was a stranger to him in every way that mattered.

What he had to think about was not that. It was what he should do next.

Should he contact his attorney? Demand to speak with her physician? What were his financial responsibilities, now and in the future?

Whenever an acquaintance married and had a child, he’d think, yes, I suppose I shall have a son, too, sometime in the future. Perhaps because his father had hardly ever been around when he was growing up, being a parent had never seemed anything more than a vague idea.

Now, it was fast becoming reality, assuming a lab test said Aimee Black was telling the truth. Assuming she wanted to remain pregnant.

Nicolo’s jaw tightened.

That would, of course, be her decision.

But it was a great deal to take in all at once. A child. His child. In the womb of a woman who had stirred him so that he’d forgotten everything he’d ever known about self-control.

To hell with that. Angry at Aimee, angry at himself, he swung toward her again.

“I assume you’ve made plans.”

“They don’t concern you.”

“What are those plans?”

“I just said—”

“Whatever you do, you will need proper care.”

“Didn’t you hear me? What I do is not your concern.”

“The message from your doctor. I gather he found you well.”

“She found me well,” Aimee said, with a lift of her chin.

Could a man laugh at such a moment? Nicolo found that at least he could smile.

“I stand corrected. And this—this OP?”

“OB-GYN. And we’re not going to have this conversation.”

“This is a specialist?”

“Damn it, Barbieri—”