Royal Babies: Claiming His Secret Royal Heir / Pregnant with a Royal Baby! / Secret Child, Royal Scandal

Another glance—he still looked cool, regal and remote, and she couldn’t read any emotion or discern what thoughts might be in his mind. Which would make what she had to say all the more difficult.

For a moment she nearly turned craven. No. This was the right thing to do and she would do it.

‘Frederick?’

‘Sunita.’

‘Can we talk?’

‘Of course.’ He pushed his netbook across the table, rose and crossed to sit in the luxurious leather seat next to hers. ‘Shoot.’

‘I’ve thought about what you said earlier. About me having to accept that you are Amil’s father.’

He raised a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

‘It does matter. I don’t see how we can even consider a future together until we resolve our past. So I want to say I’m sorry.’

She twisted her hands together on her lap, recalling Frederick’s expression when he’d looked at Amil as if his son was the most precious being in the universe.

‘I’m sorry you missed out on Amil’s first months.’

However justified her decision, Frederick could never have that time back—would never be able to hold his newborn son in his arms, see his first smile, run his finger over his gum to reveal that first tooth.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘OK.’

‘But it’s not OK, is it?’

‘No.’ He closed his eyes, then reopened them. ‘No. It isn’t OK that you hid my son’s existence from me.’

‘I couldn’t take the risk.’

‘Yes. You could have. You chose not to.’

Rationalisations lined up in her vocal cords but she uttered none of them. Bottom line—he was right. Her choice had meant Frederick had missed out on something infinitely precious.

‘Yes, I did. And all the reasons I gave you earlier were true. But it’s more than that.’

She inhaled deeply. She had no wish to confide this to him—she wasn’t even sure she wanted to acknowledge it herself. But there it was again—the memory of the way Frederick had looked at Amil, the fact that he wanted to be part of his son’s life and wanted to create a stable family unit. He deserved a true explanation.

‘I thought history was repeating itself. I thought you would be like...’ Her voice trailed off, her brain wishing it could reverse track and pull the words back.

‘Like who?’

The gentleness of his voice surprised her—gave her the momentum to carry on.

‘Like my father. He was a Londoner, on holiday in India with a group of friends when he met my mother. They fell in love—or so she believed. She fell pregnant and she did choose to tell him, and all she could see was a tornado of dust as he disappeared. Straight back, road-runner-style, to his fiancée in London.’

Even now the enormity of her father’s selfishness had the power to stun her—he must have understood the repercussions. They would have been complex enough in any culture, but in India there had been added layers of complication that transcended even betrayal and heartbreak.

Understanding showed in the expression on Frederick’s face. ‘That must have been tough for your mother.’

‘Yes. It was. It changed the entire trajectory of her life. Her family was horrified and threw her out—she was only nineteen, and she had to fend for herself in a society which by and large had condemned her. And a lot of that is down to my father and his rejection of her—and me. I know we were in different circumstances—you didn’t lie to me—but I knew you didn’t want children. I didn’t want to hear you say the same words my own father had—I didn’t want Amil to feel the sense of rejection I did.’

Sunita forced herself to hold his gaze, to keep her tone level. This verged on the excruciating—touchy-feely confidences were not her bag at all.

‘It seemed better, easier, less painful, to bring Amil up on my own. I figured what he didn’t know and you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone.’

There was a silence, and then he reached out, touching her forearm lightly. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to your mother and to you. I promise you—I will never reject Amil.’

There could be no doubt as to the sincerity in his voice, and in the here and now she believed he meant every word. But she knew that good intentions did not always turn into actions. Her father must have once believed the empty promises he’d made to make up for his past, to be a good parent.

‘It will not happen,’ he repeated, as if he sensed her doubts. ‘And now let’s put the past behind us. I wish you had told me about Amil earlier, but I do understand why you made the choices you did. I believe now that we need to move forward, put the past behind us and focus on our present and our future. Deal?’

He held out his hand and Sunita looked down at it. So perfect—strong, masculine, capable... Capable of the gentlest of caresses, capable of...

Close it down, Sunita.

Too late—images scrambled her mind and for a moment she was unable to help herself. She closed her eyes, let the sensation dance over her skin. But it was more than desire—she knew that this deal signified understanding and forgiveness, and that made her head whirl as well.

Then she opened her eyes and reached out, clasped his hand and worked to still the beat of her heart. ‘Deal,’ she said. The syllable emerged with way too much violence, and she dropped his hand as if it were burning her. Which in a sense it was.

She looked down, then sneaked a look up at him—had he seen her reaction? Of course he had. It didn’t take a forensic degree to know that. Embarrassment flushed her skin even as she couldn’t help but wonder if this stupid physical reaction was a mutual one.

Her gaze met his and against all odds her pulse quickened further. His hazel eyes had darkened, the heat in them so intense her skin sizzled as her hormones cartwheeled.

Nothing else mattered except this.

Her lips parted as he rose, and his eyes never once left hers as he held out a hand. Without thought she put her hand in his, and he tugged her up so they stood mere centimetres apart.

Oh, so gently, but with a firmness that neither expected nor brooked denial, his hands encircled her waist and pulled her body flush against his. The feel of him, of the hard, muscular wall of his chest, made her gasp, and she looped her arms round his neck, accidentally brushing the soft skin on his nape.

An oath dropped from his lips and then those self-same lips touched hers and she was lost.

The kiss oh-so-familiar and yet so much more than before; the tang of coffee and the hint of strawberry jam, the sheer rollick of sensation that coursed her blood, made her feel alive and made her want more. He deepened the kiss and she pressed against him, caught in this moment that felt so damn right.

Stop. What the hell was she doing?

She wrenched out of his arms so hard she nearly tumbled over, putting a hand out to steady herself against the back of the chair.

For a moment silence reigned, broken only by the sound of their jagged breathing. Sunita tried to force herself to think through the fog of desire that refused to disperse. She couldn’t let herself succumb to him again—she couldn’t. Two years ago she’d lost her self-respect—now she could lose even more than that. Her attraction was a weakness he could play on—something that might cloud her judgement when she needed it most.

‘I’m sorry. That was stupid.’

He ran a hand down his face, almost as if to wipe away all emotion, all desire, and when he met her gaze his expression was neutralised. ‘No need to be sorry. That was a good thing.’

‘How do you figure that out?’