Her Prince's Secret Son (5 page)

Sara tired to peer around him. “Who is the nurse?”

“Maria is with him tonight.”

Maria. Regardless of her smiling face, the woman bothered Sara. Nonetheless, she could see the attendant was not going to give in, and there was little she could do until the morning.

A niggle of an idea came to her. Perhaps there
was
something she could do.

Heedless of her bare feet and nightgown, she hobbled to the elevator; leaned, breathless, against the interior; and rode up to the family wing. The floor was quiet and devoid of staff, lit only by sconces along each wall.

In the time she’d been in the castle, she’d learned the power of talking to the castle employees. Because of Antonia especially, Sara knew exactly which room belonged to Prince Aleksandre. Normally, Nico, too, slept in this wing, near his father.

Hurrying now, lest a security camera spot her, she made her way to the door and knocked softly.

“Aleks,” she called. Annoyingly fatigued from the journey, her breath came in small puffs.

The door opened so quickly she could have sworn he’d been standing just inside. Yet, his disheveled appearance said he’d been asleep—and restless.

Sara’s pulse skipped a beat.

Wearing only pajama bottoms, the prince looked as he had that one fabulous weekend long ago. Strong, masculine, and oh-so sexy.

She hadn’t considered
this
before rushing up here.

Sara!” He ran splayed fingers over his head. “What are you doing?”

“Nico.”

Suddenly coming to attention, he grasped her arm.

“What’s wrong? Is he worse?”

“No, no. I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in. I need to be with him. You promised—”

Eyes narrowing, Aleks yanked her closer. Her side ached but she hardly noticed. Aleks’s naked chest was warm and muscular and brushing the front of her thin nightgown.

His Royal Majesty was unfazed. “Are you telling me that you’ve come up here to my room and awakened me, because you want to pay Nico a visit in the middle of the night?”

She tossed her chin up. “Yes.”

In the dim lighting his black eyes glittered. “No. He has round-the-clock nurses. Isn’t Maria with him?”

“I don’t trust that woman.”

Aleks scoffed.

“You have no idea what you’re saying. Maria is a trusted and loyal friend. Her son died—” He stopped, pain flickering through his eyes. He pressed his lips into a line and glanced down the hallway before tugging on her arm. “Come inside. I do not want everyone in the palace gossiping about the two of us in our nightclothes. You’ve caused enough gossip already.”

“I want to see my son.”

Pulling her inside, he shut the door and snapped on a lamp. Though they were in a small entrance, she could see through to a bedroom. The large room was dominated by a massive bed, rumpled now by the prince’s fitful sleep. The air was redolent with the scent of warm, somnolent male.

She crossed her arms, suddenly a little too aware of her state of undress and of the partially clad man standing too close for comfort. Her eyes flicked up to his and she saw him swallow. A glimmer of awareness danced between them, as unwelcome as a skunk in church.

Her breath became shallow and quick, nerves she hoped, and not attraction.

But oh, Prince Aleksandre was most definitely attractive. The cover models on her romance novels couldn’t begin to compare to this man. She didn’t want to stare, but she couldn’t help it. He was a beautiful male specimen. Her gaze roamed over his honed shoulders and chest and down to the hard ridges of his belly. What she saw there made her gasp.

“Aleks!” Without a thought to the impropriety, she touched the thick, ragged mass of scars along the left side of his belly. “You’ve been hurt. Badly.”

In a steel grip, his hand trapped hers against his hot skin. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie.” She looked up at his hard face. No wonder he’d changed. “What happened? Tell me.”

His nostrils flared.

“War is ugly, even for those who lead. My men and I were hit by a grenade.” Briefly, his eyes squeezed shut as if the memory was too much to bear.

She studied his face, wondering what other secrets lay behind the aloof facade of Prince Aleksandre. He had suffered, too. He’d been hurt, badly wounded in war. A war that had occurred while she was pregnant with Nico. The ramifications of that were something she needed to think about.

A powerful desire to kneel at his side and kiss the wounds set her to trembling.

“I should go.” But her fingers were trapped beneath his, and the feel of his hot flesh was a powerful aphrodisiac.

“No.” His lips barely moved but his eyes glittered like onyx in sunlight.

She had to get out of here before she did something totally inappropriate. She tugged. He held on.

“Am I under house arrest or something?”

A short laugh escaped him, dispelling some of the tension.
He lifted her hand from his side but didn’t release it. “You wouldn’t make it back to your room right now. Sit down. You’ve overdone. You’re shaking.”

She most certainly was. “My side hurts a little.”

The incision was as good an excuse as any.

He motioned to a chair and guided her down. The heat from his hand burned into her skin long after he stepped away.

“You shouldn’t have come up here.”

He was right about that.

“I need to see my son.”

A hint of a smile lifted his mouth. “You are a single-minded woman.”

She’d thought so, too, but five minutes with Aleks had her brain scrambled. Here, alone in his apartments, without the trappings of royalty around him, he was so much more approachable, more human, and much more the Aleks she’d loved.

“I will never do anything to hurt Nico. Let me see him at will. Whether you believe me or not, I love him. I would willingly give him my heart if that’s what he needed.”

“For compensation.”

“Let’s not have this argument again. I do not want your blood money.” She touched her side. “My intentions should be clear by now.”

And if he hadn’t figured out that those intentions were good, there was nothing she could do about it.

He said nothing for several beats of time, but his glittering eyes watched her like a cat deciding if a mouse was worthy of his attention. She could see the wheels turning, thinking of the payment he’d promised, as though that mattered to her.

“Is this invasion of my bedroom a ploy to upset me or are you truly concerned for Nico? My mother suspects you have ulterior motives—beyond the payment, of course.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

One eyebrow rose imperiously. “For good reason.”

Sara bent forward in the chair, cradling her side, though perversely glad for the aching reminder that she had finally done something right for her child. “I made a terrible mistake.”

“Indeed.”

“Regardless of what you believe, Aleks, I didn’t think you were coming back. I never received any messages from you. Nothing. I lost hope.” And now she wondered, had the warrior prince been too ill to contact her? But if so, how had he gained custody of Nico?

Again, that pensive silence and then in a faraway murmur, he said, “I wish I could believe that.”

So did she.

“You said our relationship was nothing but a fling.”

He went still, his gaze somewhere in the distance. When he spoke, the word was soft and held no rancor, but it cut just the same. “True.”

Regardless of his fury at her for putting Nico up for adoption, the prince himself had never intended to return.

“I’ll go.” She stood and headed for the door. Aleks remained where he was.

As she started out, she heard him sigh.

“Go to Nico,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon I’ve dressed.”

“S
HE WAS SEEN COMING
from your rooms, Aleksandre. What are you thinking? You’ve fallen under her spell again, haven’t you?”

“Don’t be foolish.”

Last night had rattled him, but his mother was already distressed enough. He would certainly not tell her as much. Sara in her white gown and flowing red hair had stirred his desire as well as his memory. When she’d touched his scars and looked at him with wide, compassionate eyes, he’d been sorely tempted to pull her into his arms and tell her every place inside him that hurt.

Thank heaven, he hadn’t. Her nearness was like a drug that addled his senses. In the light of day, he could better recall the myriad reasons for remaining impersonal with the lovely Miss Presley.

But more than this, he’d been rattled by her dogged devotion to Nico. Within hours after surgery, she’d insisted on sitting at his bedside, one hand touching his limp fingers, her eyes brimming with tears.

He didn’t understand this. He didn’t understand her. Why would a woman discard a baby and four years later behave this way? Guilt?

Once she’d breached Nico’s sickroom last night, she’d refused to leave until dawn. The boy was restless, she’d said, and needed her. He suspected Maria was partly the reason for her determined stay. Sara didn’t trust Carlo’s mother, an ungrounded reaction, and more proof of how misguided he’d been to fall for the American in the first place. She was the untrustworthy one, not Maria.

Maria was the most loyal person in his castle. Like mother, like son. Because of Carlo’s heroic sacrifice, the Prince of Carvainia would care for Maria all the days of her life.

The memory of Carlo, his best friend and bodyguard, brought both pain and gladness and dreadful guilt. No friend could ever be as faithful as the man who’d laid down his life for his monarch.

“Aleksandre, please.” His mother, his greatest ally, was unstoppable when she’d set her mind to something. Such had been the case when she’d rescued Nico from America. Such was also the case with the reappearance of Nico’s birth mother. Though grateful to see her grandson beginning to recover, the topic of Sara turned her into a nag. “What was Sara Presley doing in your room?”

“We were making passionate love.”

The queen sucked in a shocked gasp. “Aleksandre!”

He bowed slightly. “I’m sorry, Mother. That was uncalled for and untrue.”

And he desperately wished he hadn’t put the image in his mind. He was having quite enough trouble with Sara Presley as it was.

Thanks to her, he was exhausted, though not from lovemaking. He might be in a less cranky mood had it been thus. Other than carrying Sara out of Nico’s room kicking and screaming, there was little he could do last night but doze in a chair
and wait for morning. When he had awakened at sunup from an erotic dream to find Sara still in nightgown and bare feet, it had been all he could do to escape the room with his dignity.

Suddenly, the door to his office burst open without the usual protocol. The prince whirled, on guard and ready for attack.

A harried-looking attendant cried, “Your Majesty, you must come. Nico has taken a turn for the worse.”

Late the next evening, Sara’s eyes felt like sandpaper and she thought she might fall out of the chair positioned next to Nico’s bedside. The little prince had finally rallied after a sudden, unexpected bout of vomiting. The doctors were bewildered but vials of blood were drawn to be certain the new liver was still functioning.

Sara folded her hands in silent prayer.
Please, please, please, let him be all right.

An hour ago, the haughty Queen Irena had finally departed, though her dark eyes shot daggers at Sara as she swept out of the room.

Aleks himself sat, arms folded, long legs extended, as tired as she, though he would die before he’d admit it.

“You should go to bed, Sara. You’re still recovering, too.”

“Since when did you start caring?” She bit the words out, tired, achy and a little depressed. The past week had been harder than she’d imagined.

To her surprise, his tired eyes twinkled as he said, “Can’t have an American die on foreign soil. You could create an international incident.”

Her answer was a droll, “Now you tell me.”

He chuckled. The sound lifted her flagging spirits. Was the ice man finally thawing or was he too exhausted to sustain his fury against her? “The nurse will remain with Nico. Dr.
Konstantine thinks the crisis is over and he will sleep the night. You must leave now.”

“You’re tired, too. I’ll go if you’ll go.”

One aristocratic eyebrow lifted. “Since when did you start caring?”

Was he teasing her? The man must be delirious.

She wanted to tell him the truth—that she’d never stopped caring—but she feared the admission would drive him back into that shell.

“Can’t have a ruling prince die on me. It might cause a national uprising.”

His mouth curved. He rose and held out a hand. “Come. I’ll see you to your suite.”

An uneasy truce developed with Aleks, but Sara had no illusions that he trusted her, or even that she was welcome in Carvainia. Most of her visits with Nico were supervised by Queen Irena, a watchful, suspicious woman who had only spoken to Sara once, and that was to ask when she was leaving.

This was a worry that plagued Sara as she recovered from her surgery. After three weeks, she felt completely well, but if she said as much, would she be expected to leave? The thought unhinged her. Now that she was here, she never wanted to return to America. Her heart was in Carvainia.

By the third week post-op, the little prince was up and around, having recoverd from two bouts of mysterious vomiting that the doctors could not attribute to the surgery or to the antirejection drugs. Each day the boy’s complexion gained more healthy color and, according to Antonia, the nation buzzed with the good news that their beloved prince would recover.

This particular day, Sara and Nico had ventured onto the
balcony to sit in the sunshine and listen to the sea. She’d brought along a deck of cards and was teaching Nico to play Go Fish. Aleks stood at the balcony railing watching the seabirds dip and call along the sandy shore.

“Papa, do come and play. Sara knows the funnest games.”

Aleks turned, his expression unreadable as he corrected the grammar. “Most fun games.”

The little prince nodded. “Will you play with us?”

“Your grandmother will be here soon. I have a meeting with the parliament in a while.”

Though a royal, Prince Aleksandre was not a man of leisure. His duties often kept him away or up late at night, but he spent every extra moment with Nico. Today, he looked particularly tired. His son’s illness had taken a tremendous toll on him.

“One game, Papa, just one. Please.”

Aleks pulled out a chair from the round patio table and joined them. “Deal me in.”

Sara shot him an amused glance as she counted out five cards for each person. “A poker-playing prince?”

“Only when the stakes are high.” He didn’t offer a smile, and Sara had a feeling he was talking about her, about taking the risk of bringing her to Carvainia.

“Some risks are worth everything.” She pointedly slid her gaze to the recovering child.

With a tilt of his head, Aleks lifted his cards. “Indeed.”

Oblivious to the byplay between the adults, Nico said, “May I go first, Miss Sara?”

“Yes, you may.”

“Do you have any fours? I’m four.” He held up four splayed fingers. “My birthday was March tenth. I was sick.”

The reminder sent a spear through Sara’s heart. She’d
missed every birthday but one. “I’m so glad you’re better now. The next birthday will be a grand celebration, I’m sure.”

She handed over a pair of the requested card and watched like a proud mother as Nico triumphantly counted out a complete set.

“One, two, free,
four
.” He put the last card down with emphasis and grinned. “I’m going to win. Papa says a warrior prince must always win. When I’m big I shall be a warrior prince, won’t I, Papa?”

Sara shivered at the thought of her son at war. “Let’s hope for peace instead.” She quickly reverted to the game, asking Aleks, “Do you have any queens?”

“None at the moment,” Aleks replied. “Though I am searching. Go Fish.”

Nico giggled with glee and high-fived his father, the very small hand colliding against the large, strong one in a resounding smack.

With a short laugh, Sara drew a card from the pile in the center and added it to her hand. “Are the royals ganging up on the poor commoner?”

This time Aleks laughed, too.

“Beware of the guillotine. We royals can be ruthless.”

He confused her, this prince of Carvainia. One minute he was as cold as Antarctica and then for a brief, unguarded moment, he’d become the man she’d known and loved in college.

At the end of the game, he glanced at his watch. “I must go, son. Perhaps we can play again tomorrow.”

“Sara said tomorrow we could walk along the seashore and gather shells.”

“Oh, she did, did she?”

“With your permission, of course,” Sara hurried to add. “Little boys get tired of being indoors.”

“And what would you know of little boys?” he asked quietly.

Sara blanched at the intentional jab but she stared him down. “Not nearly as much as I’d like to. Thanks to you.”

His gaze hardened. “You have only yourself to blame.”

Suddenly, Nico clapped his little hands together. “Let’s make a picnic and go in the boat.”

Aleks stiffened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sara won’t capsize the boat this time, will you, Sara?” Big dark eyes beseeched her.

Sara gulped, unsure of how to answer. From Aleks’s black expression he was no more enamored of the idea than she. Being with him in the sickroom was one thing, but an afternoon of fun with Aleks could open up a Pandora’s box of emotions. In her current state, she wasn’t sure she could handle them. Every glimpse of the real Aleks pulled at her like a powerful magnet. Even this new and princely Aleks had moments when she feared that she could love him, too.

And for a plain bookstore owner to love a prince could only bring more heartache.

“Will you, Sara? Say you won’t capsize the boat, so Papa will agree. Please.”

The child’s pleading pulled at her. Poor little man. He thought his father was reluctant because of the long-ago overturned boat. He had no idea that the incident had been one of her best memories, the prelude to a weekend of love she would never forget…or regret.

She treasured her memories of Aleks, but how much longer would she have to make memories with this sweet son of hers?

If Aleks’s behavior was any indication, not nearly long enough.

“I would do my best not to cause a problem,” she said.

“See, Papa, see? Please say yes. We will have a jolly good time.”

Sara could see the war raging inside the prince. He wanted to please his son, but he did not want to be with her. Nor did she want to be with him, though she suspected their reasons for avoidance differed greatly.

Relenting, she said, “I’m not a good sailor, Nico.” A lie. “Perhaps you and your father should take the picnic alone.”

“No!” The little prince was growing agitated. “I want you.”

Those simple words meant more than the child could ever know. He was growing attached to her. She was both glad and afraid. How would he react when Aleks decided her time in Carvainia was over and she had to leave? Worse, what would he think of her someday in the future when he discovered the name of his birth mother, because as sure as his father had the power to adopt him, the son would have the power to ferret out the truth of his birth.

“I want Sara, Papa. And you and me.”

Aleksandre’s mouth flattened into a tight line. He glared at Sara as he placed a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Do not upset yourself. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

With that, he spun on his heel and left.

Bright and early the next morning as the first members of the castle staff began to stir, Sara slipped from her bed to shower and dress. While she showered, someone—Antonia, no doubt—had delivered a silver coffee carafe, pastry and fruit. Hair still damp, Sara poured a cup of the fragrant French brew and stepped out on the balcony.

Greeted by the sound of the rushing sea and the pale pinks and grays of dawn, she sipped at her coffee and breathed in the peaceful morning. Last night, she’d talked to Penny by telephone for over an hour. Her friend thought she was crazy to remain in Carvainia in the company of powerful people
who clearly despised her. And yet, Penny had also understood. The son she’d mourned for was here.

“What about Aleks?” Penny had asked.

“What about him?”

“Do you still feel—you know—attracted to him?”

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

“Oh, girl. I feel so bad that I talked you into this trip.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“You’re going to get hurt.”

“Nothing could hurt more than four years of not knowing where my son was.”

But this morning, Sara realized the statement hadn’t been true. Losing him a second time was going to be worse. Before, she hadn’t known him. This time, she did. She knew what made him giggle in that cute little boy way, with his head tilted back and his eyes scrunched shut. She knew how bright he was and his favorite color and the sound of voice and the smell of his hair. She knew too much.

In another ten minutes, the sun would pop over the horizon. Down below, along the water’s edge, she spotted a tall, shadowy form. Aleks. Back turned, facing out to sea, he stood with his hands in his pockets, a forlorn figure. He looked as though he carried the weight of the world—and in a way he did. At least the world as Carvainians knew it. He had great power, but with that power came great responsibility. She’d never thought of that before.

Aleks would take responsibility very seriously.

She set her coffee cup aside and watched him for a long time, her heart calling out to him. Though tempted to slip out into the soft morning and stand beside him, she refrained. She could do nothing for the father. But the son was a different matter.