His Heir, Her Honor (2 page)

No matter how much distance Carlos put between himself and his homeland, influences from his heritage called to him. He couldn't escape the reality of being the oldest son of deposed King Enrique Medina from San Rinaldo, a small island country off the coast of Spain. He couldn't ignore or forget how his father had fled with his family, relocating to live anonymously off the coast of Florida for decades.

Only recently had the press picked up the Medina trail. Carlos and his two brothers, all now adults, lived in different locations across the United States. Until four months ago, they'd even managed to fly under the radar with assumed names.

For most of his adult life he'd been known as Carlos Santiago. Yet in the stroke of a media pen's exposé, it became impossible for people to think of him as anything other than Carlos Medina, heir to a defunct monarchy.

Lilah was the one person who hadn't treated him differently after the news had broken about his Medina heritage. She hadn't been impressed or even angry over his years of deception. She understood his reasons for keeping his identity hidden.

The only question she'd asked after the story broke? As the hospital's administrator, she'd requested verification that all his medical credentials were valid and in order, given his assumed name.

She was a logical woman to the end.

So what the hell made a sensible person like Lilah decide to waltz into the men's locker room and confront him in the shower? A confrontation that still had him imagining scenarios where he pulled her under the spray with him to peel off every stitch of her clothing until she was as naked and hungry as him.

He closed the door to his office, sealing them inside the sparse space. He kept his world streamlined, only bare essential leather furniture, the painting from his brother and his books.

Leaning back against the wall to take pressure off his aching spine, he faced Lilah for the first time since she'd stared him down through a thin veil of mist. Her back was still straight but her face was pale. Very pale.

Worry whispered over him as his doctor senses blared an alert. She was obviously under great stress. Only extreme measures would have driven her to act so rashly. Normally, she calmly presented her case and made her move, with a legal eagle precision that served to make her a top-notch lawyer with a fast-track start to a brilliant career. He should have realized that. He mentally kicked himself for assuming her confrontation
had something to do with their encounter two and a half months ago.

Carlos studied her green eyes, noting the dark circles beneath. “Is it bad news about funding for the new rehab wing?”

“This isn't about work….” She hesitated, chewing the red lipstick from her kissably full mouth.

Concern scratched deeper. He pushed away from the door toward her, drawn by threads of their old friendship and the scent of her perfume. If he whispered in her ear again as he had earlier, he would smell a hint of her body wash along her neck. Not a heavy perfume by any means given the hospital's fairly strict rules about scented lotions, soaps and colognes. Just enough pure Lilah to send his heart pumping faster.

Her eyes tracked him and each uneven step, his limp aggravated by the hours he'd spent operating today. Long ago, he'd gotten over any self-consciousness. Life held much more important issues and concerns than whether people noticed the impairment or pitied him. He knew he was damn lucky to be walking at all.

He closed the space between them. “Then what's so important that you felt the need to cause a scene big enough to feed hospital cafeteria gossip for at least a month?”

“It's about what happened after the Christmas fundraiser.”

He stopped short. With a few simple words, she filled the room with memories of the night they'd stumbled back here, into his office, then finished the night at his house because it was closer than her condo. The memories were too vivid, so close on the heels of her bold move striding into the shower. Good thing she'd
passed him the towel so fast because he'd been damn close to presenting her with an unmistakable visual on how much she still moved him. Turning his back to her under the pretense of gathering his soap had offered him a few seconds to scavenge control of his careening libido.

He'd been reckless enough to cave into the temptation to sleep with her once before. Every day since then, he'd been tormented by reliving that night and knowing just how easy it would be to succumb to temptation again. Still feeling the near-tangible caress of her eyes on him from earlier, he tried to remember all the reasons he should keep his hands off her.

Somehow his finger landed on the lone curl teasing around the shell-like curve of her ear. The softness of her skin, the silky texture of her hair wrapping around his touch as if drawing him closer, each nuance of Lilah tapped aside the paper-thin remains of his restraint.

Awareness glinted in her jewel tone eyes a second before he cupped the back of her neck and stepped toward her, until God help him, every curve of her body pressed to him in a perfect fit. The give of her breasts, the cradle of her hips, the familiar feel of her broadsided his senses with memories of their night together.

“Carlos,” she whispered, her palms flat against his chest, pressing, “you're so damn arrogant.”

But she swayed into him anyway. His brain shut down a second before he sealed his mouth to hers.

Need knifed through him with surgical precision, sharp and inescapable. She tensed slightly before gripping the front of his scrubs, her fists tight, insistent and more than a little angry as she hauled him closer. The taste of her, the sweep of her tongue meeting his
stroke for stroke reminded him of how quickly they could combust. Keeping his distance the past weeks had been necessary and futile all at once.

This was inevitable. Spearing his fingers into her hair, he loosened the tight roll until silken strands cascaded over his skin. How easy it would be to sweep aside her suit and ditch his surgical scrubs. His leather sofa beckoned from across the room.

His desk was closer.

Sweeping his hand along smooth mahogany, he cleared a penholder, calendar and notepad in one efficient swipe that sent the lot clattering to the floor. He angled her back, cupped her bottom, hitched her up onto the edge. He released the top button on her suit jacket, a satiny camisole of some sort gliding over the backs of his knuckles.

Writhing, she moaned encouragement against his mouth and he made quick work of the fastenings, one after the other until he stroked aside the suit coat to reveal her silver, body-hugging shell. He kissed and nipped along her jaw, down her neck, trekking his way to the generous swell of her breasts. His memory hadn't done her justice. As he nuzzled the scented valley, her head lolled back. He tugged her camisole from her skirt and tucked his hand into the waistband, palming the slight curve of her stomach.

Lilah froze in his arms.

The chill radiating off her brought him back to earth like a shower turned icy cold. Months of restraint had gone down the drain in one impulsive moment. He pulled himself from her and leaned against the desk beside her, dragging in air as she yanked her jacket back on with shaky hands, her hair trapped inside.

He needed to fix this mess of his own making. “Lilah, clearly I have made an error in attempting to ignore what happened between us after the Christmas fundraiser. We need to figure out a way to deal with it so we can regain a level working environment.”

“Damn straight, it happened.” She thrust the buttons through openings with fierce speed, the fabric flower pin on her shoulder nearly quivering from her barely contained energy. “Believe me, I'm not likely to forget.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as the only answer pounded through his brain. “My life is complicated in so many ways by virtue of the Medina name. I wish, for your sake, things could be simpler, but they're not.” Committed to his new course of action, he skimmed her hair free of her jacket. “I think we should consider an intimate friendship.”

Her eyes went wide and unblinking. She sagged back against the desk again, her mouth opening and closing twice before a burst of laughter sliced the air. Wrapping an arm around her stomach, she laughed harder. Her eyes squeezed shut as she shook her head from side to side in obvious disbelief.

“Lilah?” He tucked a knuckle under her chin and turned her face toward him. “This really will be the best option for us to work through this attraction until our lives return to normal.”

Her laughter faded, eyes turning somber. “At one time, I may have agreed with you. But it's too late for that now, Carlos.”

Disappointment surged through him with more force than he would have expected for his ill-advised plan. He
should have approached her sooner. Perhaps she held a grudge that he'd stayed away from her for so long.

Well then, he would dismantle her objections one by one. “I don't agree.”

“You don't have all the pertinent information.” She straightened to her full height, all of about five feet six inches, bringing her to his shoulder even in her heels. “I'm pregnant. Nearly three months along. And you're the father.”

Pregnant?

Shock hit him square in the solar plexus. Followed by disbelief. Then jaded acceptance of her betrayal.

Just when he'd thought he couldn't be any more disillusioned by how easily people could deceive others. A bitter laugh rolled around in his gut and burned a bilious path up his throat.

She crossed her arms under her breasts defensively. “If this is some kind of payback for my laughter earlier, I don't appreciate it. I don't find this in the least amusing.”

“Believe me, neither do I.” The scars on his back throbbed with a reminder of all he'd lost over twenty-five years ago during his family's escape from San Rinaldo. He told the world the scars had come from a teenage riding accident. That lie was so much more palatable than the truth.

Her mouth went tight, her anger palpable. “This isn't going to make much of a story to tell our child some day.”

“Our child? I think not.” If anyone had cause to be angry, it was him. “I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're just mistaken about which guy fathered your baby, because I would hate to think
you would deliberately try to pass off some other man's kid as mine.”

She slapped him, sharp, fast and stingingly hard. “You jackass.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, working his jaw from side to side to give himself a chance to weigh his words and tamp down his temper.

“You heard what I said. Believe me, that was the most benign word on my list right now. We may not be…friends…anymore, but I expected better from you than this.” She waved her hand through the air as if that could somehow sum up what had transpired between them a minute earlier. “You may be cold, but I thought you were a man of honor.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he held back the urge to call her on the accusation. She was pregnant—even if it wasn't his. God, the thought rattled him, especially with the leftover surge of hunger for her still cooling in his veins. So much for friends with benefits.

He forced himself to reign in his anger. “Lilah, I'm sorry. But it is
not
my kid.”

She tugged her jacket into place again. “I won't force you to love or acknowledge your child. This baby deserves better than that. He or she deserves better than
you.
I've completed my duty in doing the right thing and letting you know. Now you can go straight to hell.”

Something in her voice, the intensity of her anger set off warning bells in his brain. She truly thought the child was his when he knew that couldn't be true. If she had the due date wrong by even a couple of weeks, he could see how she might draw that conclusion. Not that he could think of any other man she'd been seeing, but
then he'd made a point of avoiding her since their night together.

“Listen closely.” He gestured toward her stomach. “That is not my baby, which means you do need to speak to the real father.”

A surprise bolt of jealousy shot through him as he fully grasped for the first time the fact she'd slept with someone else close to the time they'd been together. His mind scanned the hospital roster for… Damn it, no. He couldn't go down that path right now.

He forced himself to continue speaking, to make her understand. “You're right that the man deserves to know. And that man can't possibly be me.” Not after what had happened to him that night on the run in San Rinaldo. Rebel bullets had killed his mother and nearly killed him while he tried to protect her. Tried. And failed.

He held up a hand to keep her from interrupting—or leaving. “The accident that caused my limp had other physical ramifications as well.” Carlos forced himself to say the words he hadn't shared with anyone. “Lilah, I'm sterile.”

L
ilah had faced her fair share of shockers in her years as a city prosecutor and then administrator at the Tacoma hospital. Certainly learning Dr. Carlos Medina had been hiding his royal lineage had stunned her silly. But his words now beat all other surprising revelations, hands down.

Gripping the edge of the mahogany desk to steady her shaky world, she searched Carlos's face for some sign of what possessed the innately honorable man to deny his own child.

Her hand still stung from her impulsive slap when he'd called her a liar. She hated the momentary loss of control then…and during his kiss earlier. No man affected her this way. She'd fought too long and hard not to be won over so easily like her mother. Yet a simple
brush of Carlos's mouth against hers and she'd almost ditched her panties again with this man.

A very virile man who now seemed intent on denying the consequences of their encounter.

“You're sterile?” she repeated, wondering if perhaps she'd heard wrong. She
must
have heard wrong because she carried the living proof of his virility inside her. So either he was wrong or he was a coldhearted liar.

“That's what I said.” He shifted his weight to one foot in a manner that to most would look casual. But after years of knowing him, she recognized the subtle way he favored his aching leg and injured back, something he inevitably did when he was under stress.

Carlos Medina was one of those docs with a godlike status around the E.R., the surgeon most likely to pull off a miracle when a gurney wheeled in the impossible. She'd noticed that most people only saw that glow of success and intelligence around him—when they weren't noticing his obvious good looks. Not many people saw past that to detect the fallout of the intense pressure he put on himself. The shifting feet. The tendency to plant his spine against any vertical surface.

Except she could not think of that now. She had too much at stake to get sucked in by all the things she found compelling about this man, not the least of which were these small signs that he was human underneath all that cool professional brilliance.

“Why didn't you say something when we were together that night?” she asked skeptically.

“I didn't see the information as relevant since procreation wasn't on our agenda.” His sardonic tone needled at her already tender nerves.

“But you used condoms…even if one failed in the hot tub.”

Just thinking of the combustible connection, their total loss of control threatened her balance even now. They'd started in his office, then raced to his home to spend the rest of the night together, awake and making the most of every moonlit minute.

“Safe sex has to do with more than pregnancy,” he pointed out practically.

Of course she knew that. She'd freaked when the condom broke, only partially calming down once he'd reassured her he was disease free. Yet in the back of her mind she'd heard the haunting sound of her mother's sobs behind a closed bedroom door. Lilah had been a preteen at the time, but old enough to understand the gist of her parents' fight.

Her father's latest reckless affair had passed along a disease to his wife.

The STD had been treatable, thank heavens, but Lilah had been stunned by how quickly her mother forgave her husband for his infidelity. Again. And again.

Rather than forcing back the memories of her mom, Lilah embraced them for motivation to stand firm now. To push for answers. And to hold Carlos accountable. “This is your child. I don't want money from you and I certainly have no interest in the whole royalty thing. I only want my baby to know his or her father.”

“That isn't my baby.” His voice echoed with a surety she couldn't miss.

His denial of his own child infuriated her all over again.

“All because of a riding accident when you were a teenager?” She wasn't a doctor but something sounded
off in his explanation, in spite of his utter confidence. Still, she couldn't ignore the gravity in his voice, the set serious lines on his aristocratic face.

“The trauma from the accident, coupled with a postsurgical infection, left me sterile. I'm a doctor, in case you've forgotten.” He pulled a leather-bound book from the shelves and dropped it on the desk with a resounding thud. “But if you're still in doubt, there's a full chapter in here that discusses such complications. I'll be more than glad to mark the pages for you. The fact remains, though, that your child must have been fathered by someone else.”

A shadow smoked briefly through his eyes, something dark and perhaps angry even, but was gone before she could confirm her impression.

If anyone deserved to be mad here, it was her. She wanted to shout her frustration. She
was
telling the father, whether he believed her or not. “Carlos, you aren't listening to me. There is no one else,” she explained slowly, carefully, hoping he would hear the truth in her words even if it revealed her vulnerability in wanting only him. “There hasn't been anyone other than you in eight months.”

A frown furrowed his forehead, but his silence encouraged her to continue.

“It is absolutely impossible for me to be pregnant with another man's child. And believe me, I
am
pregnant.” Her voice shook for the first time. “I've seen the ultrasound. Our baby is alive and well.”

The enormity of how much her life had changed so quickly threatened to overwhelm her. She'd always managed to tackle anything life threw her way, whether
it be law school at Yale or standing up to a state supreme court judge.

Never had the stakes felt more important than now as she fought for the tiny defenseless life inside her.

Carlos's eyes relayed sympathy and, even worse, a hint of pity. “You really believe this.”

“And you really don't.”

Finally, she heard and accepted what he'd been saying since she first told him about the baby. She'd anticipated a number of reactions and prepared her rebuttals as carefully as any legal brief. However, she certainly hadn't foreseen this turn of events. Obviously his doctors had been wrong in their diagnosis of Carlos, and his refusal to even consider the possibility, his insistance on believing she'd lied, cut her to the core.

Disillusionment seeped through her veins like a chilly IV flooding through her system. Even though she'd assured herself she didn't need him, she'd hoped for…something…
anything
more than this.

Their kiss a few minutes earlier meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him. And she needed to numb herself so
he
meant nothing to her.

Lilah pulled in a steeling breath, a trick she'd learned early on to keep her cool when her insides threatened to bubble over with too much unruly emotion. “I've done my part by informing you. A paternity test after the baby is born will confirm I'm telling you the truth. And you're going to feel like a
royal
jerk when you're faced with the proof.”

Determined to leave with her pride, Lilah held her head high as she fought back the urge to cry over how terribly the confrontation had gone. While she hadn't expected exuberant cheers by any stretch, she'd hoped
for acceptance, followed by stalwart emotional support as they agreed to spell out the practical details of bringing a child into the world. Carlos was a private, reserved man, but he'd always been quietly honorable. Even after his cold shoulder recently, she'd expected better from him than this.

She closed the door with a quiet but firm click, wishing her aching heart was as easy to seal off.

 

The click of the closing door echoed in his ears, along with the first hints of doubt.

Carlos leaned back against his desk, staring at the space where Lilah had stood seconds before. She'd seemed so certain. In all the years they'd known each other, she'd been an honest woman—a boardroom shark in fighting for the hospital—but always frank and truthful. He admired that about her. For years, in fact, he'd used that admiration of her character to temper his more…primal response to her.

What if…

The possibility of actually being a father rocked his balance far more than the injuries that still caused him to limp to this day. He flattened his clammy palms against the legs of his green hospital scrubs.

While he'd engaged in a number of careful affairs over the years, never had he let a woman truly break through his laser focus on his work. But Lilah was different. He was damn impressed by the way she fought for the hospital, stood up to million-dollar donors and politicians when it came to patients' rights—hell, the way she faced down even him when he dug in his heels too deeply and lost focus on the bigger picture. She
had a sharp mind and she wielded it artfully in her profession.

Would she use those same skills against him even now if she thought it would benefit her child?

His father had taught all three of his sons not to trust anyone, anytime. Everybody had a price, including the cousin who had sold out their escape plan. The queen, his mother, Beatriz Medina had died as a result of the ambush that ensued on their way out of San Rinaldo. Carlos had spent his teenage years undergoing surgeries to recover from the gunshot wounds. That he could walk at all was considered a miracle. Doctors told him to be grateful for that much, even if he would never have biological children.

Could he trust Lilah?

As much as he trusted anyone, which wasn't much. God forbid the press should get a hold of this tidbit before he settled the issue. He needed to provide Lilah with concrete proof while keeping matters quiet.

First step, arrange to have the lab run a sperm count test. As much as he balked at the invasion of his privacy, the current results would end this once and for all.

The pesky “what if” smoked through his mind again, the possibility that through some inexplicable miracle her kid turned out to be his after all. Then, he needed to keep Lilah close at hand until the baby could be tested.

Because if against all odds she carried a Medina, nothing would stop him from claiming his child.

 

Suddenly weary to her toes, Lilah sagged against the closed door. The reception area outside Carlos's office echoed with emptiness, thank goodness. But there was
no telling how much longer before his secretary, Wanda, returned to her desk. Her computer already scrolled a screen saver photo of her dozen grinning grandchildren at the Port Defiance Zoo.

Lilah squeezed her eyes closed. The memory of her argument with Carlos rang in her ears. Her belly churned with nausea, unusual for this late in the day. She still battled morning sickness and, no question, upset emotions made it worse. She curved a hand protectively over her stomach, the baby bump barely discernable so early in the pregnancy. Carlos hadn't even noticed when he'd pulled her camisole from her waistband. But she could feel the changes in her body, the swollen tenderness of her breasts, a heightened sense of smell and an insatiable nightly craving for marinated artichokes, a food she had previously hated. While circumstances were far from perfect, she loved her baby with a fierceness that still overwhelmed her at times.

A lock of hair slithered over her cheek and she realized her French twist must be wrecked from Carlos's hands as they'd kissed in his office. Her nipples tingled in lingering awareness of just how fast and high he could stoke desire inside her. She plucked pins from her hair and let the rest slide free around her shoulders, not as professional as she preferred at work, but no doubt better than the sexed-up mess she'd been seconds ago.

For her child's sake, she needed to think rationally rather than with her emotions—or her welling hormones. Carlos obviously believed he was sterile and had only her word that the baby was his. While she wanted to think four years of friendship would have convinced him of her trustworthiness, that clearly wasn't the case.
He was a reserved and private man by nature. His aloofness—hell, his inaccessibility—the past months let her know their friendship wasn't as deep as she'd believed. That she'd been forced to chase him down in the shower to tell him…

Releasing another trapped breath, she refused to get wound up again. She needed to take a step back from him and wait. Time would prove his paternity.

Content she'd regained even ground, Lilah straightened just as the door to the hall opened. She tucked the handful of bobby pins into her jacket pocket and smoothed a hand over her hair to clear any signs of her clench from Wanda's perceptive eyes. There was a reason they called Lilah “The Iron Lady” around this place, and she intended to keep her reputation intact.

The door opened wider, revealing…not Wanda. Lilah tensed for a second, concerned about the press infiltrating the multiple layers of security she'd put in place. Then she recognized one of their newer radiologists, Nancy Wolcott. Her lab coat sported multiple decorative buttons on the lapel. Nancy had once relayed she wore the nonregulation “flair” to put her younger patients at ease. She must be working on the surgical case Carlos was so concerned about.

“Hello, Nancy.” Thank heaven her voice stayed steady. “Dr. Medina and I just finished our meeting. I'm sure he will be anxious to hear an update on his young Afghani patient from this afternoon's surgery.”

“Oh, I'm not on that case.” Smiling hesitantly, the willowy brunette straightened a light-up shamrock pin. “Actually, I'm here on a personal note.”

Unease feathered over her. “A personal note?”

“I'm here to meet him for dinner. It's after hours, so
no worries about an administrative sanction. I'm not on the hospital's clock right now.” She shrugged out of her lab coat and draped it over her arm.

Oh, God, Lilah really didn't like where this conversation was headed, and the timing couldn't have been worse. She should have seen this coming. Carlos had never been lacking for dates before his Medina identity became public. He was a hunky, wealthy doctor, after all. Albeit a workaholic, temperamental doc. Women were swarming him now that he'd tacked prince onto his list of attributes.