Royal Affair (5 page)

Then looked again.

Holding the grainy print nearly to her nose, she studied the pair. “My gosh,” she murmured. “My gosh!”

She removed the front page from the tabloid, folded it into a neat square and tucked it into her pocket. This was exciting news, and she couldn't wait to tell it to someone.

At that moment, Everett Baker, the accountant she'd been sort of seeing of late, entered the cafeteria. His face brightened at seeing her and he came over.

“Hi,” she said, glad to see him, too. “What are you doing here? It's Saturday.”

“Catching up,” he told her. “Inputting files into the computer.”

“You shouldn't have to do all that work. The adoption agency should hire you more help.”

“It isn't in the budget,” he explained in his serious manner that she found endearing.

While he got a cup of coffee, she refreshed her tea and settled at the table again. There were few other people in the place as afternoon visiting hours were over and the evening hours hadn't started.

When Everett returned, she removed the tabloid page and handed it to him. “Guess who I just saw?”

Looking mystified, Everett unfolded the page and glanced over the headlines of the stories.

“Look at the picture with the main story,” Nancy urged. “Do you recognize anyone?”

He shook his head.

She laughed softly. “That's Ivy Crosby with the prince. Guess what?”

He brought the picture closer to his face and studied it. “What?”

“They were just in the E.R.” When he gave her a puzzled stare, she added, “The prince—that man in the photo—and Ivy Crosby. Here. In Portland. At this hospital.”

“Were they in an accident?”

“No. She fainted. Twice, the prince said.” Nancy lofted her eyebrows in a significant manner.

Everett looked concerned. “West Nile virus?”

Nancy rolled her eyes. Men could be so obtuse. She leaned close although there was no one around to hear. “She's pregnant. You can't tell anyone. Swear.”

“Uh, I swear.”

She sighed. “He was so worried about her.”

“The prince?”

“Of course the prince,” Nancy said, somewhat exasperated. She smiled in apology when Everett glanced at her in surprise and brushed the hair off his forehead.

“Sorry,” he said. “I have…things on my mind.”

“Come have dinner at my place,” she invited on an impulse. “I'll pick up a roasted chicken at the grocery, so it'll be quick and easy.”

“That would be nice. Should I bring some wine?”

“A white wine would be perfect.” She beamed at him, then took the tabloid page back and returned it to her pocket. “Do you think they'll get married?”

Everett shrugged. He wasn't interested in some foreign prince and his troubles. He had enough worries of his own. His associates were putting pressure on him to come up with additional babies for their purposes.

That was why he was working on the weekend, searching through the records of the foolish girls who'd gotten themselves in trouble and had recently come to the clinic for help. If the Stork could get to them first, he could usually convince them—for a price—to sign the coming baby over to him. Then he would sell the child on the black market for big bucks. There were couples who would pay any price and ask no questions.

“Speaking of babies,” he said, trying to sound casual, “how are the crack babies doing?”

Nancy sighed and looked troubled. “I don't know what's going to happen to them. The mothers are refusing to give them up for adoption, yet how can they take care of their babies? They can't take care of themselves.”

Her tendency to gossip was the first thing that had drawn him to her. He'd wanted information about the babies. More babies meant more money, and he was determined to be rich someday. But the other thing that kept him coming around was her compassion, he reluctantly admitted. She was a caring person and would make a good mother.

A scene, like one from a movie, flashed into his mind, so clear it was as if he was there….

“Open it, darling.” The woman, dressed in a blue fleecy robe, had urged the boy. One other person had been in the room—a man who was the father.

“I know what it is,” the boy declared, his smile splitting his face from ear to ear.

A Christmas tree stood before a big window in the large but comfortable room. Under it, presents beckoned in brightly wrapped packages. A fire burned in the brick-lined fireplace. It was like a scene from a calendar.

“Are you going to open it, or are you going to shake it to death?” the father demanded, his manner teasing.

The boy tore off the wrappings and lifted a baseball mitt from the box. “Oh, boy!” he said. “This is perfect! Wait'll I show Danny. I hope he got one, too. That way we can practice every day.”

The happy little family laughed as they continued to open gifts and exclaim over them….

Everett pressed a hand to his chest as a sudden heaviness settled there, as if someone had rolled a boulder on top of him. The pressure made him want to cry. He sternly brought his mind back to the problem at hand—finding out more about drug babies that no one wanted.

“Everett, what is it?” Nancy asked. “You look so sad.”

“Uh, I was thinking about how hard life must be for the crack children, especially those who aren't adopted and don't get help when they're little.”

She touched his arm, warming him with the compassionate smile on her face. The nurse was pretty with her short brown hair and hazel eyes. He liked her.

But that was all, he reminded the part of him that was attracted to her. He was a man. A physical attraction was normal and didn't mean anything special.

“Well,” she said, “I've got another two hours. Come over around seven, okay?”

He nodded and watched her walk away, her steps brisk as she returned to duty. She was nice. He wondered why that meant so much to him.

Two hours later, at his apartment, he showered and changed into dark slacks and a white shirt. He picked up a bottle of chilled white wine at the grocery and went over to Nancy's place.

His heart thumped when she opened the door. Her smile was welcoming, very welcoming. There were flowers and candles on a small table, which was already set for two.

“Do come in,” she invited. “Brr, it's already getting cold at night, isn't it?” She closed the door when he stepped inside.

Her graciousness reminded him of the family scene he'd imagined earlier. She was like the woman in it—warm and loving, bestowing happiness on those around her.

The heaviness invaded his chest again. As if he were a child, the need to cry pushed against his control. He forced a smile and handed Nancy the wine.
One thing about having Joleen Baker for a mother, he'd learned self-discipline at an early age. If he cried, she slapped him to “give him something to cry about.” He learned to control his emotions.

“This is perfect,” Nancy said of the wine. “The corkscrew is on the counter. Would you open it?”

“Sure.” He went into the tiny kitchen and opened the bottle while she removed the chicken from the oven where it was keeping warm.

He accidentally brushed her hip as they both started for the table. Heat, sweet, gentle and compelling, warmed his insides and eased the odd heaviness.

“That's better,” she said, looking him over after she placed a platter of chicken, potatoes and carrots on the table. “That smile is real.” She shook her head. “I don't think I've ever known a truly shy man before.”

Funny, but he hadn't even realized he was smiling. “You're easy to be around,” he told Nancy.

They talked about their childhood memories over the meal. Everett admitted to moving around a lot. “My parents drank,” he said, not meaning to say that at all.

She nodded. “I thought it was something like that. At times I've sensed a sadness in you that touches my heart. Perhaps you need to establish a family of your own, one that'll be happy and all.”

Nancy's thoughtful gaze reminded him of the woman. She'd had dark-blond hair with reddish highlights in it. Her eyes had been brown and seemed to
see into the boy's young soul just the way this woman seemed to peer into his.

“I'm perfectly content,” he said a little coolly, drawing back from that feminine warmth. Joleen had sometimes been nice, too, then suddenly she would turn on him and be a bitch. A man had to be careful around others.

“Do you like your job?” Nancy asked him.

“Yes. Do you?”

“I love it.” Her radiant smile indicated she truly did.

“Why?” he asked, curious about her, needing to understand the kindness she so freely extended to others.

“I like people,” she said after a moment of consideration. “I am a little nosy.” She wrinkled her nose at him, then laughed. “But not in a mean way. I like knowing what makes others tick, why they do the things they do.”

“Maybe you should have gone into the psychiatric field, since you have a penchant for understanding people.”

“Maybe.” She hesitated. “I'd like to understand you…for instance, what makes you so sad at times. The look in your eyes when you came to the nursery this morning made me want to cry.”

He frowned, not liking the thought of anyone seeing that far into him. Being vulnerable was something he'd learned early to guard against. “You're imagining a lot more than I was feeling,” he told her.

“You felt sorry for the babies,” she told him softly but firmly.

As if she knew him better than he knew himself! He grimaced. “Children don't have choices,” he said with an edge of bitterness he couldn't hide. “Adults hold all the cards.”

“What was your home life like?”

“Which part do you mean? The alcoholic mother? Or the father who abandoned us?”

“Oh, Everett, I'm so sorry,” she murmured, a stricken expression on her face.

“That was a long time ago. It doesn't matter now.”

“It does. It hurts forever.”

He didn't argue. Instead he thought of the babies he'd seen in the nursery and the two whose identity he now knew.

Those kids needed care, lots of it, and the Stork knew people who needed babies to complete their lives. Taking them from the nursery would be a snap and a service to all involved. He would make money. The kids would have good homes. As was often said, all's well that ends well.

I
vy sat on the patio and glared at Max. He didn't pay the slightest bit of attention. He was reading the Portland newspaper—
her
newspaper—as if he hadn't a care in the world.

But then, why would he? Kings commanded; others jumped to do their bidding. Chuck Curland had left fast enough when Max had indicated he wanted to be alone with Ivy.

Not that she wanted to be alone with him.

She stared off into space. Since her patio apartment was at the end of the building, she had a clear vista in three directions. The creek, golf course and the hill with the medical complex was to the south.

In the western sky, the last pink and golden tints of the sunset faded as twilight deepened behind the coastal mountain range. Almost due east, Mt. Hood rose to a majestic 11,235 feet, its top swathed in clouds.

Today was still Saturday. Incredible. It seemed a month at the very least since she'd gotten up, visited the babies at the hospital, had lunch with Katie, did some work at her home computer, then had gone for a jog at which time she'd nearly been hit by a golf ball, come face-to-face with Max and gone down in a faint, the first of her entire life.

After they'd returned from the hospital, Max had urged her to lie on the sofa and rest. She'd done so, hoping it would make him leave. Instead he'd checked the refrigerator, then asked his friend to bring them a gallon of milk and several selections of fruit. Once he had the items and Chuck had again departed, Max had prepared omelettes for their dinner along with bowls of fresh fruit salad.

“If your countrymen could see you now,” she'd mocked.

He'd merely given her an amused glance. “My father believed in keeping me on a strict allowance during my university days. Chuck was on scholarship. We decided we could save a lot of money by cooking for ourselves. Then we found out we had to learn to cook.”

A vivid picture leaped into Ivy's mind. Max holding a match to the pan and lighting the sauce in which
the cherries bubbled, then spooning the flaming concoction over the dish of ice cream. She and Max gazing into each other's eyes as they ate the delicious dessert. His kiss when they were finished. His hands roaming over her in passionate delight, touching her in ways no other ever had. The heated plea-sure they had shared…

A deeply felt sigh escaped her.

Max—she couldn't think of him as Prince Max—perused her over the top of the paper, then laid it aside. His dark, probing gaze ran over her. “Why the sigh? What are you thinking?” he asked, suddenly leaning close and gazing into her eyes. “Ah, that night.”

“No,” she choked out, but the flaming of her cheeks gave her away.

His face hardened. “A child came of that night of passion. When were you going to tell me?”

“I don't know.”

“You weren't going to notify me, were you?” His voice dropped to a deadly dangerous level.

The fine, chiseled structure of his face seemed to harden while she debated her answer. Whatever else she'd anticipated from this moment, she hadn't expected this raw anger from him, as if she'd tried to cheat him of his rights or something.

“How could I?” she finally asked. “You didn't give me your real name. You let me think you were in Lantanya on business, the same as I was. It was only through a tabloid that I found out who you really are.”

He waved that aside. “You left before we had a chance to talk the next morning. Had I been a mere business traveler passing through the area, I might not have been able to trace you. Fortunately, I was aware of Crosby Systems and the work your company was doing.”

“Your father negotiated the contract last year before—” She stopped, realizing the death of his father wasn't something she wanted to mention.

Max's face softened fractionally. “It was his dream, and my mother's, that Lantanya would become the best-educated country in the world, all the way through the university level. Now it is my goal, a monument to both of them and their vision.”

The faint sound of a siren came to them from the highway, then became louder as the ambulance raced up the hill to the hospital. Although she couldn't see the E.R. portico from her patio, she knew when the vehicle reached its destination because the siren stopped.

“Another emergency,” Max said, his eyes narrowing. “That's the third one since we've been sitting out here.”

She realized she hadn't noticed the other two. “You're observant.”

A slight bitterness tinged his smile. “I've learned to be, especially of late.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

Seeing that he wasn't going to answer, she asked,
“What happens next?” She really wanted to know when he was going to leave. She needed to be alone, to think.

“We must marry.”

Her hand jerked, making her spill the last swallow of iced tea. She set the tumbler down on the glass-topped table and shook her head.

“We must,” he insisted calmly.

His smile unnerved her. He sounded so confident, as if he knew, not only what was best but what was inevitable.

“I… We don't really know each other,” she said, a weak argument but the only one she could muster.

“I know you better than any other man ever has.”

There was a knowing look in his eyes, and she had put it there. The heat rose in her again. “That was passion,” she protested. “One night doesn't count as a lifelong friendship.”

“Knowing each other in the biblical sense was a beginning,” he calmly stated. “That there is a very real attraction between us as a man and woman bodes well for marriage, don't you think?”

“No! I mean…I don't know what to think.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to think things through and not be swayed by his seeming logic.

A frown settled on his handsome face and he studied her for several long seconds. “When were you going to tell me about your condition?”

“I wasn't. That is, I hadn't made up my mind about what to do. I thought, when I saw the doctor, I'd decide.”

“Then I showed up and spoiled that plan.” He smiled, the humor after the anger surprising her. “What was plan B?”

“I hadn't got that far.”

He nodded. “Hormones, as the doctor said,” he murmured, giving her a sympathetic look, which confused her and caused her heart to thump against her chest wall.

The phone rang.

“I'll get it.” He rose and went inside, returning almost at once. “It's for you.”

“Well, duh,” she muttered. She took the portable phone and put it to her ear, ignoring Max who sat and leaned close so he could hear, too. She gave him a glare that did no good. “Hello?”

“Ivy!” her sister said.

Ivy prepared herself for bad news. “Hi, Katie. What's happening?”

“I should ask you that. Was that your prince who answered the phone?”

“Uh, yes, well, not exactly.” He wasn't
her
prince, only a prince. It was too complicated to explain. “What is it? You sound excited.”

“Emma just called. She spoke to her neighbor—they ran into each other at the grocery store—and the neighbor's nephew works in the E.R. at the hospital.”

Ivy groaned. She knew what was coming.

“The nephew said you were brought in by two men. He didn't know either of them, but one of them
seemed to be in charge and signed the E.R. forms for you. The name he used was Max Hughes. That
is
your prince.”

“I'm going to move someplace where no one has ever heard of me and my family,” Ivy vowed.

“He's still there with you,” Katie said. “That must mean something. However did he find you?”

“I don't know.”

Max took the phone from Ivy. “This is Max,” he said to her sister. “I knew where your company was located, so I followed her here. Ivy and I ran into each other on the jogging trail. My appearance must have been a shock. She fainted each time she looked at me.”

“Ivy did?”

“I take it fainting isn't something she does often?”

He smiled when Ivy groaned and buried her face in her hands. Would this day never be over?

“Of course not,” she heard Katie say.

“Why don't you call tomorrow? It's time for her to get ready for bed,” Max told her sister.

“Are you staying the night?”

“Of course. She might be ill again.”

“Ill?”

“Nauseated. She might need me to hold her head again.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Ivy reclaimed the phone. “Stop laughing,” she demanded of her sister, unable to disguise the prickly tone.

“I'm not,” Katie protested. “I'm only smiling.”

“And he is not spending the night,” Ivy added.

Max indicated he was. “There are too many things to settle between us. Besides, I don't trust you not to take off during the night for parts unknown.”

“You are not spending the night,” Ivy told him.

“Yes, I am.”

“I think I'll let you two argue that out,” Katie said. “Call me in the morning, Ivy. You hear?”

“Yes, I hear. Thanks for calling,” she said. She hit the off button and placed the phone on the table.

“I am staying.” Max crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fine. Stay. See if I care what my neighbors think about some foreigner crashing in my apartment.”

“You have plenty of space. There's a guest bedroom. Unless you want me to sleep with you.”

She glared at him, aghast that he could even mention such a thing when everything was a mess. Men.

His thick eyebrows rose slightly. “I didn't think so.” He gathered up their glasses and the damp napkins under them, then herded her into the house. “Although it's a bit late to be concerned about
that.
”

She whirled on him. “If you hadn't…and then you… Anyway, it's all your fault.”

Tears pressed close. She would rather die than cry like some spineless wimp in front of him. She fled down the hall and into her room. There she slammed the door and fell across the bed, her hot face pressed desperately into the pillow as she fought for control.

All was quiet in the rest of the house.

After a while—ten minutes or an hour, she had no idea of time—she crept off the bed and into the bathroom. After changing to a nightgown and preparing for bed, she returned and crawled under the sheet.

Fatigue hit her like a sack of rocks, but she couldn't make herself go to sleep. Too many unconnected thoughts drifted in and out of her mind, drawn through the sieve of uncertainty that haunted her.

He'd admitted he'd followed her. But not until almost two months later. He'd waited until she'd known for sure she was expecting. Was it only the baby he was interested in? He hadn't even tried to kiss her good-night or persuade her to share the bed….

With a moan she pulled the pillow over her head.

 

Chuck was eating on the dining patio of the hotel when Max found him the next morning. “Good. You're here.”

His friend smiled over the rim of the coffee cup. “I've been at the hotel all night. Unlike some people.”

“Checking on me again?” Max asked, his tone even.

The security advisor shook his head. “Using my deductive skills, I noticed your bed wasn't used last night.” Chuck shrugged, then continued. “How's the rose this morning?”

Before Max could answer, the waiter came over with a menu and a glass of water. Max waved the menu aside and ordered coffee. “Black. Strong.”

“You need an aspirin?” Chuck asked.

“No. Why?”

“You might when you read this.” He held out a couple of sheets of paper. “This came by fax this morning.”

Max read over the report from the assistant chief of security. The information recapped an article in a not-too-savory newspaper that covered the northern Mediterranean region. With fair accuracy it detailed his day with Ivy in Lantanya, ending with the sojourn at the resort suite reserved for the royal family. The reporter even knew about the cherries jubilee.

The article then covered the attempted coup and the trial, then Max's departure for Portland to “find the woman who was carrying the future heir to the kingdom.”

“How the hell could anyone know this when I didn't until yesterday?” he demanded, tossing the report on the table in disgust.

“A bribe here and there. Interviews with hotel and museum staff. A quick check with an insider at the airlines and a list of foreigners recently entering the country.” Chuck studied him for a minute, then added, “The rest is speculation, of course, but it probably didn't take a genius to figure out.”

Max heaved an expressive sigh. “My mother was American. She sometimes ranted—in private, naturally—about the lack of privacy royals have. Each time she was pregnant, the press knew it before she did.”

“Americans are big on invasion-of-privacy issues,” his friend remarked, his manner introspective. “Your mother had three miscarriages before you were born.”

“And?”

“The same could happen to the rose. First pregnancies often terminate early. It's as if the body has to get used to the idea first.”

Max smiled without humor. “So, should I wait until she comes to term, then bring in the minister after the babe utters its first cry?”

“It's your call, Your Highness.”

“I love the way you get out of tight spots by reverting to formality,” he said dryly.

Chuck grinned, then became serious again. “How do you feel about Ivy Crosby? Are you willing to spend the rest of your life with her? Your parents were sticklers for honoring their word, including their marriage vows. What if your rose demands the same from you?”

Memories rushed over Max. The brush of a hand over his chest. The sigh of a breath across his lips. The soft touch of those lips against his. The uncertainty, then the hunger. The need. The fulfillment.