The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North
10
Clara was pleasantly surprised when Erik took them back to the hotel where they’d spent their first momentous night together. He seemed almost nervous, eager to please… in some ways, just like he had been that first time. She was a little nervous herself, now that she thought about it. Not that she didn’t think that they would be amazing together—their chemistry was so combustible, it ought to be registered as lethal somewhere—but because it wasn’t going to be just sex this time. They were engaged and expecting a child together. They hadn’t discussed their feelings for each other, and maybe it was too early for words like “love” to be bandied about, but they were certainly closer, and after tonight, they were only going to be closer still. It was a little terrifying.
They walked into the suite. There were rose petals on the bed, and flickering candles scattered about, giving the whole place a warm glow. On the table by the windows, there were two drinks and a platter of truffles and chocolate-covered strawberries. She raised an eyebrow, looking at Erik with amusement.
“Upon reflection,” he said, clearing his throat, “I may have gone a bit overboard.”
She chuckled, shaking her head, then walked over to the table. There was a little card that described what was in each truffle, plus a description of the drinks: Moscow mule mocktails, with ginger beer, lime, fresh mint, club soda. She picked one up, sipping it. It tasted wonderful.
“I asked specifically for nonalcoholic,” Erik said, stepping behind her and rubbing her arms, before tugging her back lightly so she rested against his front. “And I thought the ginger would be nice because… you know. Morning sickness.”
It was so thoughtful. She felt a lump form in her throat, and swallowed hard, downing more of the drink. “It’s delicious,” she said, when she was confident she could talk without croaking with emotion.
“How is all that going?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then the side of her neck, causing her to shiver. “I mean… is… you know, this going to be all right?”
She smirked at his delicate choice of phrase, but was oddly touched, as well. “I think,” she joked, putting her drink down and turning in his arms, brushing a kiss against his collarbone, “that this is going to be just fine.”
He smiled back, pressing a soft kiss against her lips before tugging her over to the bed. They were taking it slow, which she both appreciated and felt impatient with. Kicking off their shoes, they stretched out. His blue eyes glowed as he took her in.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, and in that moment, she felt it. Not just beautiful, she felt cherished, and valued, and happy.
And possibly a teeny bit loved.
Too soon to think like that, she thought, pushing it aside. But her heart still beat quickly in her chest, and her cheeks heated with pleasure. She stroked his face, feeling the slightest stubble scratching her fingertips.
After more kissing and soft words, their breathing had grown ragged, their touches going from gentle caresses to more insistent fondling. Sheer desire made her fingers clumsy as she tried to take his shirt off. She growled with frustration.
“You’re not going to rip it off, are you?” he asked, obviously amused.
“I might,” she said. “If you don’t hurry up and get naked.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said, his own long, graceful fingers undoing the front buttons and cuffs. He stripped the shirt off, revealing the gold expanse of his skin, dusted with blond hair. The man had muscles, not like a bodybuilder—leaner and more defined, like a swimmer.
That was her favorite kind. She dipped her head down, licking at his abs, gratified by his gasp of pleasure.
“Now, let’s be fair,” he admonished, tugging her sweater over her head, leaving her only in a lacy bra. She arched her back as he stroked his palm over her skin. “God, your skin is soft.”
She shivered, both at his touch and the reverence in his tone. He undid her jeans, and she wriggled out of them, kicking them onto the floor. Now she was just in a pair of knickers that matched her bra—a first, thank you, royal wardrobe people!—and she waited, burning and shivering by turns.
He traced his fingertips along the sides of her rib cage, just barely beneath her breasts, along the insides of her thighs, around her belly button. She swallowed. “I’m starting to show, I think,” she stammered nervously. Why am I nervous? “It looks like I’ve had a few too many gyoza or something.”
“Not true,” he said, his hand hot against her skin. “You look healthy, showing the tiniest bit… and trust me, it’s gorgeous. Every inch of you is beautiful.”
She writhed underneath his touch as he pressed hot kisses seemingly everywhere, touching everywhere. “Erik,” she murmured, running her hands over whatever flesh she could reach.
He pulled away only long enough to strip out of what clothes remained, looking like a cut, sleek Greek god. His hair looked like burnished gold in the low flickering lights, and his clear blue eyes gleamed like a winter sky. “I have never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he said, his voice edged in a kind of despair.
She removed the last barriers of her clothing and reached for him.
“Then have me,” she whispered.
He covered her, heated skin surrounding her as his mouth took hers in a fierce kiss. She was about to lose her mind when he finally pressed into her. He propped himself up on his strong arms, sucking marks onto her neck, right by her clavicle, not to the point of pain, but enough to make her go wild, bucking against him as he rocked firm and sure inside her.
“Erik,” she moaned softly, biting her lip against the flood of sensations. “Erik!”
He seemed spurred on by her sounds, letting out a low groan of need as his hips started to move faster and he thrust deeper. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him so close it was as if they couldn’t bear even a millimeter of space between them.
They moved as one, kissing, sighing, rocking, until they finally shuddered in climax, first one then the other, neither sure of who was first. Nor caring.
After they cleaned up, she curled into his arms, breathing in the spicy, woodsy scent of him, some luxurious cologne mixed with the scent of him. She kissed his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.
“You’re all right?” he asked, caring, concerned.
“I’m fine. We’re fine,” she corrected, patting her stomach gently.
“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asked.
“I don’t think it matters, as long as they’re healthy,” she said, then glanced at him. “Does it matter? From a succession standpoint, I mean?” It hadn’t occurred to her until now. Fervia, based on everything she’d discussed with the ministers and publicists, and the stupid etiquette lessons, was a very traditional culture.
Did they only want a boy?The thought made her frown.
“No, it doesn’t matter,” he quickly reassured her. “They will be next in line for the throne, regardless of gender. I simply wondered.”
“Do you have a preference?” she probed.
His expression grew sheepish. “Honestly, I’m just nervous about being a parent,” he admitted. “I haven’t exactly done a lot with my life, and I want to make sure our child is proud of me.”
She startled, surprised at his admission. “You’re a prince,” she pointed out. “I’m fairly certain…”
“Yes, but what have I done?” he countered, and his voice was sad. “I’ve partied around the world. I’ve never done anything that represented Fervia in any significant way. I’m thirty, and I’m only now trying to help my family rule the country.”
He shifted his weight, propping his head up on one hand and staring at her, his blue gaze haunted. “You pointed out just how far off the mark I was. You’re right. I’m used to spending money as a way to either distract myself or buy my way out of inconvenience and trouble. I was actually spoiled enough to think how hard I had it, compared to the ‘normal’ people in the world. And there your family was, there you were, working all these jobs… for God’s sake, you were working when I was running around playing video games and complaining about my tutors, and playing pranks in boarding school! I’ve been so up my own arse about my position and my privilege, it’s embarrassing.”
She huffed out a sigh. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” she tried, but he shook his head.
“I’m not being hard enough, if I’m honest,” he said. “I promised my family, after my mother died, that I’d stop messing around, and finally become a responsible, productive member. I’d get my act together. Now that I’m going to be a parent, that seems even more important. I need to be an example.”
He sounded so impossibly disappointed with himself, her heart hurt. “What was your mother like?” she asked, wondering how her death would’ve triggered such self-recriminations.
He smiled, his eyes going hazy and unfocused with memories as he stroked her back, snuggling her closer. “She was wonderful,” he said, his voice choking slightly with emotion. “She always believed in me, no matter what crazy stuff I was into. I used to write little songs when I was a kid, and put on shows, and she listened every time, no matter what. And she loved the compositions I wrote in university. She actually said it didn’t matter that I wanted to pursue music in uni, actually,” he said, sounding sheepish. “To be fair, it’s not like I was trained or particularly skilled enough to do anything else in the kingdom, that much was clear. Pelle’s the perfect Crown Prince. I’m just there, you know, in case of emergency. But my mother thought that pursuing music was a perfectly acceptable major, or at least not a big deal. Some might say she was terribly indulgent of me.”
He sounded like he was joking, but she knew he wasn’t—that edge of bitterness showed he wasn’t. “Some might say” meant someone did say his mother was indulgent of his passion for music.
She frowned, picturing the stern, stoic Lion of Fervia.
I can just imagine who that was.
“It’s funny,” he murmured, in a tone that said it was anything but, “when I graduated, I was top of my class. I wrote an entire, fully orchestrated symphony, specially performed at the graduation ceremony.” He paused. “My mother was the only one who attended. My father had… I don’t know, something came up. Same for Pelle.”
In that moment, Clara could have strangled his father and brother both. “They should have made time. It was important.”
Erik shrugged, downplaying it.
“Do you still write music? Do you still play?”
“I play almost every day,” he said. “When I can, at any rate. It… centers me. And I still write. But just for myself, obviously.”
“Why obviously?”
He looked at her, surprised. “Because it’s not something princes do.”
“You know, not everyone is cut out for politics,” she pointed out. “And that’s not a bad thing.”
He stiffened, pulling away from her. “You don’t think I can handle it, either.”
“No! No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying, if it doesn’t interest you, why force yourself?”
He laughed, but it sounded wooden. “You, of all people, are asking why I should do something I don’t like?”
She nodded, frowning. You, of all people?
“You can’t possibly tell me that you adore your job of being a waitress,” he said, and she couldn’t help it—she bristled. “That doesn’t mean that you’re not good at it, or that it’s not worthwhile work. But you don’t do it because you’re passionate about it. You do it because it’s your job, and it covers your responsibilities.” He sighed heavily. “This is my job. I’m prince. And I’ve been spoiled and screwing off for long enough. I need to step up.”
She bit her lip. She wasn’t quite sure what he expected to do, honestly. But she’d studied enough politics to know that if he wasn’t all in, if he didn’t have an aptitude and an appetite for it… it seemed like a recipe for disaster, or at least frustration and depression.
She just didn’t know how to tell him that.
“I miss my mother,” he said quietly. “A lot.”
Her heart hurt, and she stroked his face. “I am so sorry. I worry about my mum, with the fibro. But to lose her, or my da… it would break my heart.”
“I’m just sorry that she won’t be here to see the baby,” he said, closing his eyes.
They lay quietly after that, wrapped in each other’s arms. She wanted to reassure him, to comfort him, but she didn’t know how. All she could do was hold him close and hope like hell that he didn’t push himself too hard, trying to prove himself in a way that would never work.
