His Pregnant Princess Bride

“With who? You didn’t knock up some groupie looking for a big payoff from the family?” His voice crackled through the phone from across the Atlantic.

“Dad, that’s your gig. Not mine.” And just like that, he was on the defensive. Gervais was not his father. He would never be like his father. And the fact that his father thought he had that in his nature sent him reeling.

“No need to be disrespectful.” Bells chimed in the background of the call, an unmistakable sound of a slot machine in payoff mode.

So much for keeping the subject of his parents’ divorce off the table. “You destroyed your marriage with your affairs. You ignored your own sons for years. I lost respect for you a long time ago.”

“Then why are you here now telling me about this baby?”

Gervais closed his eyes, blotting out the lights from the distant boats on the lake, listening to the sound of the water. With his spare hand, he pressed on his eyes, inhaling deeply. Exhaling hard, he opened his eyes, resolve renewed.

“Because this news is going to go viral soon and I want to make sure you understand I will not tolerate any inappropriate or hurtful comments to the mother of my child.” That was something he absolutely would not allow. From anyone. Least of all his father. He would protect Erika from that.

“Understood. And who might this woman be?” An air of interest infused his words.

“Erika Mitras.” He sat down, inspecting his ice cubes as he waited for his father to make some sort of off-color remark.

“Mitras? From that royal family full of girls? Well, hell, son. It’s tough to find someone not out for our money, but kudos to you. You found a woman who doesn’t need a damn thing from you.”

The words cut him, even though, for once, his father hadn’t meant any harm by them. Erika had said as much about not needing Gervais’s help. But he wanted to be there for his children. For her. Seeing those two tiny lives on that monitor today had blown him away.

And knowing that Erika was already taxed from travel and devoting her beautiful body to nurture those children made him want to slay dragons for her. Or, at the very least, put a roof over her head and see to her every need.

“Thanks. That wasn’t forefront in my mind at the time.”

“When you were in England, I assume?”

“Not your business.”

“You always were a mouthy bastard.” Smug words from the other end of the receiver.

“Just like my old man.” He downed half of his glass of bourbon. “Be nice.”

“The team’s winning. That always puts me in a good mood.”

“Nice to know you care.” Not that his father owned a cent of this team. The Hurricanes belonged to Gervais and Gervais alone.

“Congratulations, Papa. Name the little one after me and I’ll give—”

“Dad, stop. No need to try so hard to be an ass.”

“I’m not trying. Good night, son. Congrats.”

The line went dead. So much for father-son bonding time.

Gervais tossed his cell phone on a lounge chair and tipped back the rest of the ten-year-old bourbon, savoring the honey-and-spice finish in an effort to dispel the sour feel left by the phone call. He didn’t know what he’d expected from his old man. That he would magically change into...what? A real father? Some kind of reassurance that maybe, just maybe, he himself could be a good father to not just one but two babies?

Foolishness, that. Theo remained as selfish as they came.

Regardless, though, he knew one thing for certain. He was not going to ditch his responsibility the way his father had.

* * *

Tucked in the big guest bed in Gervais’s house, Erika snuggled deeper beneath the lightweight comforter, hugging the pillow closer as sleep tugged her further under. She was exhausted after the hospital visit and the strain of pregnancy that seemed to drain all her physical resources. She would feel better after she rested, and she couldn’t deny taking extra pleasure at sleeping under the same roof as Gervais.

During her waking hours, she did all in her power to keep the strong attraction at bay so she could make smart decisions about her future. Her children’s future. But just now, with sleep pulling her under, and her body so perfectly comfortable, she couldn’t resist the lure of thinking about Gervais. His touch. His taste...

Her memories and dreams mingling, filling her mind and drugging her senses with seductive images...

The press of Gervais’s lips on hers sparked awareness deep in Erika’s stomach. He pulled back from the passionate kiss, and she surprised herself when she was disappointed. She wanted his lips on hers. And not just there. Everywhere.

But he led her toward the couch in his den.

His den?

A part of her brain realized this was not a memory. She was in Gervais’s house. In Louisiana. She could smell the scent of the lake mingling with the woodsy spice of his aftershave as he drew her down to the leather couch, tossing aside a football before he landed on the cushion while she melted into his lap. And it felt right. Natural. As if she belonged here with him.

Her heart slugged hard in her chest, the strength and warmth of his so incredible she could stay for hours. Longer. She wanted this. Wanted him. She’d never felt so alive as during those days when she’d been in his bed, and she couldn’t wait to feel that spark inside her again. The hitch in her breath. The pleasure of sharp orgasms undulating through her body, again and again.

Now he tilted her chin up, searched her eyes for something. A mingle of nerves, anticipation and desire thumped in her chest as he kissed her forehead. Her lips. Her neck. She trembled as he touched her, her whole body poised for the fulfillment he could provide.

Her eyes closed, and the muted noise of a football game on a television behind them began to fade away until only the sound of their mingled breaths remained.

“Erika,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her neck again. The heat of his breath on her skin made her toes curl.

“Mmm?” A half question stuck on her lips.

“Stay here with me.” His request was spoken in clips between kisses, then a nip on her earlobe.

His hands tugged at the heavy jeweled collar around her neck. He removed it from her, the metal crown charms clanking against the coffee table. How good it felt to set that weight aside.

“Let me take care of you. Of them.” Wandering hands found her shoulders, slipped underneath the thin straps of her dress. She burst to life, pressing into him with a new urgency. A want and need so unfamiliar to her.

As he kissed her, he rocked her back and forth. The scent of earthy cologne seemed to grow stronger. Demanded more of her attention...

“Erika?” a deep voice called, a man’s voice.

Gervais.

Opening her eyes, she had a moment of panic. This was not the hotel room.

As the suite came into focus, she realized where—and when—she was. This was Gervais’s house, his guest bedroom. She wasn’t in London, but rather in Louisiana. Still, the memory pounded at her mind and through her veins.

She wanted to go back there now. To her dreamworld in all its brilliant simplicity.

But Gervais himself stood in the doorway of the guest suite.

His square jaw flexed, the muscles in his body tensed, backlit from a glowing sconce in the hall.

“Erika?” He crossed the threshold, deeper into the room, his gaze intense as he studied her. “I heard you cry out. I was worried. Are you okay? The babies?”

The mattress dipped as he sat beside her, stirring heated memories of her dream.

“I am fine. I was, um, just restless.” The sensuality of her dream still filled her, making her all the more aware of his hip grazing hers through the lightweight blanket. The electricity between them was not waning. If anything, she felt the space between them grow even more charged. More aware.

“Restless,” he repeated, eyes roving her so thoroughly she wondered what she looked like. Her hair teased along her bare shoulder, her silk nightdress suddenly feeling very insubstantial, even though the blanket covered her breasts.

Images from her dream flitted back into her mind, and she bit her lip as her gaze moved down his face, to his hands reaching up to her exposed shoulders. Looking back at him through her eyelashes, she could tell he sensed the charged atmosphere, too. But his hands didn’t move. Not as she’d expected—and wanted—them to. There was something else besides hunger in the way he held her gaze. Something that looked a bit like worry.

“Gervais, I truly am all right. But are you all right?”

He ran his hand through the hair on top of his head, eyes turning glossy and unfocused. “I called my dad tonight to tell him about the pregnancy. Not the twin part. Just...that he’s going to be a grandfather. I didn’t want him to hear it in the news.”

She thought of how the day had gone so crazy so fast simply because she passed out. “I wish we could have told your family together.”

“You didn’t include me when you told your family.”