“I don’t think I need more alcohol,” groaned Marisol. “How many toasts were made to us?”
“I lost track,” he admitted. “But one more for us.”
Marisol looked at the envelope on the coffee table addressed to Ryan in her father’s hand. “Are you going to open that?”
“I don’t know. What could it be?”
“Open it and find out.”
Ryan picked up the envelope and pulled out the card inside. Marisol glanced at it and smiled.
By Royal Decree of His Royal Highness Francois Duvaingnon, King of Dalaysia, let it be known that Ryan Andrew Kelley, is now styled as Prince Ryan of Dalaysia, consort of Crown Princess Marisol Duvaignon of Dalaysia, and is to be accorded all privileges and honors of that rank.
“I told him it wasn’t necessary,” said Ryan. “And I didn’t say I was giving up my American citizenship.”
“That’s not what this means. It means my father loves you like a son. How can that be bad? And you can hold dual citizenship here.”
“But I’m not a prince,” protested Ryan.
Marisol shifted to lean across her husband.
“You are to me,” she whispered. She put her arms around his neck to bring herself even with his lips. He bent his head and kissed her gently, at first, then more passionately.
“Let’s get me out of this dress,” she whispered.
Ryan helped Marisol up from the couch. In the bedroom, Ryan unbuttoned the many buttons on the back of the wedding dress, cursing lightly. Finally, the dress pooled to the ground and Ryan looked at her hungrily.
“I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” he said.
“I can see,” said Marisol noting the fullness in his dress slacks. She hugged him, pressing her body against his and he groaned.
“I’ve waited too long,” he said. With that he swept her into his arm, just like he did that first night they shared and laid her on their bed. He didn’t wait for words of encouragement from her and shortly was beautifully naked before her, his shaft hard and straining.
“Come here,” she said, holding out her arms. “And don’t wait. I’ve waited for you too, and I can hardly stand it. I’m ready for you.”
Ryan lay over her, holding his weight up with his forearms.
“You’re so beautiful. Is it any wonder that I love you?”
“Don’t wait,” she said squirming under him desperate for more of him.
Ryan guided himself to her entrance and she sighed as she felt him between her legs.
“Please, baby,” she begged. “I need you.”
His eyes closed half-lidded with desire he entered her. Both of them moaned at the sensation of their flesh joining filling every inch of her core. Marisol felt the gathering rush inside her. It won’t take much or long for her completion. Ryan moved, groaning at each stroke. “You feel so good.”
“More, honey. Please.”
Ryan moved, thrusting faster and harder, growing wilder, and Marisol slipped headlong into the fire that consumed her body. She exploded around him, crying his name. Ryan pulsed inside her, crying her name, sending aftershocks of her orgasm through her.
They held each other tightly, listening to the beat of their hearts. He kissed her neck, whispering how much he loved her. Then he tightened, getting tense.
“Damn,” he said. “I didn’t use a condom.”
Marisol smiled. “Relax, sweetheart. We’re married now.”
“But I’m sure you don’t want a child this soon after marriage. There’s so much work for us to do.”
“This is the first duty of any newly married royal couple,” she said.
“First duty?” said Ryan.
“Securing succession.”
“Oh,” said Ryan. Then he smiled. “Well, as a royal duty, it’s not so bad.”
“What?” Marisol slapped his shoulder.
“As a matter of fact, let’s do our duty again.”
Marisol smiled. “And you said you weren’t a prince.”
******
Bonus Excerpt
Scottish Billionaire’s Baby
Blurb
Months ago, against her better judgment, Lizzy let Ian sweep her off her feet. When he disappears, leaving behind more than just regrets, she decides to follow him to Edinburgh and make sure he understood the consequences of their brief fling—due to arrive in a few months. Instead, she learns Ian was really Gerard. He stole his brother’s name and mannerisms to woo her before he was killed in a car accident.
An accident of her own leaves Lizzy on bedrest and stranded in Scotland with only her former lover’s brother to watch out for her. He takes good care of her, but she has to safeguard her heart, because she’s falling for the gentle billionaire, and she’s certain he’s in love with her too. Their love can either heal both their wounded hearts or shatter them into fragments with no chance of ever being whole again. It’s a risk Lizzy isn’t sure she’s ready to take. Is Ian?
Chapter One
Lizzy frowned and pulled her jacket over her swollen belly as she stood in front of the drab stone building. The weather in Scotland was colder than the weather in New York, which wasn’t what any reasonable person would call warm. It didn’t help that her body and clothes had declared war on one another. The wool peacoat that fit her so well two weeks ago now strained at the lower buttonholes to accommodate her baby bump, another casualty of war. She had been so busy getting ready for the trip across the Atlantic that she hadn’t had time to buy maternity clothes. It seemed like a waste of money anyway. Her body changed each day, unperceivable changes that she didn’t notice all the time, but added together made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. But then her life would be full of changes once the baby was born.
It wasn’t that she disliked being pregnant, but Lizzy planned her life to the smallest detail. She always had. Form a strategy, plan it, and execute it. That was how she survived in the cutthroat world of art. Carelessness wasn’t her style. Careless people often found themselves an unwitting part of someone else’s plan and usually to their detriment. Lizzy had learned that lesson the hard way, and that knowledge had carried her from the tiny apartment in rough-and-tumble Washington Heights to a still-small, but more upscale apartment on the Upper East Side. It wasn’t much compared to some of the newer, fancier apartments in the area, but she made do.
Ian MacHolden changed everything. He was wealthy, gorgeous, and had a way of looking at Lizzy that made her feel like she was the only woman alive. Not even the hardened heart she’d once so prided herself on could withstand that. Five months and one shocking pregnancy test later, she still couldn’t explain how Ian managed to blast his way past her defenses. Or why he’d disappeared once the last wall she laid in place had come down. She pushed the thoughts aside as she stared up at the building. This trip wasn’t about her and Ian. It was about the baby, and she’d delayed the trip for too long already.
Lizzy couldn’t afford to waste time lamenting the past. She owed her baby the best, which meant a father, even if i
t put her in a room with the man who’d seduced her and disappeared. Lizzy closed her eyes to calm herself and take in her surroundings.
The wind was gentle, but had a slight chill that bit at her cheeks. If she’d left her hair down, it might have shielded her face from the worst of the wind, but she’d settled on a loose braid. Something that said, “I’m not here for a fight or a reunion. I just want to talk this out.” The only way to get warm was to go inside.
She took a deep breath as she walked into the lobby. The interior of the office surprised her. Wealthy men in New York loved to show off. They bought offices and homes in towers of glass and steel, the kind with sprawling marble desks with security clerks in suits. Instead, a receptionist in a crisp button-down shirt sat behind a small desk of glass and metal. She glanced up at Lizzy and smiled.
“May I help you, miss?” The woman looked Lizzy up and down.
In her rush to see Ian, she’d forgotten to change out of her travel clothes. Cotton pants and a T-shirt were comfortable travel attire, but not appropriate for barging into the office of a rich businessman. Lizzy cleared her throat and tugged at the hem of her waistcoat. “I’d like to speak to Ian MacHolden.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist turned to her computer. Lizzy knew this dance well. The dismissive receptionist and the eager walk-in. Men like Ian MacHolden always had a receptionist standing guard. Someone to let the peasants down without bruised egos when they tried to demand too much. Lizzy wasn’t having it.
“I don’t, but it’s urgent.”
“I understand, miss. But Mr. MacHolden’s schedule is full today, I’m afraid. If you’d like to come back another time—”
“I’m only in the country for a few days.”
The receptionist smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. Lizzy knew that move too. The blow-off smile. Lizzy could almost see the receptionist’s mind calculating how long it would take to shoo her away. “I’m sorry, miss, but there’s nothing I can do if you don’t have an appointment.”