“Cold?” Maks purred, pushing even closer. “Let me warm you.”

“I’m not co—” But Gillian wasn’t allowed to finish the thought.

His mouth covered hers in a kiss that demanded full submission and reciprocation.

Her body—the same body that had shied away from his every touch—now capitulated without a single conscious thought on her part. She sank into him while her mouth softened under his, allowing him immediate access to the interior.

Like the marauder his ancestors had been, he took advantage, his tongue seeking hers out with sensual intent. The hand on her throat slid down to her shoulder and then lower.

His triumphant growl was both animalistic and unbearably exciting.

This man might have all the urbanity expected of a prince on the outside, but underneath beat the heart of a ruthless Cossack. He wanted nothing less than everything.

BY HIS ROYAL DECREE

At his command and in his bed!

Crown Prince Maksim Yurkovich and his royal cousin

Prince Demyan know exactly the price of duty.

Having already sacrificed so much,

what is one more thing to them?

Tied to women by necessity, it’s hard to say who is

more surprised by the fiery strength of their desire—

the Princes or their brides.

But when the sheets cool on the marriage bed

who will win…Queen or country?

Read Crown Prince Maksim’s story this month in

ONE NIGHT HEIR

And next month discover how far Prince Demyan will go to do his duty in

PRINCE OF SECRETS

About the Author

LUCY MONROE started reading at the age of four. After going through the childrens’ books at home, she was caught by her mother reading adult novels pilfered from the higher shelves on the bookcase…Alas, it was nine years before she got her hands on a Mills & Boon® Romance her older sister had brought home. She loves to create the strong alpha males and independent women who people Mills & Boon® books. When she’s not immersed in a romance novel (whether reading or writing it), she enjoys travel with her family, having tea with the neighbours, gardening, and visits from her numerous nieces and nephews.

Lucy loves to hear from her readers: e-mail Lucy Monroe@LucyMonroe.com, or visit www.LucyMonroe.com

Recent titles by the same author:

 NOT JUST THE GREEK’S WIFE

 HEART OF A DESERT WARRIOR

 FOR DUTY’S SAKE

 THE GREEK’S PREGNANT LOVER

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

One Night Heir
Lucy Monroe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In sincerest gratitude to my readers,

who have stuck with me through the droughts brought

on by my mom’s final illness and subsequent death,

my own health issues and the many other challenges

life offers us mortals. Your support and encouragement

mean so very much to me and have blessed me truly

beyond measure. Love and hugs to you all!

With particular thanks to Ms Gillian Wheatley of

London for suggesting visual inspiration for my hero.

XOXO

The necessary legal caveat: while Ms Wheatley shares

a first name with the female protagonist in this book,

Gillian Harris is not fashioned after her or based on

Ms Wheatley in any way. Any similarities are purely

coincidental and unintentional by the author.

CHAPTER ONE

FURY RIDING HIM like an angry stallion, Crown Prince Maksim of Volyarus let loose with a punch-cross-hook kickboxing combo against his cousin and sparring partner.

Demyan blocked, and the sound of flesh hitting pads mixed with his grunt of surprise. “Something the matter, your highness?”

Maks hated when his cousin, older by four years and raised as a brother with Maks in their family’s palace, referred to him by his title.

Demyan was well aware, but the older man liked pushing buttons, especially during their workout sessions. He said it made the sparring more intense.

Today would have been sufficiently punishing without the added irritation. Not that Maks warned Demyan of that. His cousin deserved what he got.

“Nothing wiping the smug look off your face won’t take care of.” Maks danced back before driving forward with another fast-paced, grueling combo.

Well-matched in stature and strength, they both kept their six-feet-four-inch frames in top physical condition.

“I thought tonight was the big night with Gillian,” Demyan said, scrambling in a way he rarely did during their sessions. “Don’t tell me you think she’s going to turn you down?”

“If I were going to ask, she’d say yes.” And a day ago that certainty had given Maks a great deal of pleasure.

Now, it just taunted him with what he couldn’t have. Namely, Gillian.

“So, what is the problem?” Demyan demanded as he went on the offensive, forcing Maks to defend against a barrage of punches and kicks.

“Her medical tests came back.”

“She’s not sick, is she?” Demyan asked, sounding sincerely concerned.

Coming from a man with a reputation for cold ruthlessness, it would have shocked anyone else.

But Maks knew how much Demyan cared about their family. And for the last eight months, the beautiful, sweet Gillian had been moving closer and closer to joining that group.

“She’s perfectly fine.” If you didn’t count poorly functioning ovaries. “Now.”

“What does that mean?”

“She had appendicitis when she was sixteen.”

“That was ten years ago, what bearing does it have on her health now?”

“Fallopian tubes.”

Demyan stopped and stared at Maks in confusion. “What?”

In no mood to give his cousin a break, Maks took advantage of the other man’s inattention and knocked him on his ass with a well-timed kick.

Demyan jumped to his feet, but he didn’t come back for more like Maks expected. “Knock it off and explain what the hell appendicitis as a teenager has to do with an adult woman’s fallopian tubes.”

Demyan was no idiot. He knew Maks’s interest in Gillian’s reproductive system was of paramount importance to the House of Yurkovich, the royal family of Volyarus.

“She has a poorly functioning reproductive system.” Maks adjusted his thin sparring gloves. “There is less than a thirty percent chance of pregnancy.”

A lot less by some estimations, slightly more by others, according the specialist Maks had consulted.

Demyan shoved hair the same dark color as Maks’s own off his forehead. “With fertility treatment?”

“I have no intention of becoming the next father of sextuplets.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not. You know I cannot marry a woman who won’t be able to produce the next heir plus a spare.”

Demyan didn’t reply immediately. They were both too personally aware of the costs associated with those issues.

“You aren’t your father. You don’t have to marry a woman you don’t love in order to provide an heir.”

“I have no intention of doing so. Neither will I marry a woman I like whose only hope of providing that child would be via often painful and not always successful fertility treatments.”

“You could adopt.”

“Like my parents adopted you?”

“They didn’t formally adopt me. I am still a Zaretsky. It was never your father’s intention that I inherit the throne.”

“You were just his spare,” Maks muttered with some bitterness.

Demyan shrugged. “Duty is duty.”

“And my duty precludes asking Gillian Harris to marry me.” His personal sense of honor also dictated he break things off with her as soon as possible.

“You don’t love her?” Demyan asked with only mild curiosity.

“You know better.”

“Love only leads to pain,” Demyan quoted one of Maks’s mother’s favorite refrains.

Maks added the rest. “And a compromise on duty.”

Both men had reason to believe it, too.

“What are you going to do?” Demyan asked, dropping back into a sparring stance.

Maks executed a simple forward jab-left hook combo. “What do you think?”

“I’ll miss her.”

Maks didn’t doubt it. One of the reasons he’d decided to ask Gillian to marry him was that despite her mostly small-town upbringing, she got along surprisingly well with his family and successfully navigated social situations many would find overwhelming.

The daughter of a renowned world news correspondent, Gillian had been attending events with the world’s richest and most powerful since a young age.

Demyan blocked Maks’s kick and returned one of his own. “Are you going to tell her tonight?”

“I may not need to.” The lovely blue-eyed blonde would have gotten a copy of the results of her latest physical.

Gillian would know about the reasons behind her irregular menses now as well. She already knew the responsibilities associated with his position. She should be expecting the dissolution of their relationship.

A more practical woman than most, he had hopes there would be no awkward “breakup” scene.

“Yes, Nana, I think tonight’s the night,” Gillian said into the phone mashed to her ear with her shoulder as she hopped around the room trying to get her shoes on.

“Has he told you he loved you yet?” Evelyn Harris, Gillian’s nana and the woman who had raised her, asked.

“No.”

“Your grandfather has told me every night before we go to sleep for the last forty-eight years that he loves me.”

“I know, Nana.” But Maks was different.

He held his emotions in check like it was a royal imperative, and ever the dutiful prince, he obeyed. They came out when he was making love, though. After a fashion.

Maks made love with the single-minded intensity of a man who was thinking of nothing else but pleasing and getting lost in the woman who shared his bed.

For the past seven months, that woman had been Gillian.

They’d dated a month before he took her to bed the first time. She’d found that odd at the time, considering his reputation, but later she’d realized that, as unbelievable as it might seem, Maks was looking for more from her than a casual bed partner.

And while she’d been more thrilled than shocked, she’d been stunned all the same.

She didn’t belong in his circle. She was not rich, famous, or powerful, but Gillian’s father still liked to see her when he was in town. That inevitably meant going to some function or other on his arm. He couldn’t dedicate time simply to visiting her, so he included Gillian in his schedule.

As the famous news correspondent’s unremarkable daughter, Gillian had attended more than her fair share of diplomatic and high society events.

No one had been more shocked than she when it turned out that Crown Prince Maksim Yurkovich of Volyarus seemed to like unremarkable. Several comments made by him, and a couple by his mother on the few occasions Gillian had met the queen, had made it clear that royalty did not look for notoriety when choosing a mate.

Though regardless, she would have thought Maks would be looking for someone with more personal cache than Gillian to bring into the royal family. Apparently Volyarussians did not have the same requirements for pedigree in a mate than other royal families of the world.

And there couldn’t be anyone less notorious than the small-town girl from Alaska who made her living as what her father termed a “chocolate-box” photographer.

There was nothing objectionable, or even questionable in Gillian’s past. Her parents hadn’t stayed together and neither had been interested in raising her, but they’d entered into a short businesslike marriage prior to her birth and hadn’t filed for divorce until a year after.

“I may as well hang up now, your mind is clearly in the clouds again, child,” Nana said over the phone line.

Gillian shoved her blond hair behind her ear and adjusted the phone. “I’m sorry, Nana. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. You get to thinking about Maks and the rest of your brain shuts off, especially the part attached to your ears.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Her grandmother’s snort said the older woman did not agree. “You make that boy tell you that he loves you before you agree to be his wife.”

“He’s hardly a boy, Nana.” Gillian had made the same protest before, but to little effect.

“I’m seventy-five years old, Gillian. He’s a boy to me.”

“Some people never say those words,” Gillian pointed out, returning to the subject she knew her grandmother considered most important.

“Some people have less sense than God gave a gnat then.”

“Rich doesn’t say it, but he loves me.” Even as she said the words, Gillian knew she wasn’t actually certain that they were true.

Her father wasn’t an affectionate or demonstrative man. Rich Harris had made little more than a moderate effort to be part of her life, but he’d also been the one to make sure she had two people to raise her who loved and cared for her. The two dear people who had raised him.

“Your daddy is an idiot, no matter what those Pulitzer Prize people say.”

Gillian laughed, knowing her grandmother didn’t mean the words. Nana was hugely proud of her world famous son and still held out the hope that one day he would take on the role of Gillian’s father.

That ship had sailed a long time ago, but Gillian would never say so to the older woman.

She owed too much to Nana to hurt her in any way. “Don’t you let him hear you say that. He’ll take back the motor home.”

“I’d like to see him try. I still have a wooden spoon and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Gillian couldn’t help more laughter at that. Nana’d had the same fabled wooden spoon all the years of her growing up, too, but her backside had never felt the flat side of it.

“I swear, I don’t know what makes that boy of mine think like he does.”

“He’s fine, Nana. His dreams didn’t include having a family. That doesn’t make him bad.”

“Well, he has a daughter, whether he dreamed you up or not.”

“I know.” She’d spent her whole life knowing that while she had not been precisely wanted, both her parents had given her the gift of life and that was as far as the sacrifice was ever going to go.

“I don’t like to see you settling,” Nana said in that tone Gillian hated.

It was the I-worry-about-you-child-I-really-do tone and it came five minutes before Nana decided she needed to give up whatever adventure she and Papa were on to fly back to Seattle and check in on her granddaughter.

“I’m fine, Nana. Better than fine.” She was on the verge of getting engaged to the man she loved with her whole heart. “I don’t need the words.”

And she didn’t. She needed the actions. She needed Maks to put her first, to treat her like she mattered and he did that. His life was both high-profile and extremely busy, but Maks didn’t cancel dates, he didn’t show up late, and he didn’t dismiss her interests or her career as a studio photographer.

“Hmmph.”

That sound was almost as concerning as the older woman’s tone earlier. It implied that Nana would be having a talk with Maks.

Gillian sighed. The man would have to be strong enough to withstand a talking-to, or ten, if they were going to be married.

“Are you and Papa enjoying Vegas?” she asked, hoping to turn to the topic.

“He lost money at the blackjack tables, but I won on the slots.” The glee in her grandmother’s tone brought a smile to Gillian’s face.

“Is Rich still meeting you two for dinner next week?”

“He hasn’t texted us to cancel.” Nana’s lack of fondness for texting came through in the way she said the word.

“Good.”

“I suppose we’ll have good news to tell him.”

“I think so.” The doorbell rang. “That’s him, I’ve got to go.”

“You call us tomorrow, you hear?”

“Yes, Nana.” With news.

Smiling, Gillian rushed to answer the door summons. her gaze fell on the manila envelope with the results from her latest physical. She hadn’t read it yet, but didn’t expect anything surprising.

Gillian had her physical yearly, something her father had insisted on since she’d nearly died from appendicitis at the age of sixteen. She chose to see it as proof of affection he never gave voice to.

Maks looked serious and devastatingly attractive in his black Armani suit as Gillian pulled the door open.

She smiled up at all six feet four inches of muscular male towering confidently in her doorway. “You’re early.”

“And yet you are ready. You are no ordinary woman, Gillian Harris.” He didn’t return her smile, but his espresso-brown eyes traveled down her body like a caress.

He always did that, making her feel like all the super models in the world wouldn’t take his attention from her decidedly normal blond hair, blue eyes, average height and curves.

She stepped back to let him in. “Nana didn’t stand for tardiness.”

“And here I believed you were so eager to see me, you could not wait to get dressed,” he teased.

She grinned up at him. “That, too.”

He lowered his head and kissed her, his lips brushing hers in polite greeting. She returned the kiss, letting her mouth open just slightly because she liked the feel of their breath mingling.

He made an inarticulate sound and deepened the kiss, pulling her body flush to his as he maneuvered them back into her apartment. As so often happened when they kissed, time stopped moving for her and the only thing her consciousness registered was the feel of his lips on hers and his hard body so close.

When he pulled back, they were both breathing a little heavily.

His dark gaze fell to the manila envelope by the door. She’d opened it, but the phone call had come in from Nana before she could skim the contents. She wasn’t worried, though. At twenty-six, she was young. She lived a healthy lifestyle and showed no signs of illness.

Nana would chastise her nonetheless. It was a good thing the older woman was in Las Vegas.

“You got your results.” There was a curiously flat quality to Maks’s tone.

She nodded and led the way into the living room. “Would you like something to drink before we go?”

“I’ll take a shot of Old Pulteney, if you have it.”

“You know I do.” She’d kept the twenty-one-year-old single malt whiskey on hand since he’d admitted to it being his drink of choice.

Gillian poured Maks two fingers in a rock glass, no ice, and handed it over.

“Thank you.” He took a larger sip than usual.

She smiled, charmed by the evidence of nervousness in a man so completely self-assured.

“You never told me you had appendicitis when you were sixteen.”

“You never asked.” He’d seen the scar, faded and small though it was.

She was surprised it had been mentioned in her health report, though. His doctor had obviously done a much more thorough examination than her own GP for this physical. She wasn’t surprised in the least that Maks had read the report with such attention to detail, though.

That was very much like him.

Maks frowned and took a sip of his drink.

Not sure why having had appendicitis was worth a frown, Gillian poured club soda over ice and added a slice of lime, her drink of choice. Maybe Maks was like her father and responded strongly to the knowledge she’d almost died.

When Rich visited her in the hospital, it was the one and only time Gillian had seen overt concern for her on his movie star handsome face.

Her father never appreciated the reminder that he’d been vulnerable to worry for her and she assumed Maks would be the same, so she didn’t comment on it, but asked instead, “Where are we going for dinner?”

He’d said he wanted to take her somewhere special. Combined with the fact he’d asked for the results of her yearly physical and that his own GP perform it, she was pretty confident that tonight was supposed to end in a proposal.

One She had no intention of turning down.

She loved him wholly and completely. She’d never told him, either. She hadn’t admitted that to Nana, but the words had turned out surprisingly difficult for Gillian to utter.

“Chez Rennet.”

It was the first restaurant he’d ever taken her to. No, he hadn’t said the words, but Maks had a romantic streak he wasn’t that great at hiding.

“Terrific. I love Rennet’s food.” The chef and owner had a soft spot for both her and Maks as well.

Dining in his restaurant was always pleasurable and Gillian took that as further evidence Maks wanted tonight to be special.

“I know you do.” Again that serious look.

And it finally clicked. Tonight was a serious night, an evening that would culminate in the kind of conversation she was sure Maks only planned to have once in his life.

She hadn’t been nervous before, but knowing how important tonight was to him brought a flock of humming birds to take up residence inside Gillian.

She was getting engaged to a prince, and for the first time, she really thought about what it would be like to be a princess.

The prospect was more than a little daunting.

Nana had always said Gillian ignored what she did not want to deal with and she’d done a fair job of that while dating Maks, but his somber demeanor tonight forced her to evaluate what his proposal would mean to both of them.

Ultimately, however, it didn’t matter.

She would have given up the creature comforts of civilization and moved to Antarctica to be with him.

Taking on the role of princess and living at least half the year in the Baltic island country of Volyarus would not be allowed to frighten her.

She loved him, Maks the man.

She could and would live with Maksim of the House of Yurkovich, Crown Prince of Volyarus.

CHAPTER TWO

DINNER WAS WONDERFUL. Although the solemn air never left Maks, he charmed Gillian with his usual urbanity.

There were several times he seemed on the verge of discussing something important, but he never followed through.

This further proof of a nervousness she never would have expected beguiled Gillian. She found herself falling just that much more in love with the man of her dreams as The evening wore on.

After dinner, he took her to listen to live jazz, one of her favorite things. The band was made up of musicians who had been around long enough they understood the music and how to live it, not just play it.

Relaxing, she was even relieved that the music prevented discussion, and the odd pressure she’d felt Maks was under seemed to lighten.

Afterward, she asked him back to her apartment and as expected, he accepted.

He’d taken her coat and laid it over the back of one of her club chairs, but stood as if not knowing what came next. It was so unlike him that she took pity and suggested another drink.

“I’d better not.”

“You don’t have to drive. Not if you don’t want to.” She offered her bed for the night in a similar oblique fashion to how she’d done on numerous occasions before.

He usually took her up on it, only refusing when he had early morning meetings or travel plans that would require him leaving in the wee hours and disturbing her rest.

So, it surprised her when he hesitated now. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Did he think she wanted to spend less time with him with marriage in the offing? She wasn’t going to pretend sexual innocence for the tabloids once their relationship went public. Though she appreciated the fact he’d kept it under wraps thus far, at some point in the very near future, everyone would know about them.

And she did not mind, but she would not pretend, either.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“We need to talk.”

“After.” Suddenly she knew she wanted words of love spoken between them, even if they only came from her before he proposed.

She would tell him while they made love. He could propose after.

Yearning she would not think of denying darkened his espresso gaze. “You are certain this is a good idea?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure where the need came from, but she could not bear the thought of agreeing to marry him without admitting her feelings for him.

If only with her body, then so be it, but she would express her love for him tonight and she had hope the words would make it past her lips as well.

Need did not make those three small words any easier to say. She could no more simply blurt them out than she could dance naked on a table at Chez Rennet.

While her grandparents had told Gillian they loved her and accepted the words in return, it wasn’t daily like her nana claimed her papa did with her. And Gillian had only ever said the words to her own parents when she was younger.

Neither had ever returned them and she could not remember the last time she’d had the courage to speak her love for the absentee adults in her life. She’d never spoken them to another man, but then she’d never been in love before, either. Her heart wasn’t so easy to reach.

With Maks, she had the option of showing him physically what she felt so strongly emotionally. He would know she loved him at the end of this night. One way or another.

He shook his head. “You are a very different sort of woman, aren’t you?”

She didn’t think so, but she liked the way he looked at her like she was something special, so she didn’t deny it. And really, wasn’t he supposed to think she was extraordinary? Their future would be rather grim if she was just like any other woman to him.

She certainly considered Maks a man above all others.

Maks took her hand and tugged her toward the hall that led to her bedroom. “Come. I have a mind to make love to you in comfort.”

They’d been intimate in the living room many times, but she didn’t mind him considering this time important and special. Maybe he found the words just as difficult to speak, but this was his way of showing how much he cared, too.

Regardless of his reasoning, her heart beat a rapid rhythm as she let him lead her into the darkened bedroom. Maks dropped her hand before crossing to the small table and turning on the lamp. Made of bronze and fashioned like a statue, the clump of three calla lilies had bulbs in each of the glass flowers that cast a soft golden glow over the room.

He’d given her the painting of a blonde woman standing with her head bowed in a field of the same blooms hanging on the wall above it. Maks had said it reminded him of her.

She thought the painting far too ethereal to have her likeness, but she loved it.

He turned to face her now, his chiseled features set in somber lines. “You give me a great gift.” He sighed, releasing some great burden. “I needed this.”

She smiled, her emotions choking her but still not rising to her lips to say aloud.

He seemed to understand because he came back to her and pulled her into a passionate kiss that let them both get lost for a little while. They were breathing heavily when their mouths separated and she was wrapped securely in his arms.

“You are a very good kisser.”

“Or you are,” he teased, more like his normal self.

“You’re the one with all the experience.” She hadn’t been a virgin when they met, but she might as well have been for all her experience.

Two different fumbling attempts during her university days at intimacy that ended in dismal failure and none of the pleasure she found in his arms had left her with no real practical experience at pleasing a partner.

Maks had never minded and had always been extremely patient and happy even to teach her the joys of two bodies coming together when real attraction existed on both sides.

“We are good together like this.” He sounded almost sad about that.

But he had nothing to be sad about, so she had to be misreading that tone in his voice. Or was he one of those men who believed that marriage meant sex went by the wayside?

She’d show him otherwise if he was.

She was a twenty-first-century woman who believed that not only were women supposed to enjoy sex, but that it belonged very firmly and frequently in the marriage bed.

She didn’t say any of that, but concentrated on divesting him of his suit. He helped by toeing off his shoes and socks and yanking his dress shirt over his head once his tie had been loosened and the top few buttons undone.

“Eager, aren’t you?” she teased.

“You have no idea.” He nearly ripped her dress getting it off, her bra and panties disappearing with none of his usual finesse or time spent on visual appreciation for her preference for matching lace.

They were naked moments later. He looked at her then, his brown eyes eating her up with hot hunger.

She could feel her body’s response to that look, her nipples tightening even more than they already were, her inner walls contracting with the need to be filled by his hard sex.

Heat suffused her from her toes all the way up her limbs, sending a blush of desire over her cheeks and shivers of emotionally laced physical need quaking through her.

They’d barely touched and she wanted sex with this man in this moment more than she’d ever wanted anything or another man, Maks included. Knowing this intimacy was the prelude of a lifetime together increased her passion in ways she would never have expected.

The expression in his eyes said he was similarly affected. Maks looked desperate with his need to be with her.

Without thought, she stepped into his arms and it felt so right when he lifted her like a bride and carried her to the bed. He managed to yank back the covers and top sheet without dropping her.

She helped by wrapping her arms around his neck. Not so helpful were the small, exploratory kisses she placed along his jaw and down his neck. She stopped to inhale where his neck met his shoulder.

The subtle fragrance of his Armani cologne mixed with his own masculine scent triggering a reflexive response in Gillian’s core that she could not stop, even if she had wanted to. And she didn’t.

She loved the feel of her body preparing itself for his possession, reveled in the reaction that was primal and visceral to things like his smell and as simple a touch as his hand brushing down her hip as he laid her on the mattress.

“You are all that I want,” he whispered in her ear. “If only…”

She didn’t know if only what. In that moment, could not begin to care. His hands were moving over her, bringing her pleasure unlike anything she’d ever known.

Even at his touch.

There was such profundity in that moment, she did not see how their wedding night could possibly be any better or more special.

She touched him, too, mapping his body with her hands, loving the feel of his muscles, the tickle of his chest hair against her fingertips.

This amazing man, who was literally a prince and business tycoon rolled into one, belonged to her and as difficult as she might find that to believe, the proof was in her position. Naked, in bed with him, free to caress his masculine body as she liked.

“You and Demyan keep yourselves in amazing shape,” she opined happily.

Maks’s face twisted at the mention of his cousin’s name. Another time she would have asked about that, but not tonight.

What they were doing was too important. What she was doing was life-altering, especially if she could force those three all-important words out of her voice box.

“Our sparring was rough today,” Maks said, as if he realized she might wonder at his reaction.

She brushed her fingertip over a bruise she’d just noticed. “It looks like it.”

“That is nothing,” Maks said with his typical arrogance and pride that would never admit Demyan may have gotten the better of him in the sparring ring.

His cousin was hard to get to know, but the older man and Maks were close. She liked knowing he had a friend he could trust. Maks didn’t live in a world where trust or even trustworthiness came in great supply. Gillian understood that world; she’d been on the edges of it because of her father for her whole life.

She leaned forward and kissed the discolored skin, then the area all around it.

Maks groaned. “I like.”

She knew he did. He loved being pampered, even in bed. He gave as good as he got, though, so she never minded giving either.

He rolled her onto her back and came over her, his big body covering hers both sensually and protectively. Maks looked down into her eyes, his own dark with emotion. “You are so perfect for me. Too perfect.”

She just shook her head. Didn’t he know there could be no too much about it?

He kissed her like he didn’t want to discuss it. Like he couldn’t bear not kissing her one more second. Like she belonged to him wholly and completely.

She kissed him back with her heart on her lips, because she did.

He pressed her into the mattress, the kiss going on and on and on, increasing intensity with every passing minute until the fire blazing between them was plasma hot.

All thought and feeling outside the pleasure their bodies brought to one another disintegrated in its path.

Wanting him inside her, now, Gillian spread her legs in invitation.

Instead of accepting, Maks moved back, breaking the kiss. “Not yet.”

“Yes,” she demanded.

But he shook his head, the expression in his eyes both feral and intense. He began to touch her again, this time with the clear and express purpose of driving her insane with delight.

He found the spot on her foot that made her shiver with need and the area of her inner thigh that made her ache to be filled. He caressed the curve of her waist and moved up to give careful attention to her breasts, licking and laving, kneading and playing until her nipples hurt with the need to be touched, too.

Only then did he put his mouth over one engorged tip and bite lightly.

She cried out, a mini orgasm going off inside her.

He let out a dark chuckle and sucked her nipple while her body writhed under him of its own volition. He pinched her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger before brushing it featherlightly with his thumb. He did this over and over again as she moaned for more.

She was begging with her body and a few inarticulate “Pleases” by the time he pressed her thighs wide and surged inside her without a condom for the first time.

The thought they could be making a child increased her ecstasy to the point that her entire body convulsed with climax on his first initial thrust.

He didn’t slow down and she didn’t ask him to. He kept surging in and out of her, building pleasure that never actually slipped into lassitude until she came for the second time, her contractions so harsh, the rigidity of her body thrust him upward.

He never lost his position inside her, though, and shouted with pure male triumph when he came.

He looked down at her, his expression so intent, it sent aftershocks quivering through her. “Thank you.”

She shook her head, no words coming out. Not even the three she wanted so badly to say, but then maybe they weren’t necessary. After that, he had to know how she felt. She had no doubts about his feelings for her. A man could not make love to a woman with that level of passion and feel none of the finer emotions.

“I should have asked. About the condom.”

“No. It’s all right.” They didn’t need barriers between them.

He nodded, his expression somber as he moved to lie beside her. “I would like to spend the night. May I?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure why he felt the need to ask, but then maybe it was that kind of moment.

So much, it deserved proper consideration.

Gillian woke wrapped in Maks’s strong arms. She could tell by his breathing that he was already awake.

Suddenly the words that had been impossible to utter were on the tip of her tongue. She sat up and looked at him in the morning light diffused by her bedroom curtains. “I love you, Maks.”

How easy had that been? The words had practically said themselves, but she found she wasn’t comfortable maintaining eye contact. Particularly when his were showing evidence of shock at her announcement.

How could he not have known? How could her words possibly come as a surprise to him after everything? Or was it her timing?

She’d never uttered those words to another man, didn’t know if there were protocols in Maks’s world that dictated they get said after morning greetings.

That sounded ridiculous, but it wouldn’t be the first aspect to the life of a royal that she found so. It was a good thing she did love him, or she’d never consider spending her life in that kind of weirdly orchestrated fishbowl.

She tucked back down into bed, snuggling against him. “I could get used to this.”

“It is too bad we cannot.”

She heard the words, but they didn’t make sense, so they didn’t register.

Her mind was still on the night before and how unburdened she felt after making her confession this morning. Even if it had been awkwardly done.

At least he hadn’t laughed at her.

That was one of the nice things about Maks. He never mocked another person’s lack of aplomb, even though he never seemed short of suaveness.

“Last night was amazing,” she offered.

“Yes.” His tone was so serious and almost unhappy.

She didn’t understand why.

Maybe he was tired. He had been very energetic throughout the night. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she’d survive if every night was as passionate as the one before, wonderful as it had been.

They hadn’t gone to sleep after the first time making love, but had come together three more times throughout the night. Maks had never been so insatiable. She’d never felt such freedom to respond.

He’d been voracious, both for touching her and being inside of her. And she’d loved every second of it.

Her body twinged delightfully at the reminders of how hungry he had been.

“I am sorry.” If anything, Maks’s tone had grown heavier.

As much as she’d prefer to pretend she didn’t know why he’d apologized, she could not.

But she could tell him that it didn’t matter. She didn’t need Maks to admit love for her so long as he needed her like he’d shown he did the night before.

“It’s all right.” Gingerly, keeping a lid on her own disappointment, Gillian sat up and met Maks’s gaze.

His expression was stoic, like a man trying to pretend something didn’t bother him. “No. Last night was a mistake, I think.”

Then he winced as if he realized he should not have said that.

And well he might wince, the idiot. She wasn’t going to demand words of love, but downplaying the night before wasn’t going to fly with her, either.

Suddenly she had a thought that might explain his odd attitude. “You want to pretend we don’t have sex?”

And did that bother him as much as she thought it did? As much as it absolutely appalled her?

“As wonderful as we are together, it will not be a pretense. It cannot. It would not be fair to you, or to me, if I am honest.”

Her brows drew together. “I don’t understand. You want to stop having sex?”

Until they were married? A royal wedding required at least a year, often two to prepare for. No wonder he’d been so hungry the night before.

But why forego condoms? Did he hope to have gotten her pregnant so they were forced to marry more quickly?

That just didn’t seem like something Maks would do. He was not a master of passive aggressive. Full-on aggression was more his style.

“Continuing to have sex together will only make our eventual breakup all the harder, not to mention increasing the chances of the media picking up on our relationship. We’ve been lucky so far, they’ve left us alone.”

Gillian thought that had something to do with her father’s influence as much as how circumspect she and Maks had been. But that wasn’t the most important thing right now.

“Break up?” she asked, completely at a loss. “Why would we break up?”

They were getting married. Weren’t they? A cold spike of dread pierced her heart. Weren’t they?

His expression was not hope producing. “A breakup between us is inevitable. Surely you understand this.”

CHAPTER THREE

“NO. PRETEND MY IQ is in the low digits and explain it to me.” Gillian’s throat felt tight, the words hard to get out.

“I cannot marry a woman incapable of providing heirs to the throne. It’s draconian, I know, but nevertheless, it is the way things must be.”

“I can’t provide heirs to the throne?” she asked, still very confused, but with a growing sense of apprehension that was making her current circumstances—naked and in bed with him—increasingly uncomfortable.

He frowned, sitting up, seemingly unconcerned by his nudity as he made no effort to cover himself. “You said you’d read the results of your physical.”

“I said I’d received it. I had.”

“I saw the envelope. It was opened.”

“Nana called before I skimmed the results.”

“One would think on something so important, one might do more than skim.” His speech only grew so formal when he was very annoyed.

What did he have to be angry about?

“I’ve been healthy since my appendicitis at sixteen.”

“The surgery to keep you alive left your fallopian tubes compromised,” Maks said with the air of a man who did not like having to explain himself.

Compromised fallopian tubes? What the heck did that mean?

Unable to stand the false sense of intimacy their situation provided once second longer, she jumped out of the bed. Grabbing her robe, she yanked it on so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised if the sleeve ripped right off.

Gillian stepped back from the bed, putting as much distance as possible between herself and Maks while staying in the same room. “What are you talking about?”

Once again, Maks looked pained. “The likelihood of you getting pregnant is very low.”

“What about fertility treatments?” Or had he not even considered them?

She was defective and therefore not worthy to be his bride. Oh, God. The silent prayer was filled with anguish, but received no heavenly reply.

Last night had not been about hunger or passion. It had been about saying good-bye. Everything she’d taken to mean they belonged together was in fact supposed to indicate the opposite.

“Fertility treatment could be an option for you with someone else,” he said, like he was offering her good news.

“But not you.”

“Marrying you knowing we would have to use them would not be an intelligent or well thought out move on the part of our House.”

“I would not be marrying your House,” she practically shouted.

She wouldn’t be marrying anyone. Pain at that realization nearly took her to her knees.

What all this talk meant was that she was losing Maks.

“That is not true. I am a prince who will one day be king. I was born to a burden of duty none but elected officials in country can begin to understand. And even they live in their roles only temporarily whereas I will never know a day when my small country does not have to come first and foremost in my thinking.”

She knew that. One of the few truly ruling monarchies left in the world, as Crown Prince of Volyarus, Maks’s life was not his own. But his choices were.

“You do not love me.” It was the only thing that really mattered and incidentally made absolute sense of his unwillingness to pursue fertility options.

He liked her, he desired her, he might even be as sad as he appeared at first over breaking up with her, but he did not love her.

“Love is not an emotion I have the freedom or inclination to pursue.”

“Love either is, or is not. You don’t have to pursue it.” She’d learned as a small child, no matter how hard you tried, you could not make someone love you.

No. Love could not be forced. Nor could it be denied. Though she would give up her next visit with her grandparents and any hope of ever seeing either of her biological parents again if she could deny the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown her now.

“You said you love me. I am sorry.” Genuine regret reflected in the espresso depths of his eyes.

That regret hurt her as much as the words that came with it because the remorse proved their sincerity. Pain was a vise around her heart, radiating through her body in an unexpected and equally undeniable physical reaction to the emotional blow.

She could barely breathe for the agony. It was by sheer will she remained on her feet.

He was sorry.

She wanted to cry, felt like screaming, but she held it all in along with the pain building toward nuclear meltdown.

“Get out.” She spoke quietly, but she knew he heard her.

“You are not thinking rationally.”

“Since our first date, you’ve been very careful to keep us out of the eyes of the media.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t ask, “Why?” Didn’t really care about his reasoning anymore.

She just wanted him gone so she could let the pain out. He didn’t get to see it.

“Do you think me calling the building’s security to have you removed from my apartment would blow all those efforts to hell?”

His eyes widened at her oblique threat. “You’re not going to call security.”

He really didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

She spun around and pressed the panic button on her bedroom’s security box.

“You have about a minute, maybe two, before they arrive. If you want to be caught here, by all means, stay.” She didn’t turn to face him as she spoke and she didn’t raise her voice, either.

If she did, she’d end up screaming. She just knew it. And Gillian had never screamed a day in her life. She wasn’t going to start now.

Not with him.

Not when the anguish inside her was already so close to imploding and taking her heart with it.

Ukrainian curses sounded along with the brush of clothing being yanked over naked limbs.

He paused at the doorway. She could sense it, though hadn’t turned to watch his departure.

“I am sorry.” Then he was gone.

And she was alone. Unable to stand under the onslaught of emotional agony ripping through her, Gillian sank to the floor.

Every dream she’d nursed in the past months shattered, every hope she’d let herself entertain despite her past and present life that in no way matched his for brilliance ripped violently from her still bleeding heart.

Nine weeks later, dazed and disbelieving, Gillian sat on the park bench outside her doctor’s offices.

Utterly shattered by the news she’d received, she could do little more than stare at the tall buildings surrounding the small patch of nature.

Her doctor’s words seemed impossible. “You’re pregnant.”

It was terribly improbable. And yet it was true.

She was pregnant. Exactly nine weeks along.

One night of unprotected sex with a man intent on evicting her from his life and they’d made a baby.

Emotions she had spent two months trying to contain and stifle were rioting through her. For the first time in her life, she was completely unable to ignore what she did not want to face.

Okay, maybe for the second.

Her grief over Maks’s rejection had been so consuming, Gillian had no chance at ignoring it, either. Each day was a new reminder how much she’d loved, how much she’d lost and how much she missed the jerk.

But she’d worked toward some semblance of peace. She could almost sleep through the night without waking from a nightmare into the one of loss.

Pain at Maks’s rejection had simply become such a part of her, she hardly noticed it anymore.

Or so she told herself.

It was the hope she couldn’t stand. The need to feel anything at all, but most of all love for another human being, even a very tiny one.

Because unlike her parents, Gillian didn’t care how her pregnancy had come to be. Planned or unplanned. With someone she wanted to share a life, or alone. None of it mattered.

She would love her child, already did, from the moment her doctor had uttered those impossible words, even before Gillian had been sure.

She had insisted they do the test again. Her doctor’s PA had drawn Gillian’s blood, but then she’d gone one step further while they waited for the in-office lab to run the results of the second test. She’d brought out a small device called a Doppler. A mini-ultrasound, the PA used the Doppler to find the baby’s heartbeat.

Gillian had cried and nearly fainted when she heard the fast paced swoosh-swoosh-swoosh through the handheld device. There could be no denying another being was growing inside her womb. Her baby.

Maks’s baby.

Unsurprisingly, at that point, the second test had come back just as conclusively positive as the first.

Gillian’s pregnancy appeared perfectly viable, though her doctor wasn’t particularly pleased about the fact she’d lost enough weight to hollow her cheeks. She’d been quick to assure Gillian this wasn’t as uncommon as people might believe, however.

Many women lost weight in their first trimester.

Even so, miscarriage rates were higher than Gillian had ever expected. According to her doctor’s PA, one in five pregnancies ended in miscarriage.

Wasn’t that horrifically high for a country with such advanced medical knowledge and care?

Despite the early summer sun beating down, Gillian’s hands were cold and clammy.

Pregnant. Her.

Part of her mind vaguely realized she was in shock. She probably should have stayed in the exam cubicle, but Gillian had needed to get out into the fresh air.

So, she’d told the doctor she was fine and the woman was busy enough to let her leave without pushing further.

Gillian shook her head, everything about the last hour incomprehensible.

She’d made an appointment to see her doctor at Nana’s insistence. Gillian hadn’t been all that concerned. She’d fought a serious case of depression since kicking Maks out of her apartment nine weeks before.

She loved him and saying the words had only made that knowledge more awful to bear when she’d realized there was no way he returned the feelings.

She’d thought she had a really persistent flu for the last few weeks, and frankly hadn’t much cared. If her grandparents hadn’t come into town for a visit, Gillian might well not have realized she was pregnant until she started showing.

But Nana had been very upset when she’d gotten Gillian to admit she had felt lethargic and nauseated for weeks. Though she’d only thrown up a few times.

According to Gillian’s doctor, she was lucky in that. The woman had also evinced surprise at Gillian not realizing there was even a possibility she was pregnant.

After all, she hadn’t had a period in three months, but then Gillian’s cycle had never been regular. Skipping a month was not unusual.

Compromised fallopian tubes, but they weren’t compromised enough. Not only had Gillian managed to fall pregnant the one and only time she’d ever made love without a condom, but she’d been in the wrong part of her cycle for it to happen, too.

It was a miracle really.

She wondered if Maks would see the baby growing inside her that way? Most likely not. He’d walked away from her much too easily to be pleased when she popped up before him, carrying his child.

Would he even believe her that the baby was his? She wasn’t risking miscarriage doing an amniocentesis for the DNA test.

No way was she.

If he had doubts about his fatherhood, he could wait until after the birth to assuage them.

As much as they would undoubtedly love the baby when it was born, Gillian’s pregnancy wasn’t going to make her grandparents happy. They firmly believed sex and pregnancy belonged within the bounds of marriage.

It only took a second to consider before she knew hiding her condition from them for the few days they were supposed to be in Seattle would be the best course of action.

There was a twenty percent chance this pregnancy wouldn’t make it past the first trimester. Gillian wasn’t telling anyone about it until she’d made it past that important time marker.

Which meant she’d better turn in an Academy Award nominee worthy performance of a woman feeling one hundred percent better. Or her grandparents wouldn’t be leaving town and heading for Canada the middle of next week as planned.

She would tell them her doctor said she was a little run down and needed to take better vitamins. It was the truth, if not the whole truth. Gillian’s GP had prescribed gummy prenatal vitamins, which were supposed to be easier on her sensitive stomach, and folic acid for improved fetal development.

She’d also suggested an iron supplement because Gillian’s levels were on the low end. That, at least, was a better explanation of her fatigue than the one she’d come up with on her own.

Missing Maks was exhausting.

Her grandparents would have no trouble accepting that Gillian wasn’t feeling completely up to par in general. They believed the breakup had taken its toll on Gillian’s health and hadn’t hesitated to say so. Gillian had reminded them that most women had their heart broken at least once by the time they were her age.

Many had even been married and divorced by the age of twenty-six.

Nana had harrumphed and commented several times that she thought, “That young man had a lot to answer for.”

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