to delegate. Ironic, considering that Marcus had met his wife while traveling in the United States under their mother’s maiden name so as to keep his royal status hidden, and had spent several months having tasks—such as mucking out stalls at his wife’s Thoroughbred training facility—delegated to him. Of course, she hadn’t been his wife at the time, and she hadn’t been thrilled to learn the true identity of her stable hand, but once again, their feelings for one another had proven stronger than any of the obstacles between them—one of which had been the accident that ended Eric’s naval career.
He felt a twinge in his hip and shifted in his seat. A phantom pain was brought on by even the most fleeting flashback of the moment that had changed his life. He was getting more adept at pushing the memories—and the accompanying panic—aside. He did so now, focusing his thoughts again on his friend’s imminent wedding.
No one outside of the family had ever been married at the palace, but Rowan and Marcus had both agreed that Scott was part of their family even if it wasn’t Santiago blood in his veins.
After Marcus and Jewel married, there had been a lot of speculation throughout the media that Eric would be next—which he had to agree was likely since he was the last unmarried Santiago brother and his oldest nephew was still just a teenager. And he certainly had no philosophical or personal objections to marriage—he’d just never met a woman who made him think in terms of forever. He’d never even met a woman who lingered in his mind after he’d left her bed…until Molly.
He turned away from the window to confirm that she was still sleeping. She was, and in sleep, her worries seemed to finally—if only temporarily—be forgotten. Her features were relaxed, the dark fan of her lashes casting a shadow against her pale cheek. He knew her skin was soft, and smoother even than the finest silk. And hidden beneath her lashes were eyes of the most startling and vivid shade of blue, eyes that had darkened and clouded in the throes of passion, the color shifting and changing not unlike the moods of a turbulent sea.
Mi Dios, he was getting turned on just by watching her sleep. Watching her sleep and remembering, and remembering—wanting.
Sexual frustration was a new—and not at all pleasant—experience for him. In the past, whenever he’d wanted the companionship of a woman, it had been easy enough to come by. But after the accident he’d turned his attention to rehabilitation. He’d been so intensely focused on healing his body that he hadn’t allowed anything to distract him from the task. Not until the night he’d walked into Shea’s Bar & Grill and spotted Molly working the tap.
Almost three years of abstinence seemed a reasonable explanation for the extent of his reaction to her, and his response to the experience of making love with her. Afterward, he managed to convince himself that the sex hadn’t really been as spectacular as he remembered, that it was just so long since he’d had sex that the experience only seemed heightened.
And yet, back in Tesoro del Mar, where the women were plentiful and beautiful and willing, there hadn’t been one who had tempted him into her bed. Not one who tempted him to forget about Molly.
She shifted, her head rolling from one side to the other. She hadn’t reclined her seat—probably because she hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but exhaustion had won out. A slight furrow creased her brow as she shifted again, still asleep but obviously not very comfortable. She drew up one knee and leaned back so that her head fell against his shoulder.
Her hair tickled his cheek, the scent of her shampoo teased his nostrils, and he held his breath while he waited for her to wake. She didn’t, but snuggled in, apparently finding a position that was finally comfortable—at least for her. Because while he didn’t mind having her close, he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of her nearness, her softness, her femininity—and everything that was male within him responded.
He glanced over at Scott and Fiona, saw that they were still cuddled close together, talking quietly, so he just shifted his seat back and settled in, while Molly’s scent—and his desire—continued to torment him.
Molly woke just as the wheels touched down on land. But even when she felt the plane make contact with the runway, it took a moment for that fact to penetrate her consciousness. She’d been so tired lately—physically and mentally exhausted. Even when she slept, her sleep had been restless, unsettled. But this time, she awoke feeling rested and refreshed—at least until she realized that she’d been using Eric as a pillow.
She jolted upright, her face flaming. “I…um…sorry,” was the best apology she could manage to stammer out.
His smile was slow, easy. “No need to be embarrassed,” he said, speaking softly so that Scott and Fiona, seated across from them, wouldn’t hear his words. “After all, it isn’t the first time you’ve fallen asleep in my arms.”
“But it will be the last,” she muttered in response.
“Your choice, of course,” he assured her, unbuckling his seat belt.
Molly fumbled with hers, unfamiliar with the mechanism. Eric watched her struggle for a moment before reaching over to release the clasp.
She held her breath as the backs of his knuckles brushed against her middle. Through the soft cotton of her T-shirt, her stomach quivered in response to the brief contact that reminded her not just of the baby that was nestled deep in her womb, but that it was his baby.
And in that moment, she really wanted to tell him. She wanted to share the joy and excitement of every minute of her pregnancy with him. But aside from the fact that an airplane probably wasn’t the most appropriate place to share the news, especially with their friends seated across from them, there was the fear that he might not share her joy and excitement.
And if his reception of the news was less than enthusiastic, she shouldn’t be surprised. Even she’d been more shocked than pleased when Dr. Morgan had advised her of the pregnancy, and though she already loved her baby more than she would ever have thought was possible, she knew she couldn’t expect that Eric would feel the same. Which was why she knew it was important to choose the right time and place—and then to give him time and space to absorb the news and consider all of the implications.
No, it was definitely not the-airplane-has-just-landed-and-he’s-so-close-that-I-can’t-even-think-straight-because-my-hormonesare-running-riot kind of news.
Instead, she only said, “Thank you.”
He released the ends of her seat belt. “You’re welcome.”
The warmth of his breath caressed her cheek, and a wave of heat washed over her, leaving her weak and flushed.
It was as if every nerve ending in her body was attuned to him, sending tingles of awareness and wanting through her system every time he even glanced in her direction. She’d never responded to anyone as she responded to him.
She wanted to blame it on the pregnancy, all those hormones running amok through her system, but she knew it was Eric.
Because the fact was, she wouldn’t be pregnant if she hadn’t had the same instinctive response to him from the very beginning.
The limo driver took them along the coast, so that they were flanked by rolling green hills on one side and powdery sand and crystal blue waters on the other. It was all so peaceful now, but Molly imagined that could change in the blink of an eye, that a storm could churn up the water so that the waves lashed against the rocks like angry sea monsters.
A fanciful thought, she knew, encouraged by the inherent beauty and mystery of this land that could make her imagination run as wild as it had when she was a child. Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she was remembering childhood dreams—after all, she was riding with a prince on the way to his castle. She just had to remember that this wasn’t