The Pregnant Princess. Anne Marie Winston

rarely, if ever, driven herself anywhere in her whole life.

      Not to mention the little fact that Americans drove on the other side of the road from what she was accustomed at home.

      As he waited impatiently for the facts he’d requested, the assistant’s other words sank in. Meeting a man. A man! Who the hell would Elizabeth know in Phoenix other than him? She was pregnant with his baby, damn it!

      Five minutes later, he was climbing back into his truck and heading for the highway.

      He drove south out of Phoenix on Interstate 10, heading toward Casa Grande. The concierge had told him that Elizabeth had asked for directions to Catalina, a little town nestled between the Tortolita mountain range and the Coronado National Forest just north of Tucson. She had maybe an hour’s start on him—how the hell was he going to find her?

      Especially if she was meeting some other man.

      It was only with the greatest restraint that he could keep himself from snarling at the woman’s naïveté. She didn’t know the first thing about men. Elizabeth had no business haring off to meet another man, and when he found her he was going to let her know in no uncertain terms that as the father of her baby, he wouldn’t tolerate another man hanging around his…

      His what?

      Nothing, he told himself. Nothing. She doesn’t belong to you. You need this princess in your life like you need heat rash.

      It was hot.

      She didn’t think she’d ever experienced this kind of heat before. She’d vacationed on islands in warm climates, but nothing she could recall resembled this dry, draining heat that leached every ounce of energy from her. Of course, she’d never been on a tropical island when she was pregnant, either, and she’d nearly always had a pool or a beautiful ocean in which to cool off.

      Elizabeth bent over the motor of the rental car again. This was dreadful. She had no idea what she might be looking for among all the black, greasy parts and metal pipes. All she knew was that a white, billowing cloud of smoke had begun to leak from beneath the bonnet of the automobile about thirty minutes ago, and that when she’d pulled off the road to investigate the sedan wouldn’t start again.

      Fear coiled and her fingers shook as she tentatively reached forward and lightly tapped a piece of metal. It was easy to call herself a dunce. An hour ago, a jaunt down an American highway to find the man who might be her brother had sounded like a grand lark. Now it sounded like the height of folly.

      No chauffeur. No bodyguard. No car phone. Off the main road on a little side highway with not a building in sight. Her parents would be terribly distressed if they knew. It hadn’t seemed so foolish to her when she’d had the idea. She was so awfully weary of being followed, escorted, fussed over everywhere she went. This had seemed like the perfect time to see how it felt to be normal.

      Now all she could think was that if someone would rescue her, she’d offer him a title in his own right. Peering into the engine one more time, she picked up the black umbrella she’d brought along and held it open above her head, providing a bit of shade from the sun if not from the heat.

      The thought of what Rafe would say if he were here only served to lower her spirits even more. He thought she was a silly, helpless girl who’d been sheltered from the real world her entire life. She could see his disdain in his eyes when he looked at her.

      Was he right? She thought of the organ donor campaign with which she’d consented to work, of the hospital visits she’d made in the name of her other charity, a hospice in Wynborough’s capital city. She’d seen suffering. She’d seen death. She wasn’t a hothouse flower who had fluff for brains.

      Oh? Then why are you standing here in the heat beside a crippled auto?

      She was going to pray to God Rafe never found out about this. Then again, why should he? When he’d slammed out of her suite last night, she’d known she would never see him again.

      Far down the road, something distracted her from her morose thoughts. A car! A car on the highway coming toward her. It was moving quite fast over the straight, flat terrain, and as it drew closer she could see it was a truck. Not that it mattered as long as the driver would be willing to take her to Catalina. In Catalina she could accomplish her goal, which was to locate Samuel Flynn, the man who once was an orphan in The Sunshine Home for Children, the home she and her sisters were sure their kidnapped brother had been brought thirty years ago.

      Her stomach quivered, and she hoped it was at the thought of locating her brother, presumed dead for so long. What a coronation anniversary gift that would make for her father!

      Her stomach quivered again, and she wiped a drop of sweat from her temple before it could trickle down her cheek. The truck was drawing to a halt behind her car now, and she squinted as the driver stepped out, forcing her dry lips into a welcoming smile. Until she recognized the big broad-shouldered figure of the Prince of Thortonburg walking toward her.

      Curses. The day was rapidly assuming the proportions of a major disaster. She closed her eyes, hoping he was a mirage, but she was forced to open them quickly by a wave of vertigo. He was still there.

      His expression was forbidding as he strode toward her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

      “It’s lovely to see you again, too, Mr. Thorton. How coincidental that you should be traveling the same road as I.” She tilted her chin, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

      “You know perfectly well it’s not coincidence. I was coming after you. You have no business traipsing around an American desert without an escort.”

      “Thank you for your opinion. Where I traipse and with whom is not your concern, sir.” She would have stuck her nose even higher in the air, but she was forced to close her eyes as another round of dizziness seized her.

      “Elizabeth!” She felt his big hands catch her elbows.

      “You may address me as ‘Your Royal Highness’—oh!” She squeaked in alarm as Rafe scooped her up in his arms and swung her around, and she clutched at his shoulders as the world spun crazily around her. “Put me down!”

      “Gladly.” His booted feet crunched on gravel as he set her on her feet, and she opened a cautious eye to see that he had brought her around to the passenger side of his truck. Keeping one arm about her, he leaned around her and opened the door, then set his hands at her waist and easily lifted her into the enclosed cab.

      He’d left the engine and the air conditioner running. Beneath her legs in her thin dress the leather seat was cool, and she was blessedly shaded from the vicious sun. She almost whimpered with delight, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she lay her head against the back of her seat and blotted her forehead with a tissue from her purse.

      “What’s wrong with the car?” he asked.

      “I don’t know,” she said. “I was trying to figure that out when you came along.”

      “Right.” He gave a snort of amusement. “Why did you stop along the road in the middle of nowhere?”

      “There was smoke coming from beneath the bonnet.”

      “Smoke?” He looked alarmed. “Are you sure it wasn’t steam?”

      She shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Smoke, steam, something like that.”

      “There’s a pretty big difference,” he informed her. Then he straightened. “Put your seat belt on.” He slammed the passenger door with more force than necessary, making her wince.

      She watched through the windshield as he walked back to the blue Lincoln and retrieved the keys before locking its door and coming back to the big truck. Today he was wearing jeans again, jeans that caressed the solidly muscled contours of his legs like a lover’s hands. She remembered the feel of those strong limbs against hers, the heat of his skin and the rough texture of the hair liberally sprinkled over it. The feminine core of her tightened