The Princess Is Pregnant!. Laurie Paige

he asked, already starting the preparation.

      She nodded, then said yes. “Please,” she added.

      He paused in measuring water into the pot and stared at her for a breath-catching ten seconds. His smile warmed her as he bent to his task once more. “I love to hear a woman beg,” he murmured with wicked amusement.

      “Don’t,” she requested. “I don’t play games.”

      He set the pot to brewing, then leaned a hip against the counter and perused her. She smoothed her hair as much as possible.

      “Sometimes I don’t, either. Turn around,” he said, and took a brush from a drawer.

      He turned her with hands on her shoulders, then proceeded to brush the tangles until her hair hung smooth around her shoulders. He brushed his own dark locks in a few impatient strokes and tossed the brush back into the drawer.

      “Beautiful,” he said as if he spoke to himself.

      He ran his hand down her hair from the crown of her head to the ends, then he let his hand glide down her back. Goose bumps sprang into being all along her arms. When he guided her so that she faced him once more, she let him.

      Their eyes met and held, his intensely blue, confident, arrogant even, hers green and unsure because that was the way she felt. Her heart questioned what was happening, but she shied from the answer. She really didn’t know.

      He gave his head a little shake, and she realized the questions were in him, too. Neither of them quite knew why they were together, why they were alone on a ship in a storm, why the night seemed different.

      Slowly she became aware of his heat. His chest was only inches from hers. His thumbs caressed the hollows of her shoulders with gentle strokes that were fiery and wonderful at the same time.

      Inhaling was an effort. So was lifting her hands and laying them on his chest. Muscles tensed under her fingers as she moved them restlessly over his hard flesh.

      He wasn’t a brawny man, but his masculine strength was evident in the lithe definition of his torso, the ropy musculature of his shoulders and arms. He was a man who worked and played hard.

      And for keeps?

      She tossed her head at the foolish question. She wasn’t expecting forever. So what, exactly, was she asking for?

      “What?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing as if he witnessed the confusion inside her.

      “Nothing.”

      “I’m going to kiss you,” he warned a second before he did. His lips were intensely warm on hers.

      She opened her mouth, but no protest came out. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue sweeping over her lips in long moments of sweet sampling before seeking more.

      Fire erupted within her. Weakened by the heat, she leaned into him, experiencing him fully as their chests, bellies and thighs pressed hotly into one flesh.

      Her breasts beaded and swelled, pushing against the confines of the support built into the silk.

      His hands shifted so that his thumbs caressed just above the material. Then, so suddenly she couldn’t have anticipated it, he dipped one hand inside and lifted her breast into his palm, its tip wantonly seeking his touch.

      When he lifted his head, he muttered something not quite audible, but she didn’t need the words. She knew in her soul what they were. She, too, felt the wonder.

      They kissed again, more urgently this time. He stepped forward, his thigh making a space between hers so that their caresses became more enticing. She found herself reacting instinctively, knowing without words or past experience all that she needed to do.

      After exploring the length of his back, she stretched up on tiptoe and ran her hands over his powerful shoulders, then up his neck and into his hair. He wore it somewhat longer than the current style. She gathered a handful and held on while their kiss rocketed through her again.

      At last he caught her hands in both of his and held them behind her back, bending her slightly so he could reach the tingling flesh of her breasts above her gown.

      Then he slid one hand to the zipper. And stopped.

      When she opened her eyes, he said, “No games, right?”

      She nodded.

      “Come with me.”

      It was a request. She laid her hand in his. They went to the stern, where a bed filled almost all the available space. The bed wasn’t prepared for instant seduction, she saw and was glad.

      She helped him spread sheets and tuck them in. The air had grown chill, so he added a comforter. Then he turned to her, placed his hands on the fastening at his waistband and waited for her consent.

      In that instant she knew she could never say he gave her no choice. The decision was hers. She turned her back to him and lifted her hair out of the way.

      He slid the zipper of her dress down, then helped her step out of the gown. He slipped out of his tux pants and laid the items neatly over the only chair.

      In a moment they were undressed. He held the comforter up and let her climb in the bed. He clicked on a soft light and closed the door to the galley, then joined her, his arms enclosing her after he pulled the comforter over them. It was like being in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

      The storm reached the cove and rocked the boat, sometimes gently, sometimes vigorously. The rain lashed the sea and all that floated upon it. But nothing penetrated the sweet wonder of their lovemaking.

      Before they slept, he rose to turn off the light. For a few seconds, he stared down at her, his gaze fathoms deep, his thoughts unreadable as some emotion moved within his eyes and was gone.

      Words rose to her lips, but she didn’t say them. She wasn’t sure what was allowed between lovers.

      “Rest,” he said gently, and kissed her eyes closed.

      She let sleep take her as she rested secure in his arms. He’d been gentle, this sweet lover. For the moment, the yearning that had plagued her soul was quiet.

      Chapter Two

      Jean-Paul Augustuve, nineteenth Earl of Silvershire, zipped the final closure on the backpack.

      “That’s it,” he said to his friend, Arnie Stanhope, who was also the expedition leader.

      He and Arnie had been students together at Oxford and later at the University of Montana, where they’d studied archaeology. They were searching for remains of an ancient civilization here in the mountains of Silvershire.

      Last month, a local shepherd had unearthed a burial chamber thought to be over fifteen thousand years old. Inside the mass grave site had been evidence of a ceremonial burial with food, weapons and other artifacts to aid the deceased in their afterlife. The discovery had tantalized scientists with the possibilities of finding a whole village and gaining insights into early man’s way of life.

      “When do you think you’ll be back?” Arnie asked, running a hand through his hair, which was receding rapidly, giving him an oddly cherubic look with his round, smooth face and innocent expression.

      Arnie, Jean-Paul had concluded long ago, was not of this world. Intensely involved in his exploration and research, he never noticed petty things about people, never lied or tried to impress anyone, was never impressed by a title or wealth. Arnie was just Arnie. Which was why Jean-Paul considered the scientist one of his best friends.

      “I have no idea. When duty calls, I merely answer,” he said with a rueful grin and shrug. He hoisted the backpack. “I’ll be in touch.”

      “Are you sure you don’t want a couple of men with you? It’s a long trek out of the mountains.”

      “I’ll be fine,” Jean-Paul assured his friend. “Good luck with the dig.”

      They