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He kissed her, long and slow and deep. ‘Thank you.’

‘Mmm,’ she said appreciatively. ‘I’ll have to make it more often if that’s the sort of response I’ll get.’

Alix shifted so that she slid into the cradle of his lap. Leila groaned—half in frustration, half in helpless response. ‘Alix...’

‘I’m going to make a secret passage from here to the harem,’ he grumbled.

Leila blushed to think of their very private space, which had been completely refurbished. The hammam was in use again too, and was open to local women and the women of the castle.

Leila loved going there amongst them and hearing their stories. It was one of the things that had earned them both the love and respect of their people—their unaffected ways and their wish to be considered as equal as possible.

Alix teased a strand of Leila’s hair around his finger. ‘Andres said you went to the hospital today? Another visit to the new children’s wing?’

Leila nodded—and then the excitement bubbling inside her couldn’t be contained any more. ‘Yes, but I also had an appointment to see Dr Fontainebleau.’

Alix immediately tensed at the mention of the royal doctor. ‘Is there something wrong?’

Leila shook her head and took his hand, placing it over her belly. ‘No, everything is very okay...but we’ll be a little bit busier in about eight months.’

The colour receded from Alix’s face and then rushed back. His arms tightened around her and then he lowered her down onto the sofa. His formidable body came over her, his happiness and joy palpable.

When he spoke his voice sounded a little choked. ‘You do know that you’ve made me the happiest man in the world, and that I love you to infinity and beyond?’

Leila blinked back emotional tears and wound her arms around her husb

and’s neck, drawing him down to her.

‘I know, because I feel exactly the same way. Now, about that secret passage to the harem...do you think we could get it done before the baby arrives?’

* * * * *

The Pregnant Princess

Anne Marie Winston

For Sandy, sister of my heart

RITA® Award finalist and bestselling author ANNE MARIE WINSTON loves babies she can give back when they cry, animals in all shapes and sizes and just about anything that blooms. When she’s not writing, she’s managing a house full of animals and teenagers, reading anything she can find and trying not to eat chocolate. She will dance at the slightest provocation and weeds her gardens when she can’t see the sun for the weeds anymore. You can learn more about Anne Marie’s novels by visiting her Web site at www.annemariewinston.com.

One

God, it was hot. Rafe Thorton ran a hand through his thick black hair and pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. Arizona might be a great place for a guy employed year-round in construction, but he could do without the heat. It was only late January and the temperature today had reached the mid-eighties.

Rafe took a long pull of the water he’d just bought, then swung away from the cool interior of the convenience store into the heat of the afternoon. Juggling the bottle, he stripped off his T-shirt and swiped it across his chest, absently smiling at two women whose eyes widened in appreciation as they passed him. He glanced at the newspaper box on the sidewalk outside the store—and stopped midstride.

Wynborough Princess Dedicates Hospice.

Rafe stared at the headlines of the daily paper. Slinging the T-shirt over one shoulder, he set his drink atop the machine for a moment while he fished coins from the pocket of his faded jeans. He dropped a quarter and a dime through the slot, then opened the door and pulled out a paper.

Wynborough was a tiny kingdom; its royalty rarely received the kind of press that Britain’s royals were subjected to regularly. There was a brief press release accompanied by one small candid photo, a blurry shot of a small, slender woman stepping out of a car.

Holding the paper close to his face as if that might bring it into better focus, he stared at the grainy picture. The woman’s hair obscured much of her face and he couldn’t discern its color from the black-and-white shot. Still…it could be her.

The features that had consumed his dreams for the past five months floated before his mind’s eye as he scanned the article. Memories bombarded him, and his pulse sped up. Princess Elizabeth would be arriving in Phoenix, Arizona, this afternoon. She’d be staying for several days, making an appearance tomorrow to raise funds for a local children’s hospice.

Elizabeth! Was that her name?

He tossed the paper across the seat as he climbed into his truck and started the engine. Wynborough. Five months before, he’d attended one of the royal charity events, a masquerade ball. It had been the first time he’d been home in ten years, the first time since the day he’d informed his father, the Grand Duke of Thortonburg, that he had no intention of assuming the title or of living under his father’s thumb. And hearing himself addressed as the Prince of Thortonburg by his family’s servants, the title that had descended onto his shoulders along with all the other responsibilities he’d been trained to handle all his life, had reminded him forcibly of all the reasons why he’d made the decision to live in the States.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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