His Pregnant Christmas Princess Page 3

  ‘Oh, God!’ Ana exclaimed suddenly, cutting him off. ‘Really? I’m so sorry.’

  She sighed and twisted her fingers in a thick strand of dark brown hair that had fallen loose from what even Rhys could recognise as a wedding hairstyle.

  ‘I honestly don’t remember much since I left the church. Thank you for so politely excusing the fact that I’ve obviously totally ignored everything you’ve said to me. I’ve just been a joy today, haven’t I? Jilting one man, ignoring others...’ She buried her head in her hands.

  Rhys interrupted her self-flagellation. ‘Drink?’ he asked.

  Her dark head popped up instantly. ‘Yes, please,’ she said.

  Then she flopped back onto his couch, resting her head on the back, her gaze trained on the ceiling.

  A few minutes later—after directing the guards to the kitchen to help themselves to a drink and his limited selection of food—Rhys stood before her, drink in hand.

  ‘Your Highness...?’ he prompted.

  Slowly she pushed herself forward until she sat neatly at the edge of the couch again. She briefly met his gaze, and he couldn’t miss the exhaustion and emotion in her eyes. She wasn’t crying, though—didn’t even look close to it.

  ‘Ana,’ she said. ‘Please call me Ana.’

  He nodded. ‘You can address me as Mr North,’ he said, very seriously.

  Her eyes widened, and he watched her try to determine if he was joking.

  A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. ‘Okay,’ she said, with the same mock-seriousness he’d employed. ‘I will—Mr North.’

  He smiled at her, meeting the sparkle in her gaze. He liked that sparkle, was glad he’d managed to elicit it from her.

  ‘Rhys,’ he clarified, ‘is fine.’

  She grinned. ‘Oh, no, Mr North. I insist. About time someone else had an unnecessary title. Vrag knows, I’m sick of mine.’

  ‘Vrag?’ Rhys asked, as Ana took the squat ice-filled glass tumbler he handed her.

  ‘The Devil,’ she explained. Then took a long swallow of her drink. Instantly she coughed, slapping a manicured hand to her throat. ‘What is this?’ she asked.

  ‘Gin,’ he said.

  ‘Just gin?’

  He nodded. ‘You look like you need a stiff drink.’

  She smiled again and then took another, more measured sip. ‘You, Mr North,’ Ana said, ‘are absolutely right.’

  * * *

  Ana watched Rhys as he walked over to the kitchen to talk to her guards. She wasn’t at all surprised he was ex-military. In fact, he still looked absolutely fit enough to be serving. In his charcoal-coloured T-shirt the muscles of his biceps and arms were clear to see—so different from Petar’s lean frame. Petar was very good-looking, but in a more sophisticated way than Rhys. He was all elegant lines and tailored suits, while Rhys looked rough and strong and practical—the kind of guy who’d carry you out of a burning office building rather than work inside it.

  No.

  She took another unwise gulp of her drink, wanting another punishing burn of alcohol to travel down her throat. Honestly, mere hours after running away from her fiancé was she really comparing him to another man? And finding her fiancé lacking.

  She finished the drink. Even as the liquid warmed her belly she felt like the worst person in the world.

  Although she knew now—incontrovertibly—that she did not love Petar, and had never loved Petar, he didn’t deserve having to wait at that church’s altar for her never to arrive. To have the whole church witness that humiliation.

  And it wasn’t even just the church. With the wedding being televised, all of Vela Ada would know. He’d been dumped in the most public, most humiliating way possible.

  And it was all her fault.

  Yet she sat here, in a luxury home on a mountain, having an absolutely gorgeous man serve her drinks and make her laugh. She was being protected from the aftermath of her decision, and she knew it didn’t reflect well on her that she was in no way regretting her decision to run as far away as possible.

  She could not be in Vela Ada right now. She could not see Petar right now.

  She needed some space to get her thoughts in order, to work out how she’d got to this point, how her life had got to this point.

  But Petar did deserve an apology. And more than the swiftly written, utterly insufficient I’m sorry she’d texted to him as the car had whisked her down that cobblestone street.

  She stood and walked the short distance to the kitchen. The living space wasn’t very large, and it was all open-plan—with the kitchen to one side, a long dining table in front of it and couches to its left.

  All three men in the kitchen immediately turned to assist her. It was one of the nicer perks of being royalty—having people immediately pay attention to her. Quite different from her previous life, where she remembered being talked over in meetings or ignored by sales assistants. Although it did seem unfair that such courtesy wasn’t offered to everyone...

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said in Slavic to her guards. ‘I was just wondering where my phone and bags are.’

  ‘We’ve put them in your room, Your Highness,’ one of them replied.

  She’d learnt long ago that palace staff would not just call her Ana.

  Rhys seemed to have got the gist of the conversation. ‘I’ll show you your room now,’ he said. He gestured down the corridor and followed close behind her.

  There were only a few doors off the hallway, and he directed her into the first one.

  The room wasn’t large, but it had plenty of room for a queen-sized bed and a narrow writing desk against one wall.

  ‘There’s a private en suite bathroom through there,’ he said, nodding to the far corner of the room. ‘I chucked a few towels in there, but let me know if you need anything else. I’m not used to having guests up here, so there isn’t any fancy soap, candles or potpourri and whatnot in there. Sorry.’

  He did not look at all apologetic.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Ana said, and realised she was smiling again. How did Rhys do that? When he talked to her, it was as if she forgot everything that had happened today. Or this year, really.

  They both stood in the doorway, and Ana was suddenly aware of how very close they were to each other. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze, and she could actually smell him—the scent of his cologne or his deodorant or something—something clean and fresh.

  She also registered the colour of his eyes for the first time: a dark blue that was almost grey. Outside, she hadn’t been able to determine the colour of his hair, but when they’d walked in she’d realised it was a very dark blond. This close to him she could see more variation in the thick, shaggy hair—blond and brown and even a few strands of grey.

  How old was he?

  Her gaze travelled over his face. He had thick eyebrows and strong, quite full lips for a guy, though without even a hint of femininity. There were a few fine lines around his mouth and eyes. Stubble covered his sharp jaw, slightly darker than the hair on his head, and he was definitely the type of guy who suited that look.

  She’d already imagined him being the kind of guy who’d rescue you from a burning building—a real hero type, befitting an ex-soldier—but this close to him, seeing his stormy eyes and the shadow of a beard, he looked almost...dangerous. There was a tension to his jaw, a steeliness to his gaze...

  She realised, too late, that she was staring at him. Staring into that steely gaze. And he was staring right back.

  Obviously she should look away, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  His gaze was taking her in too, and the way it traced her features so intently made her feel incapable of movement. He took in her hair, her eyes, her nose, her lips...

  What was he thinking?

  Their gazes clashed again, and what she saw in his made her belly heat. He
r whole body heat, actually.

  Had she ever felt like this before? Reacted like this to a man before? Ana couldn’t remember. She couldn’t really think, to be honest. It was just so shocking to be drawn to this man she’d barely said anything to, whom she didn’t know at all.

  Her whole body itched to touch him. They hadn’t touched since they’d met, she realised. They hadn’t shaken hands... Nothing.

  What would his skin feel like? Would it be hot, like hers felt right now? And how would it feel to have that big, strong body pressed against her...?

  His gaze changed. It became empty, losing all that heat, all that connection. Just like he had outside in the cold, he’d switched off. He’d disappeared, as if that connection had never existed.

  It was so abrupt as to feel almost physical. As if someone had dumped a bucket of snow over her head to snap her back to reality.

  Reality.

  Petar.

  ‘Thanks for showing me my room, Mr North,’ Ana said, forcing herself to put some distance between them and step into the room.

  She fully intended to use his formal name from now on, and it wasn’t a joke any more. Formality was good. It was required. She had no place flirting with this man. Apart from the fact she’d meant to share her wedding night with another man tonight, Rhys was also working for Marko, for the palace. This was all kinds of inappropriate.

  ‘I need to phone my fiancé,’ she said.

  As she said fiancé, Rhys blinked. Or maybe she imagined he’d reacted.

  In fact, his expression was so stony, so unreadable, it seemed plausible she’d imagined the entire past few minutes.

  It would seem Rhys was keen to forget it had happened.

  Good. She’d forget it too. No problem. This was an infinitesimal blip amongst the catastrophic screw-ups of the past twenty-four hours.

  But as Rhys left her in her room, Ana had to work hard to ignore the little voice in her head—the little voice that had caused her so many problems today—that told her a man like Rhys North was not at all easy to forget.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ANA HAD BEEN in her room for over an hour—easily enough time for Rhys to brief the palace guards on his property’s security system, including the mechanics of the fibre-optic perimeter sensors and state-of-the-art surveillance cameras.

  He’d had to tweak a few things—mainly because he generally reviewed the footage from his many cameras only if he had a reason to, but while Princess Ana was here one of the guards would be monitoring the cameras 24/7. Although in his five years here Rhys hadn’t seen anything more interesting on film than the goatlike chamois and several curious birds—the golden eagle his favourite—Marko wasn’t taking any risks, and therefore nor was Rhys.

  When Ana finally emerged, Rhys had his head in his fridge, trying to work out what on earth he was going to feed a princess for dinner.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr North?’ she said, very politely.

  Rhys took a step back so he could see her past the open fridge door. She looked different: she’d tidied her hair into a long ponytail that fell over one shoulder and she’d washed off the rest of her wedding make-up. It didn’t look as if she’d put any more make-up on, and she’d lost her dramatic eyelashes and the perfect shape of her brows and lips, but she was still—and this was frustrating to Rhys—just as pretty.

  The fridge started beeping at him for keeping the door open too long, and he slammed it closed with far more force than necessary, making Ana jump.

  He didn’t feel at all comfortable with what had happened in the doorway of her room. Or even earlier, when he’d first seen her. That had been easily dismissed—she was an attractive woman, who wouldn’t gawk at her just a little? But in her room...it had felt pretty intense. Impossible to ignore.

  He had wanted Ana. It had been a primal thing, a primal need—something he hadn’t experienced in so very long he hadn’t thought it was possible any more.

  Sure, he’d looked at women since Jessica died, but he hadn’t needed a woman. He certainly hadn’t planned to be celibate for so long, but casual sex just didn’t appeal—in fact, it felt somewhat disloyal to Jess just to sleep with some random woman.

  Although he could just imagine Jess telling him he was an idiot, and could practically hear her voice telling him it was impossible to cheat on a dead person.

  Jess had always been pragmatic. She never would have expected or wanted him to be single for the rest of his life.

  But sex with Jess had been special. He’d slept with a few women before Jess, but it had never been with them as it had been with Jess. With other women it had been fun, but it hadn’t been all-consuming. And now he’d experienced more, he didn’t want to return to less.

  And tonight... Tonight those moments with Ana had felt like more. Different from Jess, but equally intense. And that intensity had shocked him.

  He hadn’t been looking for it, and certainly hadn’t expected to discover it with a woman he was being paid to protect.

  And, more important, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to want someone other than Jess. If, even after all these years, he was ready.

  ‘Mr North?’ Ana prompted.

  ‘At your service,’ Rhys said, with a deliberate grin. ‘How can I help?’

  Her gaze travelled over his face, but it wasn’t the sensual exploration of before—now it looked as if she was trying to work out what was going on. Clearly his smile was not entirely convincing.

  ‘Where are Adrian and Dino?’ she asked.

  ‘In the guest house,’ he said.

  ‘The guest house?’ Ana squeaked, her eyes wide. ‘Why would you have a guest house? You said you don’t have many guests.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t have any guests. It was here when I bought the place. The house only has two bedrooms—I guess the previous owner liked his own space as much as I do.’

  ‘So we’re alone?’ Ana said, her voice still just a little higher-pitched than usual.

  Her obvious discomfort helped Rhys relax a little. For some reason knowing they were both less than thrilled to be alone together helped.

  Ana had had a big day—and, given she still called the guy she’d jilted her fiancé, maybe she was still in a relationship. Either way, pursuing anything with Ana given her current circumstances—regardless of the fact he was working for the palace—would be extremely uncool.

  So maybe right now wasn’t the time to be concerned about his wants and needs or whatever. There was no maybe, actually—there was no need at all.

  Because nothing was going to happen between him and Ana.

  * * *

  Rhys ate dinner with Ana—which she hadn’t really expected. But they didn’t speak much while they ate, which suited her. The reality of the day required silence for her brain to begin to process it.

  Had she really begun today planning to marry one man in Vela Ada and ended her day in a different country with another man altogether? Had she really done that? How had that happened?

  Rhys had apologised for the lack of ‘fancy’ food. He’d heated up some lasagne he’d said he bought from a lady down in Castelrotto—the nearest town to Rhys’s property—and cooked some frozen potato wedges in the oven, but it had been fine. Ana hadn’t been in the mood for ‘fancy’ anyway. She didn’t really feel she deserved it, given she’d probably caused the waste of the hundreds of fancy meals planned for her wedding reception.

  She’d forgotten to ask Petar about that. She hoped that at least some of the food had been somehow repurposed. Maybe for a homeless shelter? Or maybe gifted to the army of staff who had worked at the reception venue?

  Anyway, Ana did know that the reception hadn’t gone on without her. She had naively hoped that maybe everyone had headed to the palace anyway, after it had been announced that the wedding wasn’t happening. She’d imagined a great big party, everyone having a fabulo
us time without her, dancing to the live band, drinking all the very expensive champagne.

  That idea had made her feel a little better—at least if the party had gone ahead, then she hadn’t ruined the day for everyone. There’d been something salvaged from it.

  But, no. Petar had said everyone had just gone home after they’d worked out that there really wasn’t going to be a wedding.

  ‘What would they have been celebrating?’ he’d asked, incredulous.

  Which was a fair comment, Ana acknowledged.

  What she hadn’t said in reply was: They could’ve celebrated me realising just in time that marrying you would be a terrible mistake.

  Ana imagined a ballroom full of people, all dancing in celebration of Ana the Runaway Princess, maybe with balloons and streamers...

  ‘May I ask what you’re smiling about?’ Rhys asked.

  He’d pushed his seat back a little and relaxed into it. His plate was empty, his cutlery neatly placed diagonally.

  Ana covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I shouldn’t be smiling,’ she said. ‘I hurt a lot of people today.’

  Not only Petar, but her mother too. Her grandparents. Her friends.

  ‘But you were smiling,’ Rhys prompted. ‘You have been for several minutes.’

  How hadn’t she noticed him looking at her?

  She didn’t know how to answer his question. As she’d said, she shouldn’t be smiling. She shouldn’t be feeling happy. She should be feeling bad. Guilty.

  ‘Why do you think I’m smiling?’ she threw back at him.

  He folded his arms in front of his broad chest. ‘I have no idea,’ he said calmly. ‘That’s why I asked. I was curious.’

  ‘I’d rather not say,’ she said quickly. Then added, keen to change the subject, ‘Where in Australia are you from?’

  ‘Melbourne,’ he said.

  That was it—no further elaboration. They fell into another silence.

  Ana realised that Rhys was waiting for her to finish her meal before leaving the table, which was very polite of him. She knew she should tell him he didn’t need to wait for her—given she had so unexpectedly turned up at his doorstep, she could hardly expect him to be an attentive host. But she didn’t.