Page 9 of Royal Surrogate 2

My fingers dance over her belly despite her words. My child is inside her. It’s still hard for me to imagine.

I sit, my hand still on her stomach. “Would it be so terrible?” I smile down at her. “Staying, I mean. I know we haven’t discussed it much. But I’ve seen you with my niece and nephew. You’ll make a fine mother. And I’m not so terrible, am I? We could?—”

“Caspar,” she says, taking my hand in hers as she sits up. “Wehavediscussed this, and we have a contract.”

My stomach turns at the wordcontract.

I should tell her.

“I need to go home to my father.” She rubs her belly. “No matter how I feel about…anything else. That’s the only reason I agreed to any of this.” She nods a few times to herself. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me. Nothing but sweet and reasonable and…kind. And I appreciate it. But?—”

I can’t help it—I cut her off with a kiss. She’s just so damned beautiful, and her lips are so soft against mine. And it doesn’t help that she’s saying so many nice things about me—of course, none of them are true, I’ve been none of those things. I’ve lied and cheated and been perfectly deplorable.

But she’s carrying my child, and she’s signed a contract to be my wife for the next twenty years. And something about this whole situation makes me want her to choose to stay regardless.

I want to say it to her. Choose me. Choose me, damn it! I had thought a child would be enough, but it isn’t. It isn’t at all.

I want Renae. All of her. I want her to decide to stay here of her own accord.

So I deepen our kiss further to show her just that.

And she doesn’t pull away. My free hand slides up her back to her neck and into her hair, further deepening our kiss.

She sighs against my lips, and my tongue finds hers, tasting her.

My God, I want her. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman more in my life.

And she doesn’t resist. Her hand glides against my chest, pulling at my shirt, almost urging me to lie her down.

But when my hand finds her thigh, guiding it over mine, she twists her head away. “Caspar,” she moans breathlessly.

“Renae,” I whisper as I kiss her jaw.

“We can’t,” she says, though the way her neck tilts, urging me onward says something entirely different.

“No?” I ask, my lips kissing their way toward her ear.

“No,” she says, though she does nothing to stop me for a long moment.

Finally she pushes against my chest, shaking her head. “No.”

CHAPTER 9

Renae

I feel like I’m trapped in a strange dream.

On the one hand, I’m living a life most people can only dream of—I’m married to a Montovian lord, carrying his baby, spending my days in the lavish Wintervale estate. But despite the luxury all around me, it’s hard to forget that I’m only playing a part. Dealing with press releases and interviews only makes it worse.

It doesn’t help that I’m still not sleeping well. Pregnancy is doing all sorts of things to my body, which isn’t helping things, but the main cause of my insomnia is still the man who sleeps beside me. I’m still far too aware of Caspar’s body, going hot whenever he’s close to me, and every time he moves in our bed at night, my heart leaps into my throat and my breathing stops. I’m always certain that this time he’ll break his promise and reach over and touch me. And even though my brain is terrified of that prospect, my body aches for it, leaving me frustrated and worked up and confused all at once.

This night is one of those nights. I’m so hot my nightgown is sticking to my body, and even though I tell myself it’s just the pregnancy, I know that’s a lie.

This afternoon, when Caspar kissed me by the lake, I found myself wanting to melt into his arms. As his lips had traced a path along my jaw, I’d imagined them going lower, and then lower. I’d imagined him laying me back on the grass and rolling on top of me, sliding up my dress and?—

And this train of thought is dangerous.

Beside me, Caspar lets out a half-snore. It’s a little easier when I know he’s asleep, because at least then I don’t imagine he’s just lying there and thinking about the same things I am. God, if I knew he was awake and suffering as much as I was, tortured by my nearness, aching to reach out and?—

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