Page 5 of Pregnant With His Majesty's Heir

Even surrounded by family she’d felt unloved.

Now they’d gone and she realised she was actuallylonely.

She had friends but they weren’t very close since Aurélie had always been too busy juggling the demands of work and her family to enjoy a very active social life.

Was that why she’d taken pity on a stranger and risked bringing him here? So that, for the time it took him to finish a hot drink and warm up, she wouldn’t be alone?

Aurélie stiffened. She wasn’t so needy.

She looked down at the damp black wool, heavy in her hands. Her fingers twitched, registering residual body heat and that slight yet heady fragrance of masculine skin.

Nostrils flaring, she stalked across to the radiator and hung it over a nearby rail.

The drinks were ready when he emerged.

‘That was terrific. Thank you, Ms...?’

‘Aurélie.’ She stirred his drink rather than stare at that honed body. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have a shirt to fit you, but your pullover should be dry soon.’ As for his damp trousers, there was no way she was offering to dry those too. He needed to be at least semi-clothed.

‘Thank you, Aurélie.’ His deep voice turned her name into a lilting caress and a tiny shiver raced through her. ‘I’m Lucien.’

She nodded and passed him a steaming mug, feeling crowded since he took up all the space, or at least all the oxygen in the room.

‘Hot chocolate?’ He sniffed the drink.

‘I never have coffee at night. It takes me ages to unwind after a shift. Please—’ she gestured to the small, lumpy sofa ‘—take a seat.’ Because it was easier to think with some distance between them. She’d stay here, leaning against the benchtop.

‘You play chess?’ He gestured to the board on the crate that served as a coffee table. ‘How about a game while I wait for my pullover to dry?’

Aurélie’s gaze flickered from his sculpted profile to his bare chest with its fascinating dusting of dark hair. Chess would give her something to concentrate on rather than gawking at his body. Finally she nodded.

It didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. Sitting close to him was distracting and Lucien beat her easily. But Aurélie found it surprisingly comfortable, sharing the night quiet with him. Her residual discomfort at rashly inviting a stranger here died as they spoke desultorily about chess and then about games they’d played as kids.

She learned he loved to ski and that he’d grown up in the mountains, though, judging by his faint accent, not in France. Aurélie chose not to query him more closely. What was the point? He’d be gone soon. Tomorrow he’d be just a memory. Besides, he seemed so self-contained that any direct questions would feel like an intrusion on his privacy.

He heard about her love of music, that she’d wanted to play the piano but sang instead. Aurélie made that sound like a choice, not mentioning there’d been no money for music lessons.

When he suggested a second game she agreed, surprised when she won to discover how long they’d been playing. She felt relaxed with Lucien. Except for that tiny current of awareness running deep into the core of her body. He might be good company but he was still the most attractive man she’d ever met.

‘Congratulations,’ he murmured. ‘There are flashes of real brilliance in your game.’

‘Why, thank you.’ Her smile died as she saw his hands clasped, white-knuckled between his knees. His mouth was a crooked line. ‘Lucien, what’s wrong?’

The man was in pain, no doubt about it.

‘Nothing. You just reminded me of someone.’ His jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder the bone didn’t splinter.

‘Another chess player?’

He nodded and she watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple jerking against the strong line of his throat.

It was none of her business. Whatever bothered him wasn’t something she could solve. Yet Aurélie read stark misery on that proud face and felt its echo within her.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

He raised his head then, his eyes so bright they seemed to catch all the light in the room and drive it deep inside her where a confusion of emotions—pity, regret and the desire to comfort him—melded.

‘Thanks.’ His voice was a raw whisper. ‘But it’s too late. He’s dead.’

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