Chapter 48

~ BAILEY ~

Of all the lovers for me to take, I had to choose the one with the sort of skill set that left me wondering how on earth I’d ever catch my breath.

Nick finesses us into a comfy position where I’m on my back, propped against the pillows. As usual, he has a forearm braced against the mound to hold himself slightly off me, to keep from crushing me.

Also as usual… I want him to crush me. I want him plastered to me.

But I get that he considers I’m in a “delicate condition.”

That’s very sweet.

He’s still inside me.

That’s very hot.

I can feel him pulsating and pushing deep.

I know he lost it, right along with me. But he’s still burning, and the truth is… So am I.

My pulse races. My heartbeats skip, wildly.

I love that he does this to me.

Every single time.

It’s just a little embarrassing that I’m utterly boneless.

My insides are sizzling, yet I feel fabulously limp and serene.

In fact, it takes some effort to lift my arm so that I can sweep a lock of hair from Nick’s forehead. I barely murmur, “If we take away all the external, we’re pretty much perfect together.”

He grins. Warmly. And says, “No one’s life lacks the external, sweetheart. There’s always some sort of conflict and pressing matters to be dealt with.”

“Yes, but…” I let out a lengthy breath. “When we’re alone and together like this… We’re not mired in any of the external. We can at least ignore it. For a spell.”

His lips graze my forehead. And he whispers, “I would spend an eternity with you, locked in the ‘alone and together.’”

I grasp his full meaning. Sigh. And say, “Alas… Totally inconceivable.”

“Bailey.” His fingertips whisk tenderly over my cheek. Then slip under my chin to hitch it a notch. He stares into my eyes as he tells me, “I have made it abundantly clear that whatever you want is everything you can have.”

“’Cept, you’ve forgotten one thing,” I almost playfully point out. And splay my hand over his hard pecs.

“What have I forgotten?” he inquires.

I resist the urge to grip his biceps and hold him firmly as my hips move, to rouse him again.

There’s not much need to go to any extreme. I know he’ll be hard and wanting me within minutes.

This, however, is one of those Come to Jesus Moments we’ve been having of late.

I earnestly say, “I want you to have everything you want, as well. Makes for challenging prioritization, don’t you think?”

He is completely undeterred by my logic, still grinning. “Baby,” he mutters in his sexy bedroom voice. “I complicate things between us by insisting I can somehow control or manage all our intricacies.”

“Actually, that’s not true,” I’m compelled to inform him. “You leave so much on the table, for me to process, under my own terms.”

“And yet, I went and named our daughter and decorated a nursery for her.”

He’s musing in a sultry way that is both self-deprecating and matter of fact. It’s incredibly charming. Engaging. As is how we’ve easily fallen into a sensual rhythm with each other.

Though my mind is temporarily on the nursery. “That room is sensational, Nick. And you picked out a name for the peanut that is so much more dignified and elegant than… The peanut.”

He chuckles. And says, “Terms of endearment and nicknames are perfectly acceptable in my kingdom, Bailey.”

“Christ… Kingdom,” I mumble.

“I was actually being sardonic,” he teases. And tugs at my lower lip with his mouth. He adds, “We’ll stick with ‘country.’”

I would have breathed a sigh of relief, but decent airflow remains scarce.

I also want to remind him that we agreed not to weigh ourselves down with this particular direction of discussion tonight.

Conversely, I very much want to hear him pontificate until the cows come home on how he feels about us having a baby and what his hopes and dreams are for our daughter and just… All of the alllls…

I love how he embraces chatting about our kid.

In general, I love to listen to him talk and talk. About anything.

I suspect it’s not just “individual” me who has this craving. My entire being finds so much solace in his voice.

So I tell Nick, “Whatever you think is best, is what I want to hear.”

Okay, yes, that’s a carte blanche that comes with all sorts of twisted connotations.

He knows it. And doesn’t bite on the lure.

He does assert, “Baby, the best thing about us is that we no longer plow headfirst into obstacles, knocking ourselves out. We find ways to scale them.”

“So eloquently put.”

He rolls onto his back now, bringing me with him.

I settle into the very lovely position of straddling his lap once more as I feel him expand within me.

Flattening my palms over his pecs, I gaze down at him and say, “You’re sexy and sensible. That’s a huge turn-on.”

“And I admire that you don’t always take the easy way out,” he tells me. “I could have offered you the yacht club. But it had to be the crab shack, didn’t it?”

I laugh. “Of course. The yacht club would have merely been something I walked into, already fully functioning and on everyone’s radar. Already highly rated and starred. The crab shack, by comparison, was debilitated not only structurally, but also internally. Spiritually, even. Holistically. Certainly, it was devoid of any sort of reputation. I mean, within this century, that is. And those who knew about its heyday long ago… Well. They’re few and far between, is my guess.”

He sits up a bit straighter, filling me. Completely.

I sigh and wind my arms around his neck. “This is where I happily abandon all conversation.”

“Not all,” he playfully mocks.

“Okay, yes, I do like when you talk dirty to me.”

“Mm. I have plenty of that on deck.”

A thrill shimmies through me and I wiggle a bit against him. Clench his cock with my inner muscles. And tell him, “Another orgasm or two this evening will continue to keep you in my good graces, Your Majesty.”

He snickers. “Baby, you know I can do better than two…”

My stomach flutters. “You are quite talented.”

His hands on my hips hold me steady so that I don’t pick up the pace. Telling me he’s going to take his time. Take this slowly. Make me practically beg for him.

Naturally, I’m not above begging for him. I’m more than willing to urge him along. Except, he truly does feel fantastic inside me and so I’m in no real hurry either.

In fact, I’m content to lean into him, press my breasts to his chest. Graze his neck with my lips. Whisper in his ear, “We should definitely do this more often.”

“It’s at the top of my wish list.”

I laugh again. More of a giggle. “We are damn good at it.”

“Stick with what you know?”

“Precisely.”

“A philosophy I will gladly adhere to.”

“And masterfully,” I add.

His hands slip down and around to palm my ass cheeks. He massages them as he finally eases us into a more stimulating tempo that makes my breaths skip. I thread my fingers in his silky hair and inhale the scent of him.

“Bailey,” he murmurs. A very faint, though distinctive utterance that holds emotion and wonderment.

His cock thickens and I match his gradually increasing cadence. His muscles are hard and encasing me. I’m enveloped in the pure essence of the man, and it is heavenly. Also perfectly enticing. Exciting.

I like being swept away by him.

I like that he can make me forget anything and everything, so that we’re strictly engulfed in feelings and sensations. In bliss.

I rock in time with him, the motion still sensual and yet contradictorily insistent. Damn sexy. Everything about Nick and what he does to me is sexy. I simply give myself over to him—and to all the emotions, the eroticism. There’s always tomorrow to stress over the bigger chunks of our lives.

For now… This is all I want. This is all I need.

And this is everything he gives me.

~ * * * ~

Sadly, Nick’s up before I’m awake. Not “up” in the hot/promising way either, ha-ha. He’s already showered and dressed as I’m slowly rousing and just barely cracking an eye open.

“Busy day ahead?” I mumble.

“Very.” He’s straightening his tie as he crosses the room to the bed. He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“What time is it?”

“Six.”

“Ugh…” He did wear me out last night and I suppose I’m still a bit exhausted from the months-long restaurant frenzy, so I do as instructed, without a peep of protest.

It’s eight o’clock when I eventually toss off the covers and shuffle toward the bathroom. I shower. Do my hair and makeup.

Feeling sufficiently refreshed, I pop into the dressing room and select one of the few outfits I’d brought with me, a slightly off-the-shoulder, cap-sleeved dress with a sweetheart neckline and a fitted bodice that flows into a flared, mid-thigh-length skirt. The color is a deep sky-blue and it accents my eyes. I slip on my favored strappy silver sandals and follow Grayson to one of the terraces where he’s set up brunch for me.

I shouldn’t be famished, but I am. More so than eating for two, I attribute this to all the exercise I’ve been getting since I arrived—and I’m not just talking about the miles I’ve logged around the palace and the grounds.

Although my inner thighs are sore from accommodating Nick’s wide, powerful physique, I’m not complaining about the “workouts.” In fact, I squirm in my seat, delightedly, thinking about how difficult it is for him to keep his hands off me.

If only he didn’t have a country to run, we’d still be under those silky covers.

It suddenly dawns on me that I have responsibilities too.

I instantly reach for my phone, but then it occurs to me there’s a time difference to take into consideration. I want to smack my palm to my forehead over having forgotten this. It’s one a.m. in California, since they’re behind us here in Europe. Mitch will be asleep by now, given he’ll have to be back at the restaurant before it opens for lunch, while he’s covering for me.

First, I’m annoyed with myself that I didn’t think to call him when I initially woke up. He would have been close to wrapping up dinner service at that point and it’d have been convenient for him to chat and give me an update, let me know if there were any problems.

Next, the guilt washes over me…because he has to cover for me.

I gnaw my lip for a moment or two, fretting.

Until Grayson clears his throat.

My gaze drifts to him, standing off to the side, near the rolling cart, on which my lovely spread is delivered.

I tell him, “I really prefer it when you sit with me.”

“Royal protocol,” he counters.

Ah, yes, there is that.

Regardless, I reply, “Bet you’re missing your polo shirts and casual trousers.”

He snickers. Since there’s no one around to see. This should make it perfectly acceptable for him to join me, but he’s much too professional to break palace rules. Even for me.

“Eat your omelet,” he quietly insists.

I heave a sigh. And tell him, “I missed my window of opportunity to call Mitch.”

“Bailey. He’ll contact you if anything goes awry. And another window will open this evening.”

True. And I have my phone’s voice command set an alarm to remind me.

Yes, I want to shoot Mitch a text this very second, but if he keeps his cell on his nightstand for emergencies, I’ll end up waking him anyway. So.

I lift my fancy gold fork and dig in.

Later, I leave the apartment and wander the “halls.” It’s an insufficient term for these monstrously wide, never-ending corridors. My high school in San Francisco wasn’t this big.

Claire has informed me that Nick has a luncheon, off-property, but will return mid-afternoon. She offers to have lunch with me, and I can’t thank her enough. I’m already a little lonely, I won’t lie. And I’m not used to having nothing to do. Not having a purpose. The most productive I could possibly be at this moment would be to plop down on one of the gorgeous settees along the way and twiddle my thumbs.

Instead, I seek out any form of entertainment I can find.

Since there’s a security guard in a sharp black suit standing outside opened double doors farther down, I aim for that target. Must be something interesting in there that he’s monitoring.

When I reach him, he grins, nods, and gestures with a graciously sweeping hand for me to enter. So he’s not concerned I’m going to swipe whatever’s inside. Good to know.

Of course, I have no doubt he—and all the others—have been alerted to my presence. And even if no one circulated a photo of me to the staff, the baby bump is a dead giveaway that I’m “the surrogate.”

I step into the room, not at all surprised that it’s vast and elegantly decorated. There are scores and scores of tables of varying heights and shapes and sizes, lining the perimeter and filling the inner sanctum. This must be the antiques room, because everything looks like it belongs in fifteenth century castles or, at the very least, a museum. Even the shelves on the walls are covered with intricately designed knickknacks and delicately sculpted bowls and artistically crafted vases.

Admittedly, I’m in awe. And it takes me quite some time to make the rounds.

Upon my exit, the guard tells me, “There’s also a family gallery toward the mezzanine. And a much larger one, encompassing the country’s history, on the opposite side of the staircases, in the public forum.”

“Thank you. I’ll look for both.”

I feel the overwhelming urge to curtsy. I know, he’s a security guard. But he’s formal and regal and I just… Force myself to move along.

My next stop is, indeed, the family gallery. Since I have no idea who anyone is in relation to Nick, despite their names being displayed on plaques under the portraits, I can only speculate about the branches of the family tree. Also, there are some stunning paintings of the palace and the country that are breathtaking. The grandeur is mind blowing.

I leave this room feeling as though I’m touring a world-famous mausoleum or Paris’s most renowned museum for all its sophisticated opulence.

Fortunately, Claire is waiting for me at the juncture of the curving staircases. I follow her downstairs and out the ridiculously tall doors to yet another cozy and meticulously cared for courtyard where we are immediately seated and served iced tea and sparkling water.

“How is your day so far?” she asks.

“Exceptional, I have to say. I’ve discovered one gem after another.”

She perks up. “You’ve been to the vault where the crown jewels are kept?” She stares at me with wide eyes, astonished.

“Um, no,” I hesitantly burst her bubble. “No clue where it’s located, and I highly doubt I’d be allowed inside. I’ve noted all the security guards and cameras.”

Her shoulders slump, briefly, as she tells me, “I’m dying to have someone describe it to me. Sooo hush-hush. As it should be, of course… But still.” She almost pouts. But is much more dignified than that.

“I’ll ask Nick if you and I can have viewing privileges. With whatever armed detail must accompany us.”

“Oh, Bailey.” She brightens once more. “You don’t require permission. No area is off-limits to you as His Majesty’s—”

She abruptly halts. Grabs her glass and swallows down whatever she was about to say with a gulp of iced tea.

I find this curious.

“‘As His Majesty’s...’ What?”