Prince Baby Daddy - A Secret Baby Royal Romance Read online

  The feeling of being trapped, caged-in washes over me, and I have the urge to push on his chest until he stumbles back and then make a run for it. But I know pushing Colby away will hurt him and cause a scene, and I don’t want to do either of those things.

  I scan the crowd yet again, bouncing from cowboy hat to cowboy hat, hoping for a single familiar face that I can use to get out of this situation.

  Just as Colby’s fingers are pressing into my spine just beneath my bra strap, and I’m weighing the option of pretending to pass out, my eyes land on a chauffeur hat. Or a police officer’s hat? It looks like it could be the hat a stripper would wear if he was wearing a police officer costume. It’s hideous and black and very noticeable, but then I look down and see the man beneath it, and suddenly I can’t remember what the hat looks like at all.

  Even in the dim lights of the club, I can tell his eyes are blue. They are a pale blue that looks almost white from so far away, and the hair I can see sticking out from beneath the hat is blond. But not a golden blond like mine, a white blond that pairs perfectly with his pale skin. Actually, he might be an angel.

  I’m halfway convinced he is an angel when he turns his head to look to the left and the lights cut across his cheekbones, and then I’m completely certain. No mere mortal could have cheekbones so sharp or a jaw so square. His lips are pink and pouty, and his brow is furrowed like he is searching the crowd for someone.

  Me. He is looking for me. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Oh, my God,” I say, patting Colby’s chest with my open palm. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve just seen someone I know, and I really want to go say hi.”

  Colby grabs my hand, holding it to his chest, and follows my eyesight. When he sees the male angel, his eyes narrow.

  “You know him?”

  I hum an unconvincing yes and stretch up on my toes to kiss his cheek. It’s a dirty trick, but it works. Colby is so surprised by the kiss that he drops my hand, and I’m able to escape into the crowd. He calls after me, but I’m too far away to properly hear what he’s saying, and even if I could, it would be too late. I’m being drawn to the angel like his beauty is a tractor beam.

  Before I’ve thought of a single thing to say, I’m standing a few feet away from him, admiring the full-length view of him rather than just his head and shoulders above the crowd.

  He is wearing a pair of black slacks that are rumpled but well-fitted enough that I can tell his thighs are thick and muscled. He has a white button-down tucked into them, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, giving every woman in the bar a glorious glimpse of his forearms.

  My eyes glance up to the hat again, and I’m tempted to reach out and swat it off his head. It is ugly and distracting. But before I can act on the thought, I look slightly below the hat and realize he is staring at me.

  His pink lips are pulled into a half-smirk so slight I could almost be imagining it, and his pale blue eyes—the color of turquoise sea glass—are holding me in place, making it impossible to move.

  Then, I remember Colby is probably watching me, and if I don’t do something soon, he’ll realize I lied to him about knowing the beautiful stranger. Plus, if I continue staring at him, the angel will think I’m a psychopath.

  “Hi,” I manage, swiping one of my braids behind my shoulder and then running a hand down my neck.

  The other side of his mouth lifts to match the other, his smirk now at one-hundred-percent potency, and it nearly knocks me backward.

  “Hello.”

  Good God. A European accent. It takes all my willpower not to wrap my legs around his waist and direct him to my car in the parking lot.

  “You aren’t from around here.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize what a cliché they are.

  His pale eyebrows raise until they are hidden beneath his hat. “I thought people only said that in movies.”

  “Me too,” I admit, my cheeks going warm.

  I suddenly wish I’d taken Blakely’s advice and worn something feminine for once. I don’t see what is unfeminine about blue jeans and a cotton V-neck, but I also kind of wish I was showing off a bit more cleavage. I don’t show them often, but I have incredible breasts. They are one of my better features, honestly. I could have worn my black lacy tank top and been a tiny bit closer to the raw sex appeal oozing off of the man in front of me.

  He leans forward, and even though we’ve just met, I wonder if he is going to kiss me. He doesn’t, and instead shouts over the music, “What’s your name?”

  “Jane-Ann. Yours?”

  “Jane-Ann,” he repeats, rolling the letters of my name over his tongue like he is trying to decide if he likes it. “Can I buy you a drink, Jane-Ann?”

  He presses a hand to my lower back and leads me to the bar before I can answer, but I don’t mind. I would have said yes. I mean, how could I say no?

  We walk right past Colby on our way to the bar, and his face is pinched like someone kicked over his sandcastle. I feel bad, but the guilt is washed away by the warmth I feel at being in the beautiful man’s presence. He politely asks a woman whether she couldn’t shift down one seat so we can sit next to one another, and I can tell by the glazed look in her eyes that their two-second conversation mesmerized her.

  He orders us two beers and then turns to me, one elbow leaning against the bar and one of his legs stretched out casually to rest on the metal rung of my bar stool. He is effortlessly casual.

  “You never told me your name,” I say.

  He smirks again, his eyes dancing. “I guess I didn’t.”

  I raise my brows. “Do you plan to?”

  “Christian.” In his accent, there is an extra emphasis on the “T.”

  “Where are you from, Christian?” With a religious name like that, I’m even more sure he’s an angel.

  He takes a drink of his beer and waves his hand dismissively. “Out of town. Just got in from the airport, actually.”

  “And your first stop was a honky-tonk?”

  He laughs. “Is that what this place is called? I love that.”

  I lean in more than the loud music requires and catch a hint of his lemon and cedar scent.

  “Most of the people here are locals,” I say. “And very country. No offense, but you stick out.”

  “Do I?” he asks, looking down at himself like he is surprised. Then he grabs the hat from his head and holds it out between us. “Do you think it’s the hat?”

  His pale blond hair tumbles free, and it is shiny and silky and perfectly cut so it hangs over his forehead but not his ears. Now that I can see his hair, he might stick out more without the hat on.

  “What’s with the hat? You look like a stripper.”

  My eyes widen at my drunken slip. That thought was supposed to stay tucked away inside my head along with all of my dirty thoughts about him.

  Christian’s smile falters. “Is that a bad thing?”

  Oh, God. He is a stripper. I can feel my tongue swelling in my mouth, and I think choking on it will be a fitting end. I deserve it.

  “No, of course not. I have no problem with strippers. Great work you all do. You make things very festive. I spent most of my cousin’s bachelorette party talking to the stripper. He was a great guy. Very professional.”

  It takes me a second to realize tears are gathering in Christian’s eyes, and then he tips his head back and laughs. I can see all of his straight white teeth, and somehow the underside of his jaw is just as mesmerizing of a view as the profile.

  “I’m not a stripper, Jane-Ann. But I’m glad to know you’re so open-minded.”

  I slap his arm before I can think better of it. His bicep is hard muscle, and I want to run my finger down it.

  “That was mean.”

  “Sorry, love. I couldn’t resist.”

  Love. Okay, he is forgiven.

  I’m about to ask again about the hat when I feel something pulling at my shoulder. I look over and see Christian reaching into my purse, which is draped across
my chest and hanging at my hip. I swat at his hand, but he pulls out my guilty pleasure before I can stop him.

  “Are you carrying a romance novel around in your purse?” he asks, twisting the paperback around in his hands to peruse the cover.

  The book is about a prince who falls in love with the woman who tries to steal his family’s fortune. The cover features the two of them in a state of undress on a blanket in the woods.

  I snatch the book out of his hands and stuff it back into my bag. “Are you digging through stranger’s purses for your own amusement?”

  He leans in, his breath warm on my skin. “I do everything for my own amusement.”

  There is no mistaking his meaning. He is at Jimmy’s for a good time, and for some reason, I am who he has set his sights on. I’m not complaining.

  I narrow my eyes, pretending for a second that I might deny him his fun.

  “Who are you?”

  He runs his eyes down my face and then lower, confidence etched into every square inch of his face. He tips his head toward my bag.

  “You like royal romances?”

  I nod.

  “Then you’re in luck,” he says, throwing back the rest of his beer and wiping his lips with his forearm. “Because I happen to be a prince.”

  The admission takes me by surprise, and I bark out a laugh. “Oh, is that so?”

  He smirks. “Sure is.”

  I shake my head, unable to bite back the smile that spreads across my face. “Congratulations. I’ve never heard that pick-up line before.”

  “It isn’t a pick-up line.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, sure.”

  “I’m getting the sense you don’t believe me, Jane-Ann.”

  My name on his lips is like music. Instinctively, my body bends toward him.

  As his eyes move over my body, it’s like stepping out into the sunshine after days, weeks of darkness. I don’t know who Christian is or where he is from or what he does, but he is the most interesting thing that has walked into this honky-tonk in as long as I can remember, and I have no intentions of letting him walk out alone.

  I stand up and grab the front of his shirt, twisting my fingers in the fabric. He looks down at my hand and raises one eyebrow in surprise and amusement.

  “You can be whoever you want to be tonight as long as you dance with me.”

  “I’ve never done this kind of dancing,” he says, though he is already standing up and following me out onto the floor.

  I let go of his shirt and reach for his hand instead, enjoying the warmth of it against my skin. I wrap his arm around my waist until his hand is pressed flat against my stomach. He spreads his fingers wide like he wants to touch as much of me as possible, and I shiver at the contact. I smile and look over my shoulder.

  “Just hang on to me, Your Highness. I’ll show you the ropes.”

  Chapter 3

  Christian

  Jane-Ann is everything I could have hoped for from an American woman. Her long blond plaits bounce against her shoulders as she kicks and stomps and shakes her body to the music. Just as she promised, she keeps a tight hold on me, pulling me along behind her and keeping me close while she dances. I don’t mind one bit. It’s a nice view.

  On top of insane jet lag, standing in a crowd full of men and women in denim with large belt buckles and cowboy boots has me feeling off-kilter. I’m not in Sigmaran anymore.

  An imaginary weight lifts off my shoulders. I’m not in Sigmaran anymore. My family has no idea where I am. The press, usually hounding me at every turn, snapping photos as I simply walk down the street, are not waiting outside.

  For perhaps the first time in my life, I am alone and free to behave as I choose. Free to do what I want without fear of it getting back to Mother and Father. Without fear of it reflecting poorly on my family and being a bad example for my brothers. I can do whatever I want.

  The thought sends a wild rush through me like a shot, and I cling onto Jane-Ann’s hand a little tighter.

  “I’m not sure what you were worried about,” she says, turning to me with an easy smile, shouting over the music. “You’re a natural.”

  She’s being kind. I’ve stumbled through every single dance since we got on the dance floor, but nothing can account for pure unadulterated, unearned confidence. I might be terrible, but I haven’t stopped smiling.

  “I’ve had formal ballroom dance training, but line dancing isn’t a skill many royals need to know.”

  “That is what is wrong with you royals,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re always so stiff.”

  I still don’t think she believes I’m actual royalty, but I’m in no hurry to convince her. With the royal romance book in her bag, I have to assume she would pounce on me as soon as the truth came out, hoping to be like one of the heroines in her book. And while Jane-Ann pouncing on me is far from the worst thing I can imagine, I want her to pounce on me for different reasons. Like, our raw magnetism or my dashing good looks.

  If Jane-Ann decides to press those pouty pink lips to mine, I want it to be because, on some level, she likes me and not my title. My entire life has been spent trying to sort out whether people are friends with me or the future crown that hangs over my head like a cloud. But right now, the sky above my head is clear, and I’m enjoying it.

  “That feels like a big judgment from someone who has never been to Europe,” I tease.

  She whips her head to me, eyebrows drawn together. “How do you know that?”

  “Just a guess.” I shrug with a tiny grin on my face.

  She doesn’t answer right away, letting me know I pinned her correctly.

  Finally, she stops dancing and turns to me. Her face is flushed from alcohol and exertion, and the pink in her cheeks makes her look young and vibrant. Her brown eyes are wholesome, but I feel the sincerity and intensity in them as she sizes me up and then takes a step toward me until our bodies are nearly pressed together.

  “You’re right, I haven’t been to Europe. Or anywhere for that matter,” she says, brushing one of her plaits over her shoulder and standing a bit taller. “But I don’t need to be well traveled to see that you’re looking for something. Something Europe and all the money in the world that bought you these crisp, well-fitted clothes couldn’t offer. So, before you judge me for spending my entire life in Round Rock, Texas, you should take a long look in the mirror and realize that you came to me in search of something more, pretty boy.”

  There’s an intriguing mix of vulnerability and strength in her speech, and it makes me like Jane-Ann all the more. She is still staring up at me, one eyebrow raised in a challenge, when I let the smile that has been playing at the corners of my mouth take control.

  “You think I’m pretty?”

  She throws her hands up in defeat. “That is what you would hear from all of that.”

  Quickly, I grab one of her hands and spin her in a tight circle, pulling her against my chest and swaying side to side with the music. “I heard the rest of it, too. And you’re right. I am searching for something.”

  Her expression opens in a question, and I give her a wicked grin.

  “A good time.”

  Jane-Ann bites her lower lip and gives me an indecipherable look before she squeezes my hand and leads me away from the dance floor and back toward the bar. She orders two shots and hands me one, a dangerous glimmer in her eye.

  “Why didn’t you say that in the first place, Your Highness?”

  Jane-Ann can drink. Looking at her petite frame, I wonder where she’s even storing the alcohol, but she keeps up with me, throwing back shots and chasers like it’s her job. Mother and Father would be so proud of my choice of companion for the evening.

  “You better slow down,” I warn as I hand her another beer.

  Her eyes narrow. “You came into my honky-tonk, remember? You’re on my turf.”

  Her words are slurred, and I laugh. “Your turf? Are you in a gang I should know about? I’d hate to get tangled up with a ba
d crowd my first night in America?”

  She drags her hand down my chest, and my button-down feels flimsy, the warmth of her hand leaking into my skin.

  “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me,” she says.

  I lean closer without thinking about it and then catch sight of the same man I’ve been seeing over her shoulder all night. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of us.

  I tip my head toward him. “He your bodyguard?”

  She follows my gaze and then groans. “My ex-boyfriend.”

  Something in my eyes must worry her because she quickly adds, “In high school. We broke up before graduation.”

  “And he’s still following you around?”

  Even from across the bar, I see the man’s jaw clench as I touch Jane-Ann’s arm. He’s wound up tightly, all right.

  “Not following exactly. Just making himself available should I decide I made a horrible mistake nine years ago.”

  I click my tongue. “Jane-Ann, Jane-Ann. I had no idea I was talking to such a heartbreaker.”

  Her gaze turns lethal. “Do I not look like a heartbreaker? Should I be offended that you don’t think I’m capable of devastating men with a single glance.”

  Her glance is pretty devastating now, but I don’t say so. “It’s obvious you look good, Jane, but—”

  “Jane-Ann,” she corrects sharply, one blond eyebrow raised.

  I nod my head in apology. “It’s obvious you’re gorgeous, Jane-Ann, but you just seem so…nice. You seem like a nice girl. A good girl.”

  Fire flickers in her gaze for a moment before she drops her glass on the bar, plucks mine out of my hand to join hers, and then drapes my arm over her shoulder as she sashays toward the dance floor.

  “I wasn’t done with my drink,” I say, looking over my shoulder longingly at my half-full beer.

  She spins and pinches my chin between her thumb and forefinger, gripping my face tightly until my gaze is forced back to hers.

  “Maybe you should find yourself a nice girl who cares.”

  I’m torn between the heat building in my chest and the laugh that wants to force its way out. Laughter at how I managed to walk into a random bar and find someone like Jane-Ann. I want to know if I simply got lucky or if America is filled with women full of life and fun.