Return of the Secret Heir by Rachel Bailey Page B

princess?”
    â€œI’m not feeling that well,” she said, voice weak.
    It might not be the best reaction he’d ever had to his kiss, but he was suddenly alert. Lifting her chin, he peered into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, although that was probably from her arousal. He stroked her back, tryingto bring some comfort, then almost as if in slow motion, her face was leached of its color and she went limp in his arms. He caught her as alarm flared in his chest.
    Sweeping her up, he carried her to a nearby bench before laying her carefully along its length. He shrugged out of his jacket and rolled it for a pillow. Her skin was so pale normally that now it was almost translucent. He could see the tiny blue veins beneath the surface, and a fine sheen of perspiration beginning to coat her forehead. His gut clenched tight and twisted.
    â€œPia, wake up,” he said urgently, stroking the sides of her face.
    Her eyelids fluttered for agonizing seconds, then they opened revealing darkened eyes looking up at him. He said a silent prayer of thanks and let out a long breath.
    â€œJT.” Her voice was dreamy and trembled a little, but it was enough to show him she was fine. Then her eyes drifted shut once more.
    No, not again. “Pia, open your eyes,” he said in a harsh whisper.
    â€œI’m okay,” she whispered. “Just give me a moment.”
    He sat back on his haunches, his pulse slowing to its normal speed.
    Any minute now, she was going to be embarrassed and probably come out swinging—he’d witnessed a momentary lapse of control. The decent thing to do would be to give her a target to swing at.
    Her eyes slowly opened and she looked around before her unfocused gaze landed on him.
    â€œYou know,” he said with a smile, “it’s not every day I have a woman swoon in my arms.”
    She blinked up at him, then frowned. “I didn’t swoon.”
    Under other circumstances he might have laughed. Even before Pia had become oh-so-proper, she would have hatedseeing herself as the swooning type—he’d chosen the word purposefully. He pushed a little further, wanting to see her fighting spirit back. “Do you prefer faint, perhaps?”
    She scowled and put her hands to her temples as she swung her legs down and gingerly sat up.
    â€œThen what word would you use to describe kissing me one moment like your life depended on it, and then next you’re limp and unconscious in my arms?”
    She tucked the strands of fire-red hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ears. “I had a bit too much sun. It’s called sunstroke.”
    â€œOf course. That’s it.” He inclined his head, attempting an expression of reasonableness. “Except for that one minor detail—we’re not in the sun.”
    â€œWe were earlier.” She waved a hand in the air. “Delayed sunstroke.”
    â€œIs that an actual condition?” He bent to pick up her bright blue hat and handed it to her.
    She took the hat and shoved it on her head with a little too much force. “You think it was your kiss, JT?” she accused, eyes flashing.
    There. Her fighting spirit, her passion, was back. His chest released the tension that had been cramping it tight. He folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, happy to tease her now for its own sake.
    â€œWell,” he drawled, “I’m not buying your delayed sunstroke theory. Although now I think about it, you fainted in my arms once before. Remember?” He’d taken her for a ride down by the river on a bike he’d just finished rebuilding, and they were walking along the river’s edge. Luckily he’d had an arm around her waist and had been able to catch her. Especially because she’d been pregnant.
    The blood in his veins froze.
    She’d been pregnant .
    All traces of humor gone, he dropped his arms to his sides. “Pia, tell me you’re not pregnant