Royal Affair by Laurie Paige

him and get herself composed and used—resigned?—to the idea of Max being here in Portland. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
    â€œLooking for you,” he replied in his wonderfully smooth voice. “Why else?” He gently turned her again and headed for her apartment complex.
    â€œOh.” She couldn’t think of another word. They started up the grassy hill. She glanced at the other man and found him surveying the area as if thinking of buying it or else looking for a mugger behind every tree. “Who are you?”
    â€œA friend,” Max said. “Charles Curland. Chuck and I went to school together. Brown University,” he added before she could ask.
    â€œGlad to meet you,” the friend said politely.
    From the laughter in his eyes, she thought he was about to become hysterical with delight. “My pleasure,” she responded automatically, her tone full of doubt.
    The man cast her a knowing glance, then grinned. There was something open and very likable about him. Her gaze went to Max. Prince Regent Max. Huh. Too bad she couldn’t detect the same traits in him!
    Although she tried to ignore it, she was acutely aware of his arm around her waist, of the strength and warmth of his body as he walked next to her. She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and let him take the burden of an unplanned pregnancy from her.
    A gasp escaped her at the ridiculous idea. Then the awful dizziness flashed over her again, and she had to lean into him to keep from swaying.
    â€œWe’re almost there,” he murmured in the same dulcet tones she recalled from that night.
    They strode up the sidewalk, the three steps to her porch, and stopped at her door.
    â€œThe key,” Max said.
    â€œIt isn’t locked.”
    He gave her a stern glance before opening the door and ushering her inside. His dark eyes took in the whole living area at a glance, then he led her to the sofa and with a gentle but firm touch laid her upon it.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said, smiling brightly to prove it. “You can go now.” She pushed herself upright in the corner of the sofa.
    â€œWhat is the number of your doctor?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s Saturday. His day off,” she added, when the day of the week didn’t seem to make an impression.
    â€œHe will see you,” Max asserted.
    At last anger came to her aid. “This isn’t Lantanya, Your Highness or Majesty or whatever you call yourself. You have no authority here.”
    He studied her with a gaze so sharp she felt it right inside her. It made her nervous. She crossed her arms over her middle so he couldn’t detect the child growing there.
    â€œSo you know,” he said in an oddly quiet, thoughtful manner, as if he regretted the fact.
    â€œI saw it in a tabloid. Along with a picture of us going into the resort.”
    A blush started at her toes and rushed up to her face like a wildfire through a dry forest. She glanced at his friend and saw compassion in his gaze. Pressing her lips together, she stared miserably at the floor, feeling foolish and deceived and gullible.
    All of which she had certainly been in July.
    â€œChuck is also my security advisor,” Max told her. “He knows everything.” He paused. “Everything,” he murmured in a low, husky tone.
    The heat swept over her again. She leaped from the sofa and headed to the powder room down the hall past the kitchen. “I have to—I’m going to—”
    She clamped a hand over her mouth.
    Max followed her into the tiny bathroom. He held her head while she was violently ill. She didn’t know whether she was going to die from the nausea or embarrassment. At the moment she didn’t much care which it was. She just hoped it would happen soon.
    In a bizarre repeat of that magical night, he dampened a washcloth and ministered to her, ignoring her protests as he had nearly two months ago. He wiped her