Raye Morgan - The Doctor Takes a Princess / Pregnant with the Prince's Child - The Doctor Takes a Princess / Pregnant with the Prince's Child

“Ah, so you’re into quickies. What a shame,” she said and began to walk.

“I didn’t say that,” he said, but resisted the urge to pull at his collar which suddenly felt too tight.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. All evidence points in that direction.”

“How did we get on this subject?” he asked.

“You said you wouldn’t last more than fifteen minutes,” she said, meeting his gaze with eyes so wide and guileless that he wondered how she did it.

“I said lunch won’t last—” He broke when he saw her smile. “Okay, you got me on that one. I hope you don’t mind cafeteria food.”

“Not at all,” she said as they walked into the cafeteria.

He noticed several people stared in their direction, but she seemed to ignore it. They each chose a couple dishes and he paid for both, then guided her to a less-occupied table at the back of the room. “How did your video go today?”

“Hopefully, well. I interviewed Dr. Ware about preventative health for children. I also need to do one for adults. But enough about that. How are the twins?” she asked, clearly eager for information.

“I think the new nanny is making a big difference for them. This is the most calm I’ve seen them since I took custody of them,” he said. “The nanny also suggested that I do some extra activities with them, but I haven’t worked that into the schedule yet.”

“What kind of activities?” she asked, and took a bite of her chicken.

“Swimming,” he said then lowered his voice. “Baby yoga.”

“Oh. Do you take yoga?” she asked and sipped her hot tea.

“Never in my life,” he said. “The nanny seems to think this would increase bonding between the three of us.”

“That makes you uncomfortable,” she said.

He shrugged. “I hadn’t planned on having kids. I guess I’m still adjusting, too.”

“You’ve been through a lot. Perhaps you should see a therapist,” she said.

“We’re doing okay now,” he said defensively.

“I don’t suggest it as an insult. The palace is always giving us head checks especially since my sister Ericka had her substance-abuse problem. I’m surprised it’s not required in this situation.”

“A social worker has visited a few times to check on things. She actually suggested the same thing,” he said reluctantly. “She said I need to make sure I’m having fun with the boys instead of it being all work.”

“There you go,” she said. “I think it’s a splendid idea. You just seem incredibly overburdened and miserable.”

“Thank you for that diagnosis, Your Highness,” he said drily and dug into his dry salmon filet. “Funny, a friend of mine said something similar recently.”

“We all have to protect against burnout. I would say you’re more in danger of it than most.”

“Is there such a thing as princess burnout?” he asked.

“Definitely. That’s what happened to my sister Valentina. She carried the load too long.”

“And what are you doing to prevent burnout?”

“I have an extended break planned in my future. In the meantime, I try to make sure I get enough rest and solitude whenever possible. As soon as I wrap up the doctor assignment, I’ll get a break. I’m hoping you’ll toss me one or two of your residents as Dr. Ware suggested to get the ball rolling.”

“It’s going to be more difficult than that,” he said.

“I don’t see why it needs to be. It’s not as if I’m seriously asking for your top neurosurgeons. We would love a general practitioner or family doctor. In fact, we would prefer it.”

“You and the rest of the world. We actually have a shortage of family physicians, too.”

“Again, I’m only asking to borrow them.”

“What do you think of Dr. Ware?” he asked, changing the subject again.

“He’s lovely. Unlike you, he’s totally enchanted with my position and title.”

“Part of my charm. Part of the reason you find me irresistible.”

“You flatter yourself,” she said.

“Do I?” he challenged. “You’ve missed me.”

“Of course I haven’t. You already said nothing would work between us. Of course, that was after you tried to shag me against the hotel door. I mean, you obviously have the attention span of a fruit fly when it comes to women and—”

He closed his hand over hers. “Will you shut up for a minute?”

Surprisingly, she did.

“I dream about you whenever I get the rare opportunity to sleep. I’ve dialed your number and hung up too many times to count. You can’t want to get involved with me right now.”

“It’s not for you to tell me what I can and can’t want. Lord knows, everyone else does that. Don’t you start.”

“Okay,” he said wearily.

“So what are you going to do about it?” she challenged.

If he said what he wanted to do, he could be arrested. “I think I’ll show instead of tell,” he said and watched with satisfaction as her throat and face bloomed with color. He wondered if her blush extended to the rest of her body. It would be fun to find out.

Two days later, Bridget’s cell phone rang and her heart went pitter-patter at the number on the caller ID. “Hello,” she said in a cool voice.

“Hello to you, Your Highness. How are you?” Ryder asked.

“I’m actually getting ready to make an appearance for a children’s art program in Dallas,” she said, smiling at the people who were waiting for her.

“Okay, I’ll make this quick. Are you free tonight?”

She rolled her eyes. The man clearly had no idea how many demands were placed on her once people got word she was in the area. “I’m not often free but can sometimes make adjustments. What did you have in mind?”

“Swimming,” he said.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Swimming with the twins and pizza,” he said.

“The pizza had better be fabulous. Ciao,” she said and disconnected the call, but she felt a crazy surge of happiness zing through her as she followed the museum representatives inside the room where the children and press awaited.

Bridget gave a brief speech about the importance of art at all levels of society and dipped her hands and feet in purple paint. She stepped on a white sheet of paper, then pressed her handprints above and finished with her autograph.

The crowd applauded and she was technically done, but she stayed longer to talk to the children as they painted and worked on various projects. Their warmth and responsiveness made her feel less jaded, somehow less weary. Who would have thought it possible?

After extensive rearrangements of her schedule, Bridget put on her swimsuit and had second thoughts. What had possessed her to agree to join Ryder for a swim class when she was in a nearly naked state? She didn’t have a perfectly slim body. In fact, if honest, she was curvy with pouches. Her bum was definitely larger than her top.

Her stomach clenched. Oh, bloody hell, she might as well be thirteen years old again. Forget it, she told herself. It wasn’t as if anything could happen. She and Ryder would have two six-month-old chaperones.

Within forty-five minutes, she and Ryder stood in a pool with Tyler and Travis. Tyler stuck to her like glue, his eyes wide and fearful. “It’s okay,” she coaxed, bobbing gently in the water.

Ryder held Travis, who was screaming bloody murder.

“Are we having fun yet?” he asked, holding his godson securely.

“Should we sing?” she asked, trying not to be distracted by Ryder’s broad shoulders and well-muscled arms and chest. For bloody’s sake, when did the man have time to work out?

“They would throw us out,” he said. “You look good in water.”