Her arms were beginning to burn from fatigue so she took a seat on the antique sofa and tucked Sammy comfortably against her. He denied it, but he was tired. Part of his objection was probably to the crib. He hated to be called a baby. But what he really craved was human contact.
Calling to mind one of his favorite stories, she began a tale about a train named Thomas while slowly running her fingers through his baby-fine blond hair. After all he’d been through, she hoped it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep.
Thanks to Julian. He might be brusque and rude, but she gave him points for putting Sammy’s needs before his own. She knew he would have preferred to leave Pasadonia without ever seeing her again. Or more on point, without Sammy seeing her. Yet he’d come for her rather than let Sammy cry himself into exhausted slumber.
She smothered a yawn, forced her eyes open and skipped ahead in the story.
So maybe there was a little kindness buried somewhere inside the cold Prince.
CHAPTER THREE
JULIAN TAPPED HIS lip as he contemplated the two asleep on the sofa. Snuggled up in Katrina’s arms, Samson appeared more at peace than Julian had seen him since arriving at the palace.
Thank God. He’d taken about all of the boy’s distress that he could handle.
Blast Tessa for deserting them. He was counting on her to help him with the boy on the trip home. She’d best have herself pulled together by morning. If he needed proof he was ill prepared to handle his nephew, he received it tonight. Samson couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
Julian wanted to strangle Katrina when she started talking about Donal and Helene to the boy. Yet when faced with a direct question from Samson, Julian couldn’t lie. Giving the child false hope served no purpose beyond delayed pain. Best he prepare for the worst and be surprised by a miracle.
Which didn’t change the fact he’d be better off if left in the dark about the crash in the first place.
Julian switched his gaze to the woman responsible for some of Samson’s suffering. Her lap provided a comfortable resting place for the child, but Katrina sat in the middle slumped to the right with her head listing at an angle sure to cause a crick by morning.
Dare he risk moving them? For certain they’d be more comfortable in a bed. But as he considered the logistics, he doubted the success of getting them both to the desired destination still asleep, an imperative in his mind.
He admired the Victorian design of the sofa they occupied, but nobody could argue the merits of its long-term comfort. The bench had cushioning, but the tufted back curved higher on one end than the other. Her position in the middle offered her little support on either side.
He supposed he had the answer to his earlier observation. If he were the cold bastard everyone thought him, he’d simply leave the woman and child to their own devices. When she became uncomfortable enough, she’d wake and move to the bed taking Samson with her or putting him in his crib. Problem solved.
But Julian wasn’t that cold. With a sigh he rose and approached the sofa. Settling into the corner he turned toward the sleeping pair and pulled woman and child into his arms.
“Hmm.” She surprised him by opening drowsy violet eyes and staring up at him. “I am going to go to bed,” she assured him in a sleep husky voice.
He waited, but instead of moving away, she snuggled into him with a contented mew, shifting her hold on Samson to keep him secure.
“You smell good,” she murmured.
Him? She was the one who smelled good enough to eat, making him wish he’d eaten more of his meal. Maybe then he’d be less tempted by her.
He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was at home in bed. He pulled to mind a problem he’d been wrestling with before the fateful plane went down and changed his life. Neither solution worked. The subtle, sweet scent of apple blossoms and the soft feel of womanly curves cuddled in his arms brought his body to life.
He ignored the inappropriate reaction.
She was exhausted and injured, and he’d accepted the responsibility of her care. That was the extent of their connection.
“You’re so warm.”
He shook his head, a half smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Go to sleep already,” he said running his hand over the silk of her hair.
And closing his eyes, he followed his own advice.
* * *
Deep in the night, something disturbed Katrina. She stirred slightly and then purred softly. It had been a long time since she woke up in Rodrigo’s arms. How she’d missed this connection, the feel of hard arms holding her close, the warmth of a man’s nearness, the sensual tickle of his breath on her cheek.
She opened her eyes to find the room dark except for the dying embers in the fireplace. Sighing, she snuggled in, hugging him as she drifted toward sleep.
He smelled so good, of musk and man. Her brow furrowed as her foggy mind niggled at a sense of wrongness, but it hurt to think. He shifted beneath her and the thought fled. She realized his movement was what woke her.
Yes. The only thing better than sleeping in his arms was being awake and in his arms. A pain in her head followed the thought. Thankfully it didn’t linger and she dismissed it. Better to focus on the man. Without opening her eyes she angled her head and kissed him.
He went completely still, his sleep-relaxed body going tense. Usually he took it from there. Not tonight.
Tease. She smiled and, opening her mouth, she touched her tongue to his lips, seeking more. His lips parted and she tasted him. She knew immediately this wasn’t Rodrigo.
And while her mind struggled with why that was a good thing, the man gave in to her invitation, sinking into the embrace with an aggressive dance of tongues.
No, this was not Rodrigo. Everything about him felt right. Heat flooded her and she gave in to his demand, sighing in surrender as she wrapped her arms around him and sank into a depth of passion she’d never known before. Wanting more, she pulled him closer.
He slanted his head taking the kiss deeper, the fever higher. He threaded fingers through her hair, holding her still for him while his thumb feathered softly over her temple in a soothing caress.
She nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. She wanted that hand, his hands, lower, tracing her curves, igniting a true fire between them. She pressed closer trying to show him, and a squeak sounded between them.
“Oh my goodness.” In an instant everything came flooding back.
The crash.
The toddler.
The man.
No, no, no. She’d let a man touch her. Almost as bad, she’d been smooching with the Prince!
“Mon Dieu, I am sorry.” She pushed back and checked on Sammy, who’d been crushed between the two of them.
A scowl drew his tiny eyebrows together and his mouth twitched a couple of times, but he didn’t waken. Somewhere during the night, he’d switched his weight to Julian. Without looking at the Prince, she lifted Sammy carefully and carried him into his crib. Before leaving the room she switched on the light and checked his pupils, sighed in relief when she found them even and reactive.
Unable to delay further, she returned to the sitting room, where Julian stood by the mantel stoking the fire back to life.
“Your Highness,” she began.
“Stop.” He put down the poker and turned to face her, keeping his hands clasped behind him. “You have already apologized. Now it is my turn.”
“No,