It was why he tried to live his life following his passion. And his passion was to deliver babies. Something that was not considered ‘suitable’ for a prince back in his own country.
But what could you do when it was your calling? Delivering babies was what he had always yearned to do, and he’d never been destined for the throne. His elder brother had been the heir and was now ruler. So surely, he’d reasoned, it was better to spend his life doing something worthwhile and selfless instead of parading around crowds of people, smiling and waving, a spare heir that no one needed?
He’d faced some considerable opposition. Mostly from his father, who’d been appalled that his second son wanted to do what he viewed as ‘women’s work’. His father had forbidden him ever to speak of it again and, respecting his father, he had kept that promise. Until his father had passed away. Then his brother Ilias had taken the throne, and Jamie had approached his new King and told him of his vocation.
Ilias had proudly granted his younger brother the freedom to pursue it.
So he’d gone to the ball, telling the organisers that he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and asking that they did not make any special announcement that he was there, just let him join in as any other person would.
Jamie had mingled, smiled, shaken people’s hands—and found himself losing the will to live and wondering when would be a polite time to leave... And then he’d spotted her in a corner of the room.
Almost as tall as he, she’d been dressed from top to toe in black, accented in dark purple, with some weird cogs and a strange pair of pilot goggles attached to her hat. Her face had been covered by a Bedouin-style gauze veil that had reminded him of home.
Her honey-blonde hair had tumbled down her back, almost to her waist, and above that veil had sparkled the most gorgeous blue eyes he had ever seen. Blue like the ocean and the sky, and just as wild and free.
‘I’m Freya. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Jamie.’
‘I saw you eyeing up the exit. Getting ready to make a break for it?’
He had been. But not any more.
So he’d stayed. And they’d talked. And laughed.
Freya had been delightful, charming and intelligent, and so easy to be with. She’d told him a story about the last time she’d attempted to flee a party. She’d been eleven years old and it had been the first time her parents hadn’t stayed with her. She’d been frightened by all the noise and all the people and had scurried away when no one was looking and run home to hide in her dad’s garden shed.
She’d grimaced as she’d recalled how she’d stayed there, terrified out of her wits not only about being found out, but also because there had been a massive spider in the corner, watching her. He’d laughed when she’d told him she’d almost peed her pants because her bladder had been killing her from drinking too much pop. But she hadn’t been able to go home too early, or her parents would have known that she’d run away.
‘No spiders here,’ he’d said.
‘No.’
‘Nothing to be afraid of. I’ll protect you.’
‘Now, why would you do that? You hardly know me. I might be dangerous.’
‘I think I can handle you.’
His pulse had thrummed against his skin, his temperature rising, his whole body aware. Of her. She hadn’t removed the veil, but she’d kept on peering at him over it with devilment in her gaze, and he’d felt drawn to her excitement and bravado. She hadn’t been drunk on alcohol. Her eyes had been clear, pupils not pinpointed, so no drugs. But she’d definitely been intoxicated by something, and he’d begun to suspect that he was feeling the same way, too.
There’d been something about her. So different from everyone else at the party. But what had it been? What had made her unique? Had it been the veil? The air of mystery? Or just those eyes? Eyes that had looked so young, but had also spoken of a wisdom beyond her years. As if she knew something that no one else did. As if she’d experienced life and the gamut of emotions that came with it. And yet that night she’d been drawn to him, and he to her. She a purple and black veiled moth and he the flame.
‘Do you trust me?’
She’d smiled. ‘Can any woman trust a pirate?’
‘I’m not just a pirate.’
The corners of her mouth had twitched and she’d glanced at his mouth, then back to his eyes, and he’d been hit with such a blow of lust he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d tried to look away, to take a deep breath, to regain control over his senses.
‘I need to go,’ she’d said.
‘Let me walk you home.’
‘No need. I have transport.’
‘Then let me walk you to it.’
He’d offered her his arm and she’d taken it, smiling through the gauze and looking up at him, her eyes gleaming.
He’d been overcome by a bolt of desire.
But what to do about it? He considered himself a gentleman. He had principles...he’d only just met her...but there was something...
They’d stood there staring at each other, each of them trying to force the words to say goodbye, but neither of them ready to leave just yet. Her eyes had glinted at him in the darkness, with a look that said she wanted more than this...
The first door they’d tried had been unlocked, and they’d found themselves inside a supply closet, filled with clean linen and pressed staff uniforms.
He’d stood in front of her, just looking at her, noticing the small flecks of green and gold in her eyes. They’d shone like jewels, and her pupils had been large and black as she’d reached for his shirt and pulled him close.
He’d lost himself in her. Completely forgotten who he was, where he was. All that had mattered had been the feel of her, the taste of her, as he’d hitched up her skirts, her million and one petticoats, slid his hands up those long, slim legs...
Freya...
Like two lost souls that had found each other, they had clutched and grasped, gasped and groaned. He’d reached to remove the veil, so that he could kiss her, so that he could seek out her lips and claim her for his very own, but she’d stopped him, stilled his hand.
‘Leave it. Please.’
‘But, Freya...’
‘No kissing...please.’
He’d respected her wishes. That veil had made her seem like forbidden fruit. An enigma. Her hat had fallen to the floor and her long blonde locks had tumbled around her shoulders like golden waves. And the dark stockings on her ever so creamy thighs had aroused a feeling in him that he’d never quite experienced before.
They’d given each other everything.
And when they were spent they had slumped against each other and just stood there, wrapped in each other. Just breathing. Just existing. It was all that they’d needed.
A sound by the door had made them break apart and rearrange their clothing.
She’d glanced at him, guiltily. ‘I must go.’
He’d stared at her, not knowing what to say. He’d felt as if there was so much he wanted to say to her, but it had all got stuck in his throat and he’d remained silent. He’d wanted to tell her to stay. To come back to the hotel with him. He’d wanted to ask her if he could see her again and that had both shocked and scared him—because he never made commitments.
But she’d slipped from the closet, and by the time he’d adjusted his clothes and made