Pregnant With His Royal Twins

His gaze flittered across her features and then there was that pause.

‘Hi, I’m George,’ he introduced himself. ‘I’m just here to do what I’m told.’

Freya smiled. ‘Mum’s the boss in this room.’

She glanced over at the belt placement on Andrea’s abdomen and checked the trace on the machine. The trace looked good. No decelerations and the occasional contraction, currently seven or eight minutes apart. Still a way to go for Andrea.

‘I want you to stay on this for ten more minutes, then I’ll take it off—is that all right?’

Andrea nodded, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a short drink.

‘Do you have a birth plan?’

‘Just to have as much pain relief as I can get.’

‘Okay. And what sort of pain relief are you thinking of?’

‘I want to start with gas and air, see how I go with that, and then maybe get pethidine. But I’m open to whatever you suggest at the time.’

Freya smiled. ‘So am I. This is your birth, your body. I’ll be guided by you as long as it’s safe. Okay?’

‘Yes...’

Freya could see that Andrea had questions. ‘Nervous?’

Andrea giggled. ‘A bit. This is all so new!’

Tell me about it.

Freya had seen hundreds of babies come into the world. She never tired of it. Each birth was different and special, and now she knew that if all went well and she didn’t miscarry she’d be doing this herself in a few months. Lying on a bed...labouring. It was actually going to happen.

‘You’ll do fine.’

She laid a reassuring hand on her patient’s and wondered who’d be there to hold her hand during labour? Her mum?

Her mind treacherously placed Jamie beside her bed and she felt goosebumps shiver down her skin.

No. It can’t be him.

It can’t be.

But isn’t that what you always wanted? A cosy, happy family unit?

It had been. Once.

* * *

It was her. He’d have known those blue eyes anywhere. The eyes that had been haunting his dreams for weeks now.

He’d been invited to that charity ball after he’d attended a small event in Brighton that was meant to have been low-key. But word must have reached the ears of the hospital that the heir to the throne of Majidar, Prince Jameel Al Bakhari, was around and an invitation had got through to his people.

It had been for such a good cause he hadn’t been able to refuse it. A children’s burns unit. He’d seen the damage burns could cause, from a simple firework accident right through to injuries sustained in a war zone, and it was shocking for anyone. A painful, arduous road to recovery. But for it to happen to a child was doubly devastating.

So he’d attended, dressed as a pirate, complete with a large hoop earring and a curved plastic scimitar that had hung from his waist by a sash.

He’d not intended to stay for very long. He’d made them keep his presence there quiet, as he didn’t enjoy people bowing and scraping around him. He hated that whole sycophantic thing that happened around members of his royal family. It was part of why he’d left Majidar. To be a normal person.

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 himself presentable again she’d been gone.

He’d scanned the ballroom, looking for her fall of blonde hair, looking for those all-seeing eyes, but she’d gone.

Jamie had signalled his security people and told them to look out for her, to check the car park, but like an enigmatic spy she had simply disappeared. Disappointed, he had got into his own car and been driven home.

But now she was here.

She’d turned to look at him after Jules had asked everyone to welcome him. She was here. Of all the places in the world he could have looked. In this hospital. On this ward. With him. Those eyes of hers had pierced his soul once again, reawakening his dormant desire and making every cell of his body cry out for her.

But there’d been something else. Something that had rocked him. Something he hadn’t noticed before. And now he understood about the veil.

Freya was scarred. Something had happened to her. To her face. She’d had work done. Skin grafts, no doubt. Painful surgeries and recovery. How many? What had happened to her? A house fire? Was that why she’d been at the charity event for the burns unit?

And he’d sensed her fear. Her shock. Had seen the horror in her eyes as she’d realised who he was. Then he’d seen her shame, because she’d noticed how he’d reacted when he saw her properly.

Angry with himself, he’d wanted to reach out, touch her, tell her that she should not be ashamed—but she’d bolted.

Jamie sensed a soul like his own. Someone who preferred the everyday to the limelight. Someone who avoided crowds and adulation. Someone who preferred to hide behind a mask.

He felt her magnetism. Her draw.

And helplessly he allowed himself to be pulled in.

* * *

‘It is you, isn’t it?’

Freya had quickly run to the kitchenette to make her patient’s husband a cup of tea. She’d slid into the small room, breathing a sigh of relief, wondering just how the hell she was going to get through work for the next few weeks if he was going to be here, covering for Sandra.

She’d just been kneeling down to put the milk back in the fridge when she’d heard the door open behind her and then his voice.

Freya closed her eyes and looked down, hoping the loose tendrils of her hair would cover her face. She didn’t want this. Didn’t need this. Tonight had already been overwhelming—finding out she was pregnant—but to have him here too? To have to have this conversation? Now? At work?

‘I’m sorry, I need to take this drink to my patient.’

She held the mug of tea in her hand, not turning to face him, but so very aware of his presence behind her in this small, suddenly claustrophobic room.

This man had made her body sing. Nerve-endings that she’d thought were dead had come alive that night and she had felt every single part of her body as he’d played her like a delicate harp. Knowing what to touch and how to touch, how to make her gasp, sigh and groan. She’d experienced things with this man that she had never felt before. He’d made her reveal a side to herself that she’d never known.

But he’d been with a woman who didn’t exist in reality, and she didn’t need to see his disappointment when he realised.

Just being this close to him now was doing crazy things to her insides and turning her legs to jelly. And was it hot? Her armpits were tingling with sweat.

They’d had an amazing night. And it would stay that way as long as he didn’t ruin the illusion by seeing her for who she really was. He’d probably thought that she was some rare beauty, but if he saw her properly he would soon be surprised. No doubt about that.

She didn’t want to have to watch it happen right in front of her. That look. She’d already noticed his shock when they were at the hub, and work was meant to be her happy place. He was ruining everything.

Holding the mug of tea before her, she kept her head down to pass him so she could get to the door.

He stepped back, keeping a respectful distance, which she appreciated, but as she reached for the handle he spoke again.

‘It is you.’

Keeping her eyes downcast, she stared at the floor, not wanting to see him take in her scars, her wounds. To see that she was damaged goods. This man had wanted her! Wanted her so badly! And it had been wondrous—a memory she’d cherished since that night. A moment of freedom from the poor existence with which Mike had left her. And she had revelled in that.

Did she want to see him realise that the woman he had given himself to was not the one of his dreams? No. Just for once she wanted to be a good memory for someone. For them to believe her beautiful.

‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’

‘Look at me.’

‘Jamie, please...’ She glanced upwards for just a moment and painfully met his gaze, her eyes blurry with unshed tears, waiting to see him realise his mistake...

Only it didn’t happen. He simply looked directly at her. Showed no shock this time. No horror.

‘If only you knew how much I’ve wanted to see you again.’

Confused, she stared back. Felt the tears finally escape her eyes and trickle down her cheeks.

‘What...?’

What was he saying? What did he mean? Why wasn’t he reacting to her face like everyone else did?

‘You’re unforgettable—do you know that?’

She swallowed hard, looking away, down at the steaming mug. ‘For all the wrong reasons.’

She got out of the kitchenette as quickly as she could. What was it with them and small rooms? Kitchenettes. Supply cupboards. Was Jamie set to startle her in anything less than six by six? Should she stay away from bathroom cubicles, too?

As she hurried back to her patient’s room she madly wiped her eyes and sniffed a few times, to try and look presentable for Andrea and her husband.

What had just happened? How had he managed to turn her understanding of the world completely on its head?

She slipped her hand into her pocket, to reassure herself that the pregnancy test was still there. Only it wasn’t. Her pocket was empty except for her notebook and pen.

She looked back to the kitchenette and saw Jamie come out, his face a mass of confused emotions as his eyes met hers.

Over the small white stick in his hand.

Chapter Two

IT MUST HAVE fallen from her pocket. But when? And how?

And then she remembered crouching down to get the milk from the fridge. Something similar had happened before, due to the design of the pocket on her uniform. It was below the waist, low down. She’d lost her mobile phone once that way, hearing it clatter onto the floor. She’d not heard the test stick fall. Probably because she’d heard his voice instead. Felt his presence.

‘It is you. Isn’t it?’

His words had cut through everything.

Her mind had been on other things. Other concerns. She’d closed that fridge fast. Stood up quickly and made that tea, trying not to look at him, trying to get away as quickly as she could.

She was saved from going over to him and taking the test from his hands. The call light above Bed Two flashed and she went in to see how Lisa Chambers, her labouring mother there, was doing.

Lisa was pacing the room, her abdomen swollen before her, her hands pressed into her back.

‘I felt the need to push with that last one, Freya.’

She handed the mug of tea over to Lisa’s husband and then guided Lisa back to the bed. ‘I’ll need to check you before you can push.’

She didn’t need Lisa pushing too early. It might cause a swelling of the cervix and make delivery more difficult.

Regaining control of her own body, she checked her patient’s. ‘You’re right, Lisa. You’re ten centimetres. You can push with the next contraction.’

Lisa got up off the bed. ‘I can’t lie down, though.’

‘That’s fine. Let your body lead you and I’ll help. Just tell me when you’re ready.’

Lisa beckoned to her husband to stand on the other side of the bed and take her hands. Then she squatted on the other side.

‘When the contraction comes, take a big, deep breath, Lisa—chin to your chest and push, right into your bottom.’

Lisa nodded, waiting, then closed her eyes and sucked in that breath.

Freya quickly washed her hands, dried them and gloved up. Lisa might be five times a mother, but this was her first vaginal delivery. It might take some time and, with the best will in the world and not wanting to prolong her patient’s suffering, she hoped that it would.

Because she herself needed some time before she could leave this room. Needed to think of what she would say. What she would do. How she could escape this situation she’d found herself in.

Lisa was an excellent patient, though, and obviously keen to see her fifth child. Because within forty-five minutes of her first needing to push, her son slithered into Freya’s waiting hands.

She passed the baby to his sobbing mother, clamped and cut the cord, then helped Lisa into bed and wrapped a towel around her son to help keep him warm.

The baby cried—bursts of pure sound, a completely new person announcing his arrival. Freya smiled at the newly created family of seven and quietly gave Lisa the injection of syntocinon that would hasten delivery of the placenta, as per her patient’s request.

It seemed to take no time at all to deliver it, check it, assess the baby’s APGAR score, then Lisa’s, and realise that Lisa hadn’t torn at all. Her five-pound, twelve-ounce son had arrived perfectly.

There was no reason for Freya to stay at all. She prided herself on leaving her families to have some private time as soon as she could after the birth. So they could welcome and get to know their new baby on their own. But tonight she hesitated by the door.

‘Congratulations, you two.’

‘Thanks, Freya. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Nonsense. You were a model patient.’ She smiled, trying to pluck up the courage to go out there and face him. That conversation.

She could only hope and pray that he was busy with a patient of his own.

But she had no such luck.

Jamie was just walking back to the hub desk, sliding his pen into his top pocket. His dark eyes instantly met hers. Challenged her. Demanded an explanation.

She almost faltered. But she had Lisa’s notes to finish writing up, and when that was done she needed to check on Andrea. She’d taken her off the trace a while ago and she’d been steadily contracting every five minutes the last time she’d seen her.

Jamie stood still as she walked past him, and she hoped he wouldn’t see that her nerves were making her hands tremble and shake as she sat down at the desk.

‘It’s not what you think.’ She glanced up at him, then away again. Dammit. He was just as handsome as she remembered. Even more so, this close. He was hauntingly beautiful.

Jamie sat down in the chair next to her. ‘What do I think?’

She paused, her pen over Lisa’s notes. ‘It belongs to a patient.’

‘A patient?’

‘Yes. I must have put it in my pocket without realising and—’

‘We don’t do pregnancy testing here. Mona was quite clear when she showed me around that the fertility clinic is in a whole other ward next to this one.’

She tried her hardest not to look at him. Not to meet the searing gaze that she knew would instantly divine the truth. If her cheeks could have flamed red, then they would.

She looked at him, guilt filling her eyes.

He gazed at her for a moment, his face deadly serious. ‘Tell me the truth. It’s yours?’

Her eyes closed, almost as if the admission would cause her pain. ‘Yes...’ A whisper.

‘Am I...?’

The words choked in his throat and she opened her eyes again in anguish. She hardly knew this man. He was a temp. A locum. A drifter. How could she tell this stranger that the baby in her womb was most definitely his? Because she didn’t sleep around. She never met anyone—never gave herself the chance to.

She didn’t need to get that kind of close to any man, to develop feelings for any man, because look at what had happened to her when she did. She’d suffered more than she’d ever believed it was possible for one body to suffer after getting involved with Mike. The pain she’d gone through, both emotionally and physically, had almost destroyed her.

She never wanted that again. Never wanted to risk it. Having that one night with Jamie—a stranger—had been a moment in which she’d thrown caution to the wind, feeling herself so physically attracted to the pirate she’d met at the ball that she’d decided she would risk it. Keeping her anonymity, she would never have to deal with him afterwards.

Because why shouldn’t she have slept with him? It was allowed, and it had felt so good to let all that other stuff go.

But they’d both been stupid. Believing that one night wouldn’t have consequences. Believing that they could walk away.

They should have known the risks.

They’d been wrong! And no one could be angrier with her than she was with herself.

She’d once sat on a hospital bed, with a plastic compression mask over her burnt features, and promised her mother that she would never get involved with another man ever again. Would never cause her family anguish ever again. Because what Mike had done—throwing that acid at her face—hadn’t just affected her. The tragedy had affected her family and even Mike’s family, who were distraught that their son was in prison.

And all because she’d got involved with him.

And now she was pregnant. With Jamie’s baby.

‘Yes. You’re the father.’

She saw him look down at the ground. Could almost hear the cogs going around in his skull, almost sense his thoughts as he tried to distance himself from her. Maybe even planned to leave this place. Get a temporary post somewhere else less complicated.