Without warning, a wave crashed against their legs, startling them. They broke apart, breathless. Summer started laughing, and he joined in.

  “I can’t believe I ever forgot how good we were together,” Nic half-whispered.

  Summer looped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly. “I never forgot,” she said against his mouth, then pressed her forehead against his.

  It occurred to him then that he’d never forgotten—not really. He’d tried. And failed.

  He wasn’t going to try anymore.

  He kissed her passionately as the sun set behind them, then shocked her by sweeping her up into his arms.

  “Come back to the house,” he said, his voice ragged. “Let me make love to you.”

  She sighed, then nodded, burying her face in the curve of his neck.

  He hurried them back, putting her on her feet only so they could race up the stairs to his bedroom. They peeled off clothes, and he reveled in the feel of soft skin beneath his fingertips, the rough silk of her hair brushing against him. He covered her body in kisses until she gasped and writhed beneath him.

  “Nic, please,” she begged, reaching for him.

  It was all the invitation he needed. Gently, lovingly, he entered her, feeling his heart race and his skin go hot and flushed. She was panting softly, her legs wrapped around him, short nails scoring at his back. He kissed the column of her neck as he rocked into her, and she met every thrust with a rough sigh and a thrust of her own.

  Soon, almost too soon, they were moving in a frenzy, passion bolting through them like lightning. Her voice rippled out in climax, and he followed after her in a white-hot tumble that left him nearly blind.

  “Summer,” he breathed, and collapsed at her side, holding her tight, as if he couldn’t ever bear to let her go.

  As their skin cooled and the night’s temperature dropped, Summer snuggled in a bit closer to Nic, luxuriating in the feel of his sheets and his bed, and the sheer heat and protective comfort of being with Nic again in this way. They’d taken it slow, relatively speaking, but she didn’t regret it. If she was going to stay past the fellowship—if she was going to make a home in Mynia with Nic, and be a couple that parented Harry together—then this was a big step towards making it happen. Right now, it felt right.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he murmured against her temple, as he brushed a stray wavy lock out of her face. He kissed her softly.

  She could get used to this.

  “I was just thinking how this was what I always wanted,” she replied slowly. “I mean, when I was a little girl, it was my dream.”

  “To be a princess?”

  “No.” She propped herself up on one elbow so she could get a better look at him. It was criminal, how handsome this man was. His blue-eyed gaze studied her intently. “My parents were so madly in love, it was obvious. And they loved me, too, with all their hearts. I knew I wanted to be like them.”

  “Like them, how?”

  “I wanted to have a family. I wanted to be in a marriage like that,” she said. “I wanted to be a doctor, like they were.”

  His eyes widened slightly, the fringe of black eyelashes like a fan. “I didn’t know your parents were doctors.”

  “They had a small practice in the suburb where we lived. They didn’t want high-powered careers that took up too much time from family, even though it meant they made less money.” It hurt, remembering, but it was a good ache, she realized. She hadn’t really talked about it to anyone since Rachel, and even then, that had been years ago. “They were out one night, date night, seeing a movie… they loved me, but they always made time for each other. A drunk driver jumped the median and hit them head on.”

  The lump in her throat made her voice rough. It took her a second of blinking to finish the sentence.

  “They went quickly, at least. Or so the policeman told me.”

  Nic stroked her shoulder in comfort.

  “My grandparents on both sides were dead, and my parents were only children. I didn’t have any family to go to,” she continued. It was like floodgates had opened, and she couldn’t stop… she had to share what she wanted, and why she wanted it. “So I went into the foster system.”

  “That must have been frightening,” Nic said sympathetically.

  She shrugged. “At first,” she admitted. “It was difficult. I’d been used to being part of a family, one that loved me and cared for me. I went to a group home, and I bounced around to a few foster homes, but I aged out from a group home. Nobody wanted to adopt a teenager, especially one that was sad all the time.”

  She had to look away from Nic’s expression, hating to see any pity there.

  “I managed,” she said. “And it got better when I went to college. But I knew that it was what I wanted. Being a doctor, and having a loving family.”

  There was a pause.

  “They sounded wonderful,” Nic said.

  She smiled, tears stinging her eyes.

  “They were,” she replied. “They really, really were.”

  Another pause. She waited, expectantly, feeling raw. They’d been physically intimate. Now, she’d opened herself up emotionally… and the opportunity was right there, for him to do the same. It was obvious that his brother had a profound effect on Nic’s family, and it explained his passion for children’s health. Would he finally feel safe enough to share more with her?

  He leaned up—then turned her and tucked the blankets around her, before kissing her shoulder.

  “Good night, Summer,” he said, spooning against her. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  She lay there in shock as his breathing turned even and low.

  Apparently, that was as open as he was getting, she thought, even as she tried to let herself enjoy the sensation of being surrounded by him. It might take him more time to open up. She had a few months, she reassured herself. They had time for him to get more comfortable.

  Be careful, a little voice warned her. He had left her high and dry before.

  She couldn’t afford to fall a second time.

  11

  The next morning, Summer was still feeling a little vulnerable after waking up in Nic’s bed. They’d slept late enough, after the wine and the lovemaking, that the morning had been a bit of a rush. If Nic’s parents let themselves into his house, as they seemed to do regularly, to drop off Harry with one of them or a household staff member, she didn’t want them to know she and Nic were sleeping together. Not until they had a clearer understanding of what they were doing as a potential couple. If the king and queen knew, she was afraid they’d start planning the royal wedding, and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted that yet.

  Would Nic even want that?

  She hastily retreated to “her” bedroom, showered, and got changed. She greeted Nic’s parents cordially, and they assured her that Harry had been “a perfect angel.” Now, she and Nic both had the day off, and Nic’s father had emphatically told Nic not to work on anything kingdom or policy related. “Spend some time with your son,” he’d said sternly, then more gently, “the kingdom’s not going to fall apart if you don’t show up to work for one day.”

  So they’d spent the morning playing on Nic’s sumptuous private beach. It was secluded, ringed with imposing boulders and a cliff face, the perfect privacy. Harry was over the moon with Nic, picking up various rocks and shells, and squealing in happiness as the incoming tide tickled his toes.

  “Must be nice, having your own beach,” she said with a grin, sunning herself on a large towel as she watched their shenanigans.

  Nic paused in his construction of an elaborate sandcastle, his gaze heated as it roamed over her new cherry-red bikini. “It has its perks,” he agreed, his drawl sexy enough to have butterflies tumbling in her stomach. “The view, for one thing.”

  She felt her cheeks heat, and he laughed.

  Now, several hours later, Summer smiled as she heard Nic’s disembodied voice from the kitchen as she brought a few of Harry’s toys down to the living room. “Let’s see,” Nic rumbled. “What are we supposed to do next, Harry?”

  Harry’s voice was a happy burble.

  “I see. Add the sugar, do we? What in the world does ‘creaming’ the sugar with the butter mean? How does that even work?” Nic sounded genuinely baffled. “Hmm. Perhaps we need to watch a video…?”

  Harry babbled something.

  “Yes, I agree. A video.” She heard Nic fumbling with his phone, then… “Damn! I mean, darn!”

  She snickered, turning the corner… then she gasped.

  There was a spill of sugar on the counter, as well as puffs of flour over seemingly every surface. There were several sticks of butter, and chocolate chips in a bowl which Harry was calmly eating from, while Nic frowned, watching his phone screen.

  “Harry, that’s enough,” she chided gently, ignoring his wail of protest as she separated him from the chips and put him on the ground. “There won’t be any chocolate for the cookies at this rate.”

  Nic looked up sheepishly. A man as utterly masculine as Nic shouldn’t look as adorable as he did, his strong jaw dusted with flour. “We were, ah, making biscuits,” he explained. “I thought it’d be a good bonding… thing. I imagine Harry likes biscuits. Do you, Harry?” Nic reached down to boop Harry’s nose. Harry stared at him blankly.

  “Wait. Does Harry not like biscuits?” Nic asked, bewildered.

  Summer burst out laughing. “He doesn’t know them as biscuits,” she clarified, then ruffled Harry’s hair and grabbed a napkin to wipe the chocolate staining his mouth. “Do you like cookies, Harry?”

  “Cwookie!” Harry crowed, his fingers grasping back toward the bowl of chocolate chips.

  “Oops. Now I’ve done it,” she said. “Cookies in a bit, Harry-bear.”

  “Shall we get this butter and sugar creamed then?” Nic proposed, turning to his son.

  But before Nic could even finish the sentence, Harry had wandered off to the living room. She could hear the sound of him pushing buttons and playing with a noisy toy. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s got the attention span of a gnat at this age.”

  “I should’ve guessed that,” Nic said, sounding abashed. Then he looked around the kitchen. “I really have no idea what I’m doing, so that doesn’t help. I’ve never made biscuits before.”

  “Not once?” Summer didn’t know why she was so surprised. The man had a personal chef, for goodness’ sake, and probably had grown up with one. Why in the world would he have baked cookies?

  “I suppose you’re an old hand,” he joked, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Stop. You’re getting flour and sugar all over you,” she said, tugging at his hands and cleaning them off with a towel. Then she wiped off his face, lingering just a bit too long on that carved jawline of his. “Why don’t you go out and keep an eye on Harry,” she added, her voice just the tiniest bit shaky, “and I’ll finish this batch up for you. Trust me: I’m a cookie baking pro.”

  His smile was sexy, his blue eyes alight. “Harry and I will be the judge of that,” he said loftily, causing her to laugh again. “All right. We’ll watch some cartoons or some such.”

  He left, and Summer quickly cleaned up the mess, finishing up the recipe and popping the cookies into the state-of-the-art stainless oven. In an hour, she had a completed batch of chocolate chip cookies. It’d been a while since she’d made cookies, she realized—she never had time or energy, it seemed, since starting her residency, and definitely since having Harry. “All right, I need some testers,” she said, carrying some of the still warm cookies out to the living room on a plate. She felt a little pinch in her chest. Her mother had always said that when she’d made cookies. The ache was bittersweet.

  She stopped dead when she saw the two of them. Peppa Pig was blaring in the background on the flat-screen television, but Nic was asleep on the deep, plush couch, with Harry sprawled on top of his broad chest, his little mouth open like a baby bird. The two of them had the same shock of ebony hair, sticking out at angles… the same warm ivory skin, flushed with sleep. The same thick eyelashes, resting on their cheeks. Even unconscious, Nic’s hands framed Harry, keeping him in place as their chests rose and settled in unison.

  It was so adorable, Summer could’ve cried.

  A curl of warning seeped through her, one she recognized from the foster home. Good things never seemed to last for her. Her parents’ death had been a crushing blow, one that proved to her that nothing good was promised. The few times a family had taken a chance on her, things had never worked out: someone lost a job, someone got pregnant, someone got divorced. Whatever the reason, Summer had packed her scant belongings and returned to the group home. She’d learned not to count on things—on people. Not to hope. Not to rely on anything she couldn’t control herself.

  Now, Nic was asking her to take the biggest risk of all—not just for herself, but for her son.

  Our son, she mentally corrected herself. But she knew that, if she chose to leave, Nic would let her.

  He might even encourage her.

  She steeled herself. It was too early to be pessimistic. They had time. And maybe she’d give Rachel a call. She’d managed to grab a few Skype sessions here and there, telling her about Nic and the whole situation, but they’d both been too busy to really connect at length. She missed her best friend.

  She took the opportunity to read for a bit until Harry woke. He yawned mightily before poking at Nic’s cheek. Nic woke, startled but instinctively gripping at Harry. “Did I doze off?” Nic asked, his voice husky with sleep.

  “You both were tired,” Summer said, shaking her head. “I have some cookies.”

  Harry crowed happily, toddling over and grasping the proffered sweet. Nic stretched before coming over and grabbing one, as well.

  The yummy noise he made hit her right in the gut. The man was sexier than any man had a right to be.

  “Your mom is gifted,” Nic told Harry, who ignored him and eyed the cookie plate.

  “Nope. Maybe one more after dinner,” Summer said. “Now, let’s get you changed and ready for that, all right?”

  “I’ll help,” Nic said, which Summer found encouraging. Between the two of them, they changed Harry’s diaper and got him settled before getting his dinner ready.

  “You’re getting good at that,” Summer said, then fidgeted. “You know… we both have the day off on Thursday.”

  Nic nodded, getting out the cooked beans and roasted squash the chef had prepared especially for Harry. “I figured I’d go check on a few patients before tackling some writing and researching.”

  Summer felt uncomfortable but pressed on. “I need to handle some visa stuff,” she said. “I should go to the embassy. I wanted to know if you’d handle Harry while I do that.”

  She waited to see how he’d react.

  “Sure,” he said. “Certainly. I can babysit.”

  “It’s not babysitting when it’s your son,” she said quietly. “It’s parenting.”

  The observation seemed to surprise him. “You’re right, of course. I can watch Harry while you’re taking care of paperwork.”

  Summer smiled slightly with relief. “Thank you.”

  Nic smiled back, and just like that, hope bloomed, warm and expansive… and dangerous.

  Two days later, after a work shift, Summer opened up Nic’s laptop. He’d said she could use it to Skype Rachel before the two of them went out on a date night. It had been a while since she’d been able to contact her best friend, other than texts, considering their hectic schedules. Nic’s laptop was sleek and impressive, way better than her beat-up old one.

  “Hey, sweetie!” Rachel said, her face popping up in high def on the screen. “How’s life in Mynia?”

  “The island’s gorgeous, the hospital is amazing, and Harry is happy as a clam,” Summer said.

  “All good, all good,” Rachel said, then her grin turned impish. “And how’s Nic?”

  Summer couldn’t help it… she could feel her cheeks heat with a blush. “He’s great.”

  Rachel studied her through the webcam for a long moment. “Oh my God,” she said with a giggle. “You finally did it, didn’t you?”

  “Shhhh!” Summer glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “He could hear you!”

  “Am I wrong?” Rachel demanded.

  Summer rolled her eyes, then shook her head, ignoring her friend’s hoot of laughter.

  “I knew it!” Rachel wiggled her eyebrows. “So… everything as good as you remembered? The crown jewels just as bling-y as they used to be?”

  “Oh my God,” Summer groaned. “Never, ever use that phrase in my presence again! What is wrong with you?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Rachel laughed. “Nic was always a total snack. Why not enjoy it? It’s like a fairy tale.”

  Summer felt her stomach knot. “Well… fairy tale’s maybe a stretch.”

  Rachel always could read her emotions, and her humor quickly faded. “You okay, Summer?”

  “There’s still a lot up in the air,” Summer hedged. “The fellowship was only going to be for a few months, and I never expected Nic to show up in my life again. And I certainly never expected him to be a prince. I don’t know where things are going to go from here, but I’m trying to have hope and be open to possibilities, you know?”

  “I have hope for both of you,” Rachel said earnestly. “But remember: if you ever decide it’s not working out, and need a place, I’ve got a spare room for you and Harry. The hospital here would love to have you back, too.”

  “That’s a lot to ask for…” Summer said, but Rachel waved her hand dismissively.

  “I’d literally go to the ends of the earth to bail you out of jail, Summer, and if you don’t know that by now, you should. You’re like my sister, you know?”

  Summer felt tears sting at the corners of her eyes. “You’ve always had my back,” she agreed, “and I love you for it.”

  There was a light knock at the door. At Summer’s acknowledgement, Nic stuck his head into the office. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to…”