The Playboy Prince’s Pregnant American: Sovalon Royals Book Two Read online

  Kyra shook her head. “Right now, we’re talking about decisions you made this week. I’m not holding the past against you—I’m asking you to take a hard look at your present.”

  “I told you I was stranded.”

  “Save it, Maggie,” Kyra said, her words coming out colder than she’d intended. “I’m done with your words. If you’re so responsible, then show it.”

  Maggie sighed. She turned away from Kyra and walked back into the sitting room. Kyra heard her plop down next to Ava.

  “Hey, baby, you want to go do a little sightseeing with me?”

  “Umm, it might be hard to walk a lot with my crutches,” Ava said innocently.

  “Oh, you’re right,” Maggie said. “How about we just go find a place to get some ice cream then?”

  “Okay!”

  Kyra stayed in her bedroom while Maggie and Ava got themselves ready to go out. When she heard the hotel door click shut, a twinge of guilt passed through her. She’d been pretty tough on Maggie.

  But maybe Maggie needed tough love. Somebody had to tell her straight. If Kyra had done it years ago, then maybe they wouldn’t have ended up in this situation in the first place.

  Kyra went to the mini fridge and dug out a bottle of sparkling water. She poured herself a glass and sat down at the corner desk where her laptop was set up. She’d been tired before, but now her mind was buzzing after arguing with Maggie. Might as well get some work done.

  She opened up a new document and began writing a summary on the suitability of the estate for the women’s shelter. In summary, the property was highly suitable, and the repairs made it immediately inhabitable—but it would still require some upgrades for the long term. The roof, although safe, would need to be replaced within the next few years. The windows were old and also needed to be updated. A French drain would have to be installed in the basement of the house.

  There was still much to do. The cost would be substantial.

  Kyra attached the document to an email and sent it off to the board, then opened up a new tab and began cruising around online, mindlessly, checking social media platforms to catch up with what was going on back stateside.

  In her feed, she suddenly saw a link with a picture of her own face—plus a picture of her and Ava at the estate.

  “What the hell?”

  She clicked on the picture and was redirected to an online gossip column called TELL. Even though she couldn’t stop herself from reading, she was disgusted by every word. The title alone made her want to throw up.

  Playing Both Sides of The Field?

  Playboy Prince, Marcus Ashton, is at it again. As if his sultry affair with Marta Quigley of the Lancaster Quigleys wasn’t enough, Ashton is trying his hand at an American game. Miss Kyra Rogers, from Atlanta, Georgia, is the prince’s newest novelty. The two are working together on a government project and were caught sharing a hot kiss at an old estate home in Havershire. It’s possible that Miss Rogers has a young daughter, who is also pictured. Ashton looks quite cozy with both Rogers and the little girl. But for those of you wondering if he’s ready to settle down and play daddy, his most recent lover, Marta Quigley, told TELL reporters that Ashton is anything but serious.

  “Prince Marcus and I shared the most amazing nights together—but I soon learned he wasn’t reliable. He promised to rescue me from the arranged marriage I’m being forced into, but he never came.”

  Marta is clearly heartbroken, but it looked as if Marcus has moved on. What will come of the American? Will Prince Marcus tire of her and toss her on the shelf with his other used-up baubles?

  Only time will TELL.

  Kyra’s stomach roiled as she closed her laptop. Logically she knew that TELL was nothing but a gossip rag, but the story had played to her emotions and left her doubting. Had Marcus really promised to go to Lancaster for this Marta girl? How many baubles were on his shelf?

  Jesus. What had she gotten herself into? She placed a hand on her abdomen, thinking of the child she was carrying and the type of father he or she would have.

  Just then her phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was Marcus.

  She hit ignore. She just wasn’t ready to talk with him right now.

  Marcus had seemed so genuine, so sincere about stepping up to the plate and being responsible for their child. He’d seemed to enjoy spending time with Ava. And as for her, there was no question about the physical and emotional connection between the two of them.

  But had he been just as sincere with Marta Quigley?

  Was Kyra being hoodwinked?

  Her phone buzzed again, and once more she hit ignore.

  He would have to wait.

  But he didn’t. Fifteen minutes later, while Kyra was still sitting at her desk mulling over her doubts of Marcus, there was a loud rap on her hotel door. She looked through the peephole, and her heart skipped a beat. At once, she was both angry at him because of the sordid news article and happy to see him standing at her door, looking anxious.

  Kyra opened the door, and before she could say anything, he pushed just inside.

  “Kyra, please, I can explain, I promise,” he said and took her hands into his. In spite of herself, she loved the feel of his skin on hers, wanted to kiss him even though he was a player by all accounts.

  “You seem to make a lot of promises, Marcus, but according to your last fling, you can’t keep them.”

  Marcus’s face twisted, and Kyra realized her words had hit hard.

  “I never promised any of those things. I didn’t even know Marta was engaged—I didn’t find out until the tabloids splashed it around, and we haven’t been in contact since,” he said. “The affair with Marta was a stupid mistake, but I don’t regret it.”

  His words were a slap in the face. He didn’t regret it? “Oh, really?” she asked, crossing her arms defensively.

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “It led me to you. If I hadn’t messed up, my father never would have forced me to work on the women’s shelter, and I never would have met you.”

  Kyra’s shoulders relaxed, and when he pulled her close, she let him. Why did life have to be so complicated? Her feelings for Marcus were strong, but so were her doubts. She wanted to embrace his earnest desire to be a part of her life, their baby’s life, but the last thing she wanted was to be plastered on the cover of gossip mags every other week. There was also the matter of her heart. If Marcus was the Casanova the media made him out to be, she didn’t want to risk getting too close and then getting hurt.

  “Will you give me the benefit of the doubt, please?” he whispered into her ear.

  She looked up at him and breathed a deep sigh. “This is a lot for me,” she admitted. “I’ve never had my picture in the paper before.”

  He laughed, but she knew he caught her message.

  “I just need some time to digest all of this,” she continued.

  “Fair enough,” he said and squeezed her hand.

  “Why don’t you come in, and we can talk about the financial issues with the estate.”

  “Sure,” he said, and they relocated to the couch.

  Kyra brought her paperwork to Marcus to have a look at.

  “It’s a fair amount of work, but with the right backing, it won’t be impossible to raise the funds needed for the repairs.”

  Marcus set the papers on the coffee table in front of them and smiled at Kyra. “Oddly enough, I was able to schedule a meeting with a potential investor for tonight.”

  “How’d you manage that so soon?”

  “I had some time on my drive home today, so I reached out to an entrepreneur I thought would take an interest in the project.”

  “That’s great, Marcus.”

  He nodded and patted her leg then eyed her with hope. “Will you come with me?” he asked. “We’re meeting for dinner, and it would be great to have you join us.”

  It was tempting. She wanted to spend time with him, but she really needed to distance herself from him for a bit, to wrap her head ar
ound everything that had happened today. Also, she was exhausted.

  “Thanks for asking, but I’m going to have to pass,” she said. “I’m planning on having a movie night with my sister and Ava. They leave tomorrow.”

  Marcus studied her face as if he wasn’t sure he believed her. Clearly disappointed, he nodded. “I understand. But is everything okay? With us?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she said, not sure if it actually was or not. “Now go get the money we need to fix the roof at the estate.”

  “All right,” he said and stood from the couch. “Tell Princess Ava goodbye for me.”

  Marcus leaned in to kiss her, and she made sure it was just a brief brush on the lips.

  “Goodnight,” she said and closed the hotel door behind him.

  * * *

  Marcus fought the urge to yawn as chatter and background music lit up the space around him at Dish, the busy, upscale restaurant where he waited at the bar for the potential investor. The scent of expensive cologne, perfumes, and piney gin filled up his senses. Usually, he enjoyed posh spots like this one, but tonight he was uncharacteristically tired—or maybe just tired of the scene. He found himself wishing he was having a movie night with Kyra and Ava.

  “Prince Marcus?” A man’s voice got his attention from behind. He swiveled around in his bar stool and met the eyes of a man just about his age. He’d expected the guy to be older.

  He hopped down and held out his hand for a shake.

  “You must be Jonathan Glasgow,” he said.

  “That I am,” the guy said and winked.

  “Thanks for meeting with me.” Marcus nodded at the hostess that he was ready for their table. She hurried over with menus, took their drink orders and led them away from the bar.

  As they followed her into the dining room, Marcus noticed that Jonathan Glasgow’s eyes were glued to the hostess’s ass. He turned to Marcus and raised his eyebrows in a smirk of appreciation.

  “Here you are, Your Highness.” The hostess, whose nametag read Brynne, smiled at him, seeming just a little starry-eyed. Marcus was used to women acting flustered around him. He smiled easily back, hoping she’d relax.

  “Thanks, babe,” Jonathan said to Brynne as she handed him a menu. Then Jonathan had the audacity to place a hand on her waist. “How about you get us each a scotch?” he asked.

  Brynne backed away from Jonathan’s touch, shocked but clearly trying to be respectful and professional. Marcus wanted to hide his face.

  “I’ll be right back with your scotch, sir,” she said but avoided his eyes. She walked away from the table, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “She’s on fire, man,” Jonathan said casually as he stared at his menu. “Did you see those legs? They never end.”

  Marcus cleared his throat and was about to change the subject when the man spoke again.

  “Wouldn’t mind having her as an appetizer, you know?” Jonathan laughed at his own disgusting joke then looked seriously at Marcus. “Hey, do you have any pull here? Playboy Prince of Sovalon, right? I know you get tons of women,” he said. “You think you could get her to hang out with us later?”

  To Marcus’s total dismay, the evening continued in much the same manner. Every time Marcus tried to sway the conversation toward talk of the women’s shelter and investment, Jonathan found a way to bring it back to sex. He flirted relentlessly and totally inappropriately with their waitress, a shy girl who seemed to be at a loss as to how to respond to Jonathan’s come-ons.

  “So what time is your shift ‘til tonight, babe?” Jonathan asked her as she placed the check on the table. “We’re planning on doing some partying tonight if you want to join us.”

  Marcus had said nothing about partying when he’d made dinner plans with Glasgow.

  “Come on,” Jonathan said and licked his slimy lips. “We’ll show you a good time.”

  The shy waitress declined Jonathan’s offer but thanked them both, making Marcus feel like he was just as gross as Glasgow.

  Had he ever been that bad? The thought turned his stomach. He’d always been a flirt, but he wanted to believe that he’d been more aware of when a woman was uninterested—or worse yet, uncomfortable.

  As he signed his name on the bill, Jonathan tapped on the table.

  “So, where to next, Ashton?” he asked. “There’s a hot club up the street. Skin. I’m sure you know it. You’re a legend in these parts, right?”

  Marcus scoffed politely. “At one time, maybe, but not anymore,” he said. “I’m cleaning up my act.”

  “Aw, come on, man. Once a baller, always a baller. Let’s hit Skin and see if we can’t score some skin.” He laughed uproariously at his joke.

  Jonathan found himself awfully funny, but Marcus just found him awful. And yet, as much as he hated the thought of spending another second with this douchebag, he really needed to land this deal. The board was counting on him—especially Kyra.

  His phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Kyra.

  How’s it going? Did dinner go well? Do you think he’ll invest?

  Marcus felt the full weight of the women’s shelter project on his shoulders. The answer to Kyra’s question had to be yes, and it was up to him to make it happen. He had to prove it to his father and to himself that he had what it took to make this project a success. Like it or not, he had to show this guy the good time he wanted in order to convince him to give his money to the shelter.

  Everything went well. I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Tired.

  He knew his tone was brusque, but he also knew he needed to put his phone away and focus on the task at hand, no matter how unpleasant it seemed. He could talk to her later…if she still wanted to talk to him, once the inevitable pictures of him partying tonight got out to the media. If being the playboy prince was all he was good for, then just this once, he was going to direct it toward a good cause. And afterward, if Kyra decided she was through with him, so be it. It might even be for her own good.

  “Let’s light it up,” Jonathan said and looked to Marcus for a reaction.

  Marcus shot him a grin that was feigned. “Let’s do it,” he said, and led the way out of the restaurant and into the night.

  11

  The next morning Marcus’s head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds when he tried to lift it off the pillow. Light streamed into the window of his penthouse bedroom, jarring him from sleep. He glanced at the clock.

  Ten thirty.

  He’d partied hard last night. There were portions of time he couldn’t clearly remember, but he didn’t think he’d crossed any lines. He had drunk a lot, though, and his body was paying for it now.

  He forced himself to sit up, and the room spun around him.

  “Shit,” he muttered and reached for the bottle of aspirin he had in his nightstand drawer. With a swig of water, he swallowed a couple of capsules and hoped for the best. He pushed himself to his feet and, naked as the day he’d come into the world, ambled to the bathroom and turned on the water in the walk-in shower, wishing it could wash away the night. Everything about it, from Jonathan’s raunchy behavior to the seedy atmosphere at Skin, felt dirty and cheap. He used to love to party. He’d looked forward to it, even. But not last night. Where living it up used to feel like an escape, last night’s activities felt like prison. All he’d wanted was to go home and curl up with Kyra.

  After a twenty-minute stint in the shower, Marcus felt a little better. His head was still pounding, but at least he smelled clean and felt a little more awake. He went to the mirror and took stock of his reflection. Black circles lined his eyes, betraying the late night he’d had. He glanced at his phone and noticed a voicemail. It was from Jonathan Glasgow.

  “Hey, Marcus. Wild night last night, huh?” He laughed, and Marcus rolled his eyes at the sound. “Listen, I wanted to let you know that as far as our business is concerned, I’m ready to discuss details and move to the next step. Tell me where to sign, bro.” More annoying laughter, but Marcus w
as too happy with the contents of the message to get to hung up on the sender. “Call me back to discuss how to move forward.”

  Marcus pressed the end button and smiled.

  He’d done it. He’d secured the funds they needed. They could proceed with getting the estate in shape to be the site for the women’s shelter.

  This was a big deal, and it never would have happened if he’d ended the night at the restaurant.

  Suddenly his phone started blowing up with social media notifications. Messages from usernames he didn’t recognize. He opened Instagram and found himself staring at a picture that made him grimace.

  It was him, holding up a shot glass next to Jonathan in front of the bar at Skin. They were surrounded by booze and beautiful women. But the worst part was the picture next to it, the one of him and Kyra, kissing in front of the limo.

  The caption read—Playboy Prince Rides Again. #princemarcus #playboyprince #goodbyegeorgiahellogorgeous.

  Shit.

  He moved over to his computer and popped the lid up. In his email were at least a dozen messages with links to news articles. Every one of them boasted pictures of him like the one he’d seen on Instagram and worse. In some of them he was visibly wasted. In all of them, there were women all over him.

  Every article told the same story, claiming that he’d had enough of “playing nice” with Kyra and had dumped her to resume his bad boy ways.

  This was a damn disaster. He’d expected the tabloids to splash his images all over the place—but it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d drag Kyra into it.

  Ashamed that he was still feeling the after effects of alcohol, he snatched his phone from the desk and texted his driver to pick him up ASAP. He didn’t want to take a chance on driving, but he had to get to Kyra before she saw these articles and pictures.