Page 9 of Twins For His Majesty (Royally Tempted #1)

‘Just think about it,’ he said, because he wasn’t ready for this conversation to be over, and he didn’t think she was either.

Once her initial reaction faded, she’d calm down, think this through and realise that he was offering them a way to be together that was easy, uncomplicated and had the potential to be endlessly satisfying—for as long as possible.

Phoebe waited until he’d left before giving into the nausea that had gripped her from the moment he’d made his hurtful proposition.

He couldn’t have known how badly he was wounding her, but Phoebe had—unwittingly—been a mistress before.

For years she’d been falling in love with someone else’s husband, and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

Okay, he wasn’t offering love. It was even worse.

He just wanted to sleep with her, all the while formalising his engagement to some far-away princess. Not bloody likely!

Indignation flared in her belly, but so too did a wave of nausea she’d struggled to contain while they were arguing.

Now he was gone, she bolted for the bathroom and kneeled over the toilet, shuddering with each violent expulsion, vomiting until her brow was beaded with sweat and her face flushed pink.

If only it were so easy to push Octavio from her mind…

Six weeks had passed since that afternoon at Phoebe’s, and over the course of that time, Octavio had come to accept that she’d been serious in her refusal. She might have wanted him with the same intensity as he did her, but she was clearly determined not to fall in with his convenient arrangement.

And maybe that was for the best. Because he’d presumed they were in the same place, and wanted the same things—no strings—but her reaction had indicated otherwise, and emotional complications were the last thing Octavio wanted. So it was fine that she’d turned him down.

Just fine.

Except when it wasn’t, which was most nights. And often in the days, when his mind wandered and he remembered the smoothness of her skin or the softness of her lips or how tightly her muscles squeezed his length, how good she made him feel.

His pride had been wounded, he accepted. That was why he was so focused on this. It wasn’t really about Phoebe, or his need for her, so much as the fact she’d turned him down—and so easily. As though he meant nothing.

So maybe it wasn’t just his pride, but rather an old, familiar, awful sense of cold-hearted rejection.

A feeling he’d had so often in his childhood he thought he’d inured himself to its effects, but if that were true, then being turned down by Phoebe wouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did.

He knew the best defence to that feeling was to wall it up, ignore it.

And certainly never show anyone how you were feeling.

So when he walked into the Clínica San Carlos for an appointment with director Lola Garcia, he was frustrated to realise his eyes were constantly sweeping the corridors as if seeking her out.

Did she even still work here? And what kind of a weak-minded idiot did it make him that he still couldn’t get her out of his head?

If only she’d agreed to his suggestion, he’d have probably got her out of his system by now. Or at least be partway there.

But Phoebe James was burned into his blood, and he halfway hated her for that, because it made a mockery of his determination to never need anyone. Even if that need was purely physical, it was still an exertion of power over him that he resented bitterly.

‘Your Majesty.’ Lola dipped her head in a gesture of deference.

Beside her, the hospital’s head of security kept a watchful eye on the entrance to Lola’s office.

His attention was superfluous. Octavio was accompanied by his usual security detail, and he knew the hospital had a state-of-the-art system in place. There was no threat to him here.

Then again, hadn’t his parents thought the same thing?

When was someone in his position ever truly safe?

‘Dr Garcia,’ he responded, itching to continue prowling the hallway until he saw Phoebe.

Just a glimpse, to prove he was over his stupid infatuation.

Octavio had worked hard to conquer his obsession with Phoebe, and he wanted proof that he’d been successful.

He was not about to let one woman he happened to share insane chemistry with weaken his ability to rule.

No, he was focused on the future now, and on the engagement that was becoming inevitable. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’

‘Of course, Your Majesty. Anytime.’ She took a seat behind her desk. ‘Is there something in particular I can help you with?’

‘Actually, I’d like to help you.’ He crossed one ankle over his knee and braced an elbow on his thigh, staring directly at her.

‘I appreciate the care your staff took of my late uncle. His passing was a tragedy, but the loss was made a little less difficult by your hospital’s professionalism and care. ’

Lola looked genuinely moved.

‘I would like to make a large donation to the hospital—a personal donation, you understand—and I would like the donation to be in his name. In fact, I would greatly appreciate the naming of a wing after him.’

Lola’s jaw dropped and he knew why. Even hospitals as lavish as this struggled with funding. Providing top-notch healthcare was expensive and in order to attract the best staff in the business, you had to pay well and have exceptional facilities. All of which cost a bomb.

‘I’m talking about a substantial sum, you understand.’ He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the cheque he’d had drawn from his personal wealth, handing it over to the director.

‘Your Majesty.’ Lola’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘That’s very generous of you.’

‘You do good work here, Dr Garcia. It’s my privilege to make this donation, in my uncle’s name.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Her fingers were shaking a little, but she didn’t relinquish the cheque.

‘There is nothing to say—please, keep me apprised of how you decide to honour Rodrigo.’

‘Of course. Sir, would you like to have a tour of the hospital facilities? I know you have been here, but in circumstances that might have prevented you from seeing everything we do. Once you’ve witnessed the wards, you might have ideas on how you’d like to see the donation used.’

‘You are best placed to know how to spend the money in a way that will benefit the hospital. But,’ he said, pleased that his voice sounded completely normal, ‘I would welcome a chance to look around.’

Lola stood and handed the cheque to her chief of security. ‘Don’t lose that.’

‘No, ma’am.’

They stepped into the corridor, and Octavio’s own security entourage followed behind. The tour lasted some thirty minutes and though he spotted several other cleaners wearing the same fitted navy blue uniform as Phoebe, they were not her.

Right at the end, as he was preparing to say farewell to Lola Garcia, he thought, for a moment, that he’d finally glimpsed her. The hair was the same, and the tone of skin, but this woman had a different figure. Larger breasts, perhaps even a slightly rounded stomach, indicating pregnancy.

And Phoebe wasn’t pregnant. Or at least, she hadn’t been, the last time he’d seen her.

Unless…

Even before the thought could fully form, she angled her body away from the wall, showing not just the fact that yes, her stomach was indeed rounded in that way of pregnancy, but also a face that was burned into his brain, eyes that were as familiar to him as his own.

He stared across at her and noted the exact moment she glanced up and saw him.

He recognised the colour being sucked from her face, the parting of her lips, the panic in her features.

And he recognised, even before it happened, that her knees were about to buckle.

‘She’s fainting,’ he said to no one in particular, breaking into a jog and reaching Phoebe just as her legs gave way and she began to fall to the ground. He caught her, but only just, enabling him to ease her slowly down and save her head from cracking against the marble tiles.

‘Oh, my goodness.’ Lola Garcia was right behind him. ‘Enrique, get a nurse.’

‘I’m okay.’ Phoebe had momentarily fainted, but she’d also recovered quickly. Her skin was regaining a hint of colour and her eyes were focused on Octavio, as if trying to work out if he was really there or not.

‘It’s you.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Majesty,’ Lola murmured with concern. ‘She’s obviously still not with it.’

‘She seems with it enough to me,’ he responded, his brain not able to put two and two together and get four, even when the number was flashing in front of him in neon.

Phoebe was pregnant.

But not too far along. Her belly was only noticeably rounded because she was so naturally slim. And only because he knew her body inch by inch and would have noticed even the smallest of differences.

‘I’m okay,’ Phoebe repeated, pushing away a little now, trying to stand. He watched as she sat up first, then went to bend her knees, but it was evident that she was still too woozy. Besides, Lola wasn’t having a bar of it.

‘You’ll have to be checked out and signed off by a doctor. It’s a workplace health and safety issue, you see.’

‘I only fainted. It’s nothing,’ Phoebe said, not daring to look at Octavio.

‘Yes, well, we can’t be too careful, particularly not in your condition.’

Phoebe’s face scrunched up, and Octavio realised she’d been holding on to some kind of fool’s hope that he hadn’t realised she was pregnant.

‘Director Garcia is right,’ Octavio said, his voice so darkly menacing he didn’t recognise it. ‘A pregnant woman cannot be too careful.’

Phoebe’s eyes jerked to his and he saw the panic in their depths and he was glad. Almost as glad as he was livid. Phoebe James had seriously crossed a line and he was going to make sure she knew it.