Two days later, Esme sat by her father’s bedside again in Georgetown Hospital, knitting up a storm. Usually, her hobbies helped calm her, but today she doubted there was an afghan big enough to quell the tsunami of tension inside her.

Her father’s worsening condition was foremost on her mind. He’d seemed to weather the trip to the States well enough, napping beneath his blankets or perusing his favorite financial newspapers while sipping sherry on their private jet. Yes, he’d looked more pale and drawn than usual, but considering the disease he’d battled so bravely for the last few years, she’d taken courage from the fact he could still laugh and joke with her.

Now, though, he’d been in and out of consciousness since his arrival in the ICU. In order to provide more security, the hospital had moved her father into a private room earlier that morning. The Prylean security team had cordoned off nearly the entire floor, allowing only the medical staff near the king.

As she sat in the quiet room with only the hum, whirr, and hiss of the monitors and machines attached to her father to keep her company, she felt more isolated that she had in her entire life. Which was saying something, considering she lived in a virtual royal bubble as it was.

She sighed and finished her overhand seam, then sat back and stared out the glass wall beside her to the hallway beyond. In the distance, she caught sight of Z speaking with one of his men. They’d had little to no contact these past forty-eight hours, and she couldn’t say she blamed him for wanting to avoid her. God, what an idiot she’d been, blurting out her offer like that to him. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, and it was too late to change things now.

Looking back, if she’d not rushed into things that night in the shadows and fumbled her delivery, she might have stood a better shot with him. He would have been perfect, too. He met all of her requirements and was one of the few people she trusted these days. Going through the list from the state dinner had certainly been an exercise in futility. Not one single acceptable candidate in the bunch. Most were too old or too sordid or just too… blech. At least compared to Zachary Raybourn. And yes, she knew that holding most ordinary men up to the lofty standards of a handsome, young, robust ex-Navy SEAL was ridiculous, but still.

If Esme was truthful with herself—and she always tried to be, no matter how difficult—then she had to admit that she’d never seriously looked for anyone else to fill the job except Z.

Esme groaned and rubbed her tired eyes. Ugh. In her haste to save her future and the turmoil of her emotions over the looming demise of her father, she’d forgotten the number one rule of any successful negotiation—What’s In It For Me. A baby would certainly solve all of her problems, but to a man like Z, it would only be a burden, a millstone around his neck. She should have emphasized the fact that he would only need to be present for the first year, that afterward she’d raise the baby herself. It would be her fighting to have the laws of her country amended so that women could rule equally alongside men, her who would change the diapers and handle the late-night feedings, her who would deal with all the mundane and miraculous moments that went into raising a child successfully. All he needed to provide would be his sperm and one year of his life. That was it.

She exhaled slowly and picked up her needles again, the steady clack-clack oddly comforting. She’d been so sure of her powers of persuasion that she’d even gone so far as to have her most trusted advisors back home draw up contracts and all the necessary paperwork for whoever became her chosen candidate. Good thing she hadn’t had them put Zachary’s name on them, which had been her inclination at the time. Instead, there were blanks where the name of her baby daddy would go. Her shoulders slumped at the reality that she might never be able to fill those empty slots now.

A figure passed by the glass doors and Esme glanced up to find Z outside, now speaking with her father’s doctor. God, he was so gorgeous, even in these dreary conditions. Where the fluorescent lights above normally washed out even the best of complexions and cast everything in a yellowish glow, he only seemed tanner, healthier, sexier.

Esme shook off those thoughts quick. If—and that was a huge IF—she somehow could still convince Z to get onboard with her plan, their tryst would be for the sole purpose of procreation, no emotions involved. This was a strategic move, a necessary involvement, not a grand romance. Theirs would be a private affair, filled with nondisclosure forms and prenuptial agreements. Two people coming together to achieve their goals, nothing more, nothing less.

No matter how her stupid pulse quickened at the thought of sleeping with Z.

From the graceful way he moved, to his easy confidence, she could tell he’d be an excellent lover. He was always so kind and attentive and conscientious, all traits that would translate well in the sack. Not that Esme had that much experience or any concrete evidence that Zachary Raybourn was a sex god. Nothing except her feminine instincts.

And those instincts said he’d be very good indeed.

Now, if she could just somehow convince him to say yes, she’d be all set and could move on to the next phase of her plans—conception.

Z glanced into the room, a mix of wariness and concern in his blue eyes. He finished speaking to the doctor, then poked his head through the doorway and gave her a tentative smile. “Doing okay?”

She nodded, swallowing hard around the sudden constriction in her throat—part sadness, part apprehension. “I could use a bit of a break, actually. Would you walk with me down to get some tea?”

“Of course.” Z stood still and stoic just outside the door as she set her knitting aside, then leaned down to kiss her father’s cheek. The king didn’t stir at all, but the nurses said he could still hear her.

“Wish me luck, Daddy,” Esme whispered in his ear before straightening.

Once out in the hall, Esme and Z walked silently down the bright, shiny corridor to the small, empty waiting room at the end of the hall. She and the security team had set up a sort of temporary snack station there, with protein bars and energy drinks and, of course, a tea pot and coffee maker.

“So, the doctor said there’s no change in your father’s condition,” Z said at last, closing the door behind them for some privacy.

“Yes. But he did move his fingers earlier. The nurses said that was a positive sign he might regain consciousness soon.”

“Are you still planning on going to the state dinner tonight?” Z sank down into one of the chairs at the small, round table to one side of the room. “I’m sure they’d understand if you cancelled, under the circumstances.”

She fixed herself a mug of hot water, then chose a nice, calming chamomile tea from the basket. Ripping open the tiny packet, she unfurled the tea bag into the steaming mug. “I’m not sure there’s much point now. I’ll admit I’m not really in a festive mood at present and with us not finding any viable candidates for…” Her voice trailed off as Z’s gaze locked with hers again. “Well, you know.”

“Listen, your highness, about that.” Z straightened as she took a seat across from him and gave him a pointed stare. “Sorry. Esme. I know I—”

“Wait.” She held up a hand to stop him. “Before you say anything, please let me speak first. I wasn’t very articulate about my plans the other night and for that I apologize.”

“Not articulate?” He raised a brow. “Not sure how you could’ve said what you wanted anymore plainly, but okay.”

Heat prickled her cheeks, but she forced herself to continue. “No. I meant I wasn’t clear about what exactly I would require of you.”

His eyes darted from hers, down to his crotch then back again.

He wasn’t going to make this easy, and she probably deserved that, given how blindsided he’d seemed the other night, but she wasn’t one to give up a fight, either.

“Look. The more I think about this, the more my producing the next heir of Prylea seems to be the most expedient and effective solution to this problem. My loyal staff back home have been sending me regular updates on Silvester’s activities and with my father currently out of commission, he’s been even more blatant about his awful plans for when he claims the throne. I have to do something now rather than later. My only regret is that I didn’t act sooner.”

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, Es. And there’s one major issue I don’t think you’ve considered yet.”

“What’s that?”

“Say you do go through with this and get pregnant. There’s a fifty-fifty chance it’ll be a girl.” Z glanced over at the door then leaned closer. “A female child won’t put you any closer to the throne than you are now.”

“True. But Silvester can’t claim the throne until we know I’m not carrying a boy. If I refuse to find out the sex of the baby, that gives me nine months to try and get the laws changed.” She dunked her tea bag rhythmically into her cup rapidly to keep her shaking fingers occupied. “Parliament can’t force me to find out my unborn child’s gender. There’s no law stating that, thank goodness. And I’ll love my baby no matter what. But I don’t see any other option at this point.” She exhaled slow and sat back, choosing her next words carefully. “I’m sorry if I upset you the other night with my forward offer. You just seemed like such a perfect candidate on paper. And I apologize for not making it clear that I would hold you to no obligations where this child is concerned. I realize now what a burden it would be for a man such as yourself—dedicated to your career and your service in the SEALs. I would never want to hold you back from returning to the lifestyle you love, nor would I seek anything beyond your original help with conception, and your continued protection until the child is born.”

“Es, I really want to help you. I just never expected for you to ask something like this.”

“Would it help sweeten my offer if I told you I might be able to get you back on your SEAL team right away after the year of our marriage is up?” Technically, he’d been committed to a three-year attachment to Prylea, but she could work around that—she had made major contacts with their allies over the last year. She’d provided many favors for the United States diplomats and politicians, all in the hopes of forging stronger bonds between their countries. If calling in repayment of a few of those favors now meant she could keep her throne, then Esme wasn’t above doing that. “I’ve got several contacts within the Pentagon. I could make some calls.”

“Are you trying to bribe me, Es?” Z asked, his tone quiet.

“Depends,” she said, watching him through her lashes. “Is it working?”

A small muscle ticked near his tense jaw and he swore under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. Tiny bubbles of hope fizzed inside her. She’d seen her father and his advisors wearing the same expression of resigned acceptance during difficult negotiations right before they conceded. It was the look of a man with his back to the wall and only one avenue of escape.

“I want it all in writing. Every detail explained and documented.”

“Of course.” She bit back a smile and pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’ll text them now.”

He looked at her then, his blue eyes warm and bright with determination. “You had this planned all along?”

“No. Not exactly. I had my staff draw up paperwork, just in case. All the personal details were left blank.” She thumbed in a quick message for her senior staffer to fax the contracts over to the townhouse. “Should be waiting for us when we get home.”

Z’s broad shoulders sagged slightly, and he blinked at her. “I’ve never been a fill-in-the-blank kind of guy before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Esme set her phone on the table, her hands trembling so badly that she didn’t dare attempt to drink her tea. It would slosh everywhere. “If it’s any consolation, this is my first time doing anything like this too.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re a virgin?”

“To political intrigue? Yes. Otherwise, no.” She laughed, genuine this time. Despite the awkward circumstances, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of her. To think such a tiny concession on her part had been the deciding factor for him. Getting back to the SEALs must be an all-consuming drive for him. She’d do well to remember that in the future, especially when those pesky emotions of hers threatened to get involved again. This was a business deal between them—nothing more, nothing less. “So, I guess we’re partners now, eh?”

“Guess so.” He chuckled and sat back. “When do we get started?”

“With the baby-making?” She gripped her cup tight and blew on the top to cool the tea, not missing the way his gaze tracked her movement, the blue of his eyes darkening slightly. The same tingle of sensual awareness zinged through her, making her bold. “How about tonight?”

Z looked about as stunned as Es felt by her words.

She wasn’t a forward sort of girl, but damn if he didn’t seem to bring it out in her.

“After you sign your contracts, of course.”

“Of course.” His full lips curved into a slow smile and her insides quivered. Maybe keeping things all business with him wouldn’t be so easy after all.