Page 8 of Crowned for His Son

Prince Azar stared down the aquiline blade of his nose at her, his stormy grey eyes faintly mocking. ‘I warned you that we would meet again, Eden. Did you think I was—?’

He froze as Max’s chubby hand grasped the door and pulled it wide, his curiosity unfettered as he looked up andupinto the face of the stranger on his doorstep.

A stranger who stared back, his eyes flaring, then probing deep.Deeper.His body seemed to turn to stone and a sharp inhalation lanced from his throat a long moment later.

The human brain, as Eden had unwillingly learned over the past three years, was a peculiar, fascinating and often cruel organ. Because it chose that moment to remind her of the sharp and ominous déjà vu she’d felt looking into her son’s eyes two hours ago. To remind her of that alarming sensation when she’d touched Max chin’s last night and lingered on the shallower version of the very cleft she was staring at now.

‘I don’t care what you want. I need you to leave.’

It was a plea couched as a warning.

The fact that it took several seconds for him to hear or grasp her words spoke volumes. When he did, the eyes that met hers were at once pitying and condemning. As if strongly recommending that she mourn her old life as she knew it because he was about to steamroller and subjugate itirrevocably.

‘Who is this?’

The query was ludicrously mild, considering what his eyes and body promised. Considering his immovable position in her doorway. Considering how each bodyguard subtly positioned himself, taking cues she couldn’t entirely comprehend from their prince.

Her hand moved from Max’s to his shoulder, gathering him essentially closer, ready to protect, todiefor her offspring.

‘He’s my son. Now leave,’ she repeated.

Her voice shook, but held. As visceral as the resolution in his eyes. And she made sure he witnessed the fighting resolve in hers.

‘We both know that’s not going to happen.’

A sound whistled up her throat. Dismay. Fury. Panic.

Reminding herself to remain calm for Max’s sake—a demeanour she absently realised this man was also adopting, although she suspected he was infuriatingly unflappable in most circumstances—she raised her chin. ‘I can have the authorities here in minutes.’

‘Under what charge? Visiting an old friend?’ His gaze dropped to Max. ‘Or something else?’

Her breath strangled in her lungs. ‘We’re not friends. A-and I don’t know what you mean by “something else”.’

His jaw clenched. ‘Let me save you the trouble. You’ll get nowhere by calling the police. Not least because I’ve committed no crime. And I have diplomatic immunity. Make no mistake: I’m not leaving until we’ve cleared up a few things.’ Again, his eyes dropped to Max, his chest expanding on a breath. ‘Perhaps several things.’

Accepting his words at face value was the quickest way to get rid of him, she suspected. The quickest way to remove his rabid interest from her son.

‘At least let me take him next door.’

Silver-grey eyes darted back to her, narrowed into lethal slits. ‘Who or what is next door?’ he asked, in a voice draped with silk and danger.

‘My neighbour. She—we’re having breakfast with her. She’s expecting us.’ She looked down as Max, tired of the standoff, attempted to step out.

Prince Azar stiffened, his hands slowly emerging from his coat pockets as if ready to physically restrain her son.

Eden pulled him back, then yanked him into her arms when he protested.

‘It’s okay, baby.’

‘Pancakes! Pancakes!’

Hoisting him up had brought him to eye level with Prince Azar, a foolish but ultimately inevitable move. Because his scrutiny of her son’s face was immediate, and so thorough it shook the ground beneath their feet.

‘Dios mio,’he breathed, on the third, fourth…dozenthpass.

‘Please. I don’t want— Don’t frighten him.’

‘Mama…?’

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