Читать книгу The Marine and The Princess - Cathie Linz - Страница 12

Vanessa was held captive. Not by the strength of his arms, but by the intensity of his passion…and her own.

She returned Mark’s kiss with a spirit of hunger that surprised them both. His lips moved over hers with an ever-fluid interplay that stole her breath away and vanquished all logic. Instead, she was consumed by a blind yearning that made her immediate world slide into oblivion. He made her shiver and burn at the same time, provoking a sensual response she could neither understand nor control.

The thin material of her leotard and his black T-shirt provided little protection against the earthy warmth of his body. His hands slid down her spine to the small of her back to tug her close, binding her to him. The passage of his hands created a new flame in the fire burning within her.

Mark parted his legs to brace himself as she melted against him. His action intensified the intimacy of their embrace, added a new level of heated friction.

Tunneling his hand beneath the golden tumble of her hair, he lured her to part her lips even farther for him. She eagerly complied. He rewarded her by doing enticing things with his tongue, moves that made Vanessa’s knees weak and her body throb. Her tongue answered his as his mouth slanted across hers in a new angle that afforded them both even more erotic pleasure.

Mark’s hands slid with deft sureness over her derriere, pulling her deeper into the kiss, into the madness. In his arms she was a different person. She was female to his bold male. She felt the thrust of his arousal, and her body responded with a receptive aching need to draw him to her. She was both the conquered and the conqueror.

And then it was all over.

Shocked, she swayed before him as Mark took several steps back. She felt naked without his arms around her.

“You weren’t supposed to kiss me back!” Mark growled, shooting her a look that was downright accusatory. “You should have used one of the self-defense techniques I just showed you instead of melting in my arms.”

Passion quickly dissolved in a sea of humiliation. Red-hot embarrassment rolled over her like a tidal wave. So did red-hot anger, making Vanessa react without thinking.

Enlisting a speedy move of her own, she took hold of his arm and twisted her hips, and presto—gravity took over, knocking a startled Mark completely off balance. A second later he was falling to the floor, landing on his sexy denim-clad derriere in the middle of the Aubusson carpet.

At that precise moment, Celeste opened the bedroom door and ushered in Dr. Rosenthal, who viewed Mark with a wide grin.

“I’ve heard of bowing to royalty, Wilder, but never thought I’d see the day when a woman would set you on your keister.”

“The captain was showing me his moves, so I showed him one of mine,” Vanessa said in a demure voice.

“I didn’t teach you that move,” Mark growled accusingly at Vanessa even as he leaped to his feet with the grace of a cat. A big cat, something in the angry-tiger family. A lesser woman would have taken a step back.

But Vanessa was a princess, and years of training helped her keep her cool.

“No, you didn’t teach me that move. Olga did.”

“Who the hell is Olga?” Mark demanded.

“She was the East German Olympic fencing champion for five straight years in the 1980s. Now she teaches fencing in Volzemburg. Over the years, she’s given me a few pointers in self-defense.”

“You could have told me that.”

“You could have asked me,” she retorted.

“Children, children, enough squabbling,” Dr. Rosenthal said. “As fascinating as this may be, I do have patients waiting for me back at my office.” The doctor looked more like a young John Wayne than George Clooney. He had a rugged face and direct demeanor, but kind brown eyes. “You’re looking flushed, Princess Vanessa. I fear you may have a fever.”

“Brain fever,” Mark muttered under his breath.

“Thank you, Celeste, you may leave us now,” Vanessa informed her wide-eyed lady-in-waiting.

The doctor opened his black bag and removed a stethoscope.

“I’m not sure what Mark told you,” she began, eyeing his medical bag warily.

“Relax, Princess,” Mark drawled. “He’s not going to draw too much blood.”

“I’m not going to draw any blood,” Dr. Rosenthal assured her with a reprimanding look in Mark’s direction. “You two are doing enough of that on your own.”

“I apologize, Dr. Rosenthal,” Vanessa said. “It’s very kind of you to take the time off from your busy practice to come here today.”

“The doc owes me a favor,” Mark said.

“I want to check you out a bit before I call your father,” Dr. Rosenthal said. “Make sure nothing really is wrong with you.”

“Aside from a stubborn nature, you mean.”

She ignored Mark’s comment.

“Take a deep breath. Hold it. Let it out.”

“Have you known Mark long?” she asked.

“Long enough,” the doctor replied, taking a wooden tongue depressor out of his bag. “Open your mouth and go ah.” Shining a tiny high-intensity flashlight in her mouth, he noted, “Looks good. How long have you known Mark, Your Highness?”

“His brother, Joe, married my best friend Prudence.”

“Ah, Joe.” Dr. Rosenthal nodded as he tossed the tongue depressor in a ritzy garbage can with the royal seal on it. “The charmer in the Wilder family.”

“And Mark?” Vanessa asked. “What’s he?”

“The proud one,” Dr. Rosenthal instantly replied.

“Really? Why’s that? Because he’s a Marine?”

“Don’t you have someplace else to be, Doc?” Mark said, clearly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking.

“The doctor has to phone my father before he leaves,” she reminded Mark.

“How much sleep have you been getting a night?” the doctor asked her.

“Four, maybe five hours, if I’m lucky,” she replied.

“And your appetite?”

“He ate most of my breakfast,” Vanessa noted with a regal tilt of her head in Mark’s direction.

“Hey, there was enough on that platter to feed a family of five,” Mark said in his own defense. “And she hardly touched any of it.”

“Mmm. You do show signs of nervous exhaustion,” Dr. Rosenthal told her. “All kidding aside, I do think a break would do you good.”

“There, you see?” Vanessa shot Mark a triumphant look. “The doctor agrees with me.”

Mark felt the first twinges of guilt tugging at his conscience. The good doctor was in on the plan, of course. A former Marine himself, Abraham Rosenthal hadn’t asked any questions and had only been told information about Mark’s mission on a need-to-know basis.

“Shall I call your father from my office or from the phone here?” the doctor asked.

“Here would be best, I believe,” Vanessa replied. “What do you think, Mark?”

It was the first time she’d ever consulted his opinion on anything and Mark found that he liked the inquiring look she gave him, as if she cared what he replied. Which was ridiculous. She was used to giving orders as much as he was. She clearly wasn’t a woman who kowtowed to others. She was a princess, for heaven’s sake, nothing like the women he usually went for—the voluptuous cheerleader type.

Not that the cheerleaders were empty-headed—Cindy was a court stenographer, Rusti a telemarketer. And they hadn’t been without class. But they’d been more interested in pleasing a man than in just about anything else.

And Mark had loved that about them. Well, not love. He didn’t do love.

When he eventually did marry, it would be to a woman who understood the demands of a career Marine officer. Plenty of women were impressed by the uniform, but not many were willing to stick around for the life-style. His older brother, Justice, was a prime example of that. He’d married his high-school sweetheart right after entering the Marine Corps at age eighteen only to have her divorce him a short while later.

Joe had married a woman accustomed to the life of a Marine. After all, Prudence’s father was a sergeant major. But Joe claimed that it hadn’t helped his case any.

Mark only knew that he planned on doing his family proud. As the only one who’d chosen the career path of a commissioned officer, he had a responsibility to his father to prove that he could rise to the highest ranks in the corps. The right kind of wife would help in that quest, someone quiet and not too demanding.

A princess definitely wouldn’t do. Way too high maintenance.

But, damn, she kissed better than any cheerleader he’d ever met.

Where the heck had a princess like her learned to kiss like that?

“Mark?” Vanessa said. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you think the doctor should phone my father from my room here at the hotel?”

“Affirmative,” Mark replied in his best crisp military voice.

“Remember, I don’t want to alarm my father into sending the royal physician over to check me out, I only want to delay my return home a few days.”

“He knows the drill,” Mark assured her, nodding at Abraham. And he did. He did his part with admirable alacrity.

“Well?” Vanessa asked nervously as the doctor hung up the phone from his transatlantic call.

“Enjoy your time off,” Abraham told Vanessa. “You heard me tell your father that you have laryngitis as well as a sinus infection with ocular involvement. He agreed that it would be best if you stayed where you are for the time being. I said it would take a week before you’d be safe to fly.”

“Thank you!” Vanessa looked as if she wanted to throw her arms around the good doctor and hug him, but instead she held out her hand for a formal handshake.

“Your father said if you’re not better in a week he’ll send the royal physician and come to New York himself,” the doctor warned her. “You’re going to have to check in with him in a few days. And I’m to give him an update tomorrow.”

Vanessa looked worried. “Will that be a problem for you?”

“No. Not as long as Mark keeps me informed on your health.”

“I’ll make sure she gets plenty of rest,” Mark said.

Eyeing them both in exasperation, she reminded them, “Gentlemen, the point of this entire exercise is for me to get some freedom, not some rest.”

“See you get both,” Dr. Rosenthal ordered before letting himself out.

“You’re going to need different clothes,” Mark said. They were the first words he’d spoken since Dr. Rosenthal had departed five minutes ago. She would have suspected he was pouting about her having dumped him on his too sexy fanny earlier, but Prudence had once told her that Marines never pout. They get even.

Which, honestly, did make Vanessa just a tad nervous. But it also excited her. The prospect of matching wits with Mark had her blood racing.

“You’ll need a disguise, so no one will recognize you,” he was saying.

“I’ll be sure to leave my tiara here,” she noted mockingly.

“You do that. Do you own any jeans? I already know you don’t own any T-shirts.”

“I’m sure they sell T-shirts in the hotel gift shop.”

“Fine. Have Celeste play tourist and go down and buy one for you.”

“An excellent idea. And one I’d actually already thought of myself,” she added.

“Sure you say that now…”

“A Von Volzemburg never lies,” she loftily informed him.

“This from a woman who just told a huge whopper to her own father.”

A woman. He’d just referred to her as a woman instead of a princess. A small thing, no doubt, but it felt huge in her own mind. Vanessa hugged the idea of Mark thinking of her as a woman instead of a princess.

Goodness knew he’d kissed her the way a man kissed a woman. There had been nothing cordial or formal about the meeting of their lips. It had been sexy and exhilarating, passionate and intense. It had been better than the best chocolate ever concocted by the royal chocolatier—and that was saying something!

Vanessa considered herself something of a connoisseur where chocolate was concerned. But she was a novice at male-female relationships. Which was ridiculous for a woman her age. She was almost thirty, for heaven’s sake. But the rules for her code of behavior were much stricter than they were for anyone else. She’d led a sheltered upbringing to put it mildly.

“As I was saying, a Von Volzemburg never lies, unless they are fighting for their freedom. Back in 1456, King Frederick put a mark on the castle saying that it was infected with the plague. It kept the enemy forces away, and the castle survived.”

“Well, you’re not going to survive the streets of New York City if you don’t fit in,” he warned her.

“I understand perfectly.”

Half an hour later, Mark stared at her in disbelief. “I thought you said you understood the concept of a disguise. Those tight-fitting jeans are sure to catch the attention of every male under the age of eighty!”

She blushed. Okay, so the jeans were tight. She’d borrowed them from Celeste, who had no derriere at all to speak of. Now Mark made her feel like a stuffed sausage in the jeans.

Sending a scorching look his way, she grabbed another outfit from the closet and marched back to the bathroom. This time he couldn’t complain about the fit of her slacks. The Valentino haute couture black pantsuit had been hand tailored to her body. The understated elegance made it a perfect fit with the silk chartreuse blouse.

Opening the door, she posed against the doorway with chic nonchalance.

Mark was clearly not impressed. “Why don’t you just put a sign around your neck saying I’m A Rich Princess, Kidnap Me.”

This Marine was really starting to aggravate her now. “What kind of disguise are you proposing? Marx Brothers glasses and a mustache? Perhaps you’d like me to wear a Charlie Chaplin costume and swing a cane around?”

“Nothing that drastic will be required, although you are getting a little closer to what I’m aiming for here. Tone down the sex appeal.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Tone down the sex appeal.”

“I’ll have you know that this suit was designed by Valentino.”

“I don’t care if it was designed by the pope, it makes you look too…” He made a motion with his hands.

Was that some kind of Marine sign language? “Too what?”

“Too good. Tone down your looks. Here, while you were in the bathroom I checked in my bag. I’ve got some sweats you can borrow.”

“Sweats?” she repeated as if he’d said a dirty word.

“Sweatpants and a sweatshirt.” He held them out for her. They were navy blue. Seeing that she made no effort to take them from him, he added, “They’re clean. I washed them before I packed them.”

“How reassuring. What’s that lump on the sweatshirt?”

“It’s a hood. We’ll put a baseball cap on your head, maybe add a flannel shirt, and presto, you’re no longer a princess.”

“No, I’m dressed like a bum.”

“Listen, Princess, we’re not aiming for any fashion awards,” he growled. “Our goal is to get out of here without being noticed.”

“And you don’t think someone dressed so disreputably in such an elite hotel isn’t going to garner attention?”

She had a point. Mark wasn’t pleased to have to admit that. He hadn’t been thinking clearly since he’d seen her in those skintight jeans. “All right. So wear the jeans and the T-shirt Celeste got from the gift shop.”

“You said I looked fat in those jeans.”

He gave her a startled look. “I did not.”

“You said, and I quote you here, that the jeans were ‘tight fitting.”’

“Yeah. So?”

“So that means I’m too fat for them.”

He rolled his eyes. “It means that you looked too good in them.”

“That’s not how it sounded to me.”

“Look, I’m not going to stand here and debate the issue with you.” He tossed the discarded T-shirt at her. “Put this back on along with the jeans and this sweatshirt. And tuck your hair under this Yankees baseball cap.”

“You’re a baseball fan?”

“Of course. I suppose you prefer cricket or polo maybe?”

“Actually I love basketball, but the NBA hasn’t been the same since Michael Jordan retired.” She had the pleasure of seeing his startled expression before she closed the bathroom door.

Vanessa did the best she could with what she had in hand. She’d discarded her jewelry but felt naked with nothing around her neck, so she put on the St. Christopher medal her mother had given her when she was a child. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. Which was a good thing, right? Anton, her security guard, wouldn’t recognize her either then.

Vanessa definitely wouldn’t win any fashion contests. She’d deliberately omitted her normal beauty routine and had opted for a natural-colored lipstick as her only makeup.

Opening the bathroom door, she informed Mark, “This is my final outfit. I’m not changing clothes again.”

“You’ll do.” Holding out his hand, he said, “Let’s go. I believe you mentioned something about a fast-food restaurant on that list of yours. You feel like eating tacos or burgers?”

“What about clothes? I can’t walk out of here with the things on my back and nothing else.”

His hand dropped to his side and his mocking smile returned. “Of course you can’t. Why don’t we pack up the royal luggage, and then we’ll go to Burger King?”

“Stop making fun of me.”

“Then stop being ridiculous. I already put some of your stuff in my bag. The more you carry the harder it is to slip out unnoticed.”

“You touched my things?”

She made him sound like a pervert who’d been pawing through her lingerie drawer. He was just following orders here. “Look, all I did was take some necessary items of clothing.”

“Show me.”

“Fine.” He yanked the zip open on his duffel bag and showed her what he’d packed.

“That won’t do.” She pulled out the sheer pink underwear and silk shirt. Marching over to the dresser, she proceeded to select other lingerie.

“We don’t have all day,” he growled.

She hesitated, still distracted by the thought of him touching her most intimate apparel. The image made her hot all over.

In the end, Vanessa wasn’t sure what she stuffed into his duffel bag, it certainly wasn’t much. Some sensible underwear, a few tops. She decided she could buy the rest. She had some American money with her.

“Are you ready, Princess?” he inquired mockingly.

“Yes, Captain, I am. Are you?”

“A Marine is always ready for whatever comes,” Mark automatically stated, but inside he was thinking that this mission was already turning out to be far more complicated than he’d anticipated.