Читать книгу A Royal Wager - Кристи Голд - Страница 11
ОглавлениеA cool breeze whipped over Kate’s face as they traveled the darkened streets of St. Simone in Marc’s classic convertible chick magnet. No slick, mean, manly machine had ever turned her head. She preferred comfortable sedans and comfortable shoes, which reminded her of the less-than-comfortable pumps squeezing her feet like a sadistic vise. She was tempted to kick them off but thought it best to leave on all articles of clothing, in case Marc got the wrong idea.
Like she would really try to seduce him in her current state. Her suit was wrinkled, her hair was a mess and her bra cut into her like steel fingers. Whoever invented push-up braziers should be bound at the wrists and ankles by underwire for at least forty-eight hours.
And Marc, with his suave sophistication and the wind blowing his golden hair away from his face, could easily pass as a sexy super spy like James Bond. Kate could be his girl of the month and sidekick, Roadkill. Yeah, he would definitely be interested in that scenario.
Marc pulled up to the curb in front of the inn and put the car in park. They were immediately joined by two other black vehicles, one in front, one in back.
Marc glanced in the rearview mirror and muttered, “For once, I wish they would leave me the hell alone.”
“I’m sure they’re only concerned for your safety.”
“I seriously doubt any dissidents are waiting inside the hotel on the off chance that I might pay a visit in the middle of the night. They seem to forget that for most of my adult life, I’ve seen to my own welfare.”
“But that was before you were king.”
“And that seems like decades ago.” He shifted in the seat to face her. “I want to thank you again, Kate.”
She dislodged the rest of her wind-blown hair from her face and stared at him. “You’re welcome, but I didn’t really do anything.”
“Don’t underestimate your assistance. I’m not certain my mother would have managed the situation quite as well had you not been there.”
Kate noted the weariness in his tone and in his eyes. “What do you think will happen now? With the baby, I mean.”
“Right now, I’m too bloody tired to worry about it.” He brushed one stubborn strand of hair away from her face. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, too, although you look very beautiful at the moment.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m very serious.”
That dog don’t hunt, Kate thought, her grandfather’s favorite saying. She would do well to remember that Marc DeLoria was a master of seduction, and obviously desperate if he considered her beautiful when she was sporting the results of wind-wrecked hair and an infantile food fight.
Desperate? Ha! His little black book was probably as big as her Physicians’ Desk Reference. In fact, he’d probably utilized this very hotel for clandestine affairs.
“I’ve never been at this inn before,” he said, as if challenging her assumption.
Kate studied the red brick building’s facade and the flower boxes framing the windows to avoid his continued scrutiny. “It has old-world charm, Your Highness.” Marc wasn’t suffering in the charm department, either.
“Kate, as long as we’re in private, you may call me Marc.”
Her gaze snapped from the building to him. “What if I slip up at some point in time?”
He grinned, revealing his drop-dead gorgeous dimples. “Then it’s off with your head.”
Kate circled her hands around her throat. “Maybe I should just stick to Your Highness. Hard to treat patients without a head.”
He looked suddenly solemn. “Seriously, I would appreciate you calling me Marc. I could use a friend.”
She could use some strength. “Okay, Marc. I’ll be your friend.”
“Thank you.”
He looked so appreciative, so sincere, so darned sexy that Kate had the strongest urge to lean over and kiss him senseless.
Party’s over.
Kate needed to go upstairs, take a bath and crawl into bed. Alone. Before she did something really stupid, like convince herself that he might actually find her desirable not only as a friend, but also as a lover. How absurd. “Thanks for the ride. I can manage from here.”
“Nonsense.” He moved with the speed of a cougar as he slid out of the car and rounded the hood before she even had a chance to draw a breath.
Kate stared at him when he opened her door, afraid to move, to speak.
“Well?” he asked. “What are you waiting for?”
Her pulse to return to normal. “Really, I can see myself in.”
His grin outshone the moon. “And disobey the king?”
“Since you put it that way, I guess I’ll have to submit or risk the gallows.”
Obviously she had already lost her head for letting him escort her. Only to the lobby, she reminded herself. She would say goodbye then go upstairs alone.
Marc followed Kate into the red-carpeted vestibule absent of people except for the forty-something man sitting behind the registration desk, looking totally disinterested in the king and his entourage’s sudden arrival. Had Marc told her the truth, or was his appearance at the inn a common occurrence?
She was too worn out to contemplate that now. She needed sleep. When she turned to dismiss Marc, he asked, “Do you have your room key?”
She fumbled in her bag, withdrew the key and held it up. “Right here, so I’m all set. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He took the key from her hand, easy as pie. “I’ll see you to your room.”
Of all the sneaky sovereigns. Maybe she should summon a bodyguard for her own protection. Not that Marc seemed like the kind to do her bodily harm. But he could certainly do things to her body that she’d never before experienced, that much she knew. He’d been doing it all day without even touching her.
“I can make it to my room just fine.” Kate tried to recover the key but before she could, he quickly tucked it into his pants pocket. She didn’t dare try to go after it, since rifling in the king’s pocket would probably be the ultimate breach in etiquette. Mighty fun, though.
Taking her by the elbow, Marc guided Kate up the staircase. Once they reached the room, he faced her and said, “Are you afraid of me, Kate?”
“Of course not.” She was more afraid of herself and her own vulnerability where he was concerned.
“You have no need to be.” He held up his hands, palms forward. “I promise my intentions are honorable.”
“That’s too bad.” Who said that? Surely not Kate the Crusader—able to thwart all come-ons with a single put-down. But he hadn’t been coming on to her at all. Maybe subconsciously she was wishing he had. What else could explain her suggestive remark?
Leaning forward, closing the space between their faces, he said, “In what way would that be bad?”
“I was just spouting off, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” he repeated in a rough, seductive whisper.
That wasn’t all, Kate thought as he came closer and closer, in slow motion it seemed, his lips only inches from hers.
She wanted this so badly. Wanted to feel his mouth on hers, wanted to know that he did see her as more than a physician, more than a friend. Know that the thought of his being her lover wasn’t absurd after all.
But instead of kissing her, Marc framed her face in his palms and tipped his forehead against hers. “We can’t do this, Kate.”
She glanced to her right to see one bodyguard positioned at the landing, facing the descending stairs. “I understand. We have an audience.”
“It’s not only that. Nothing can happen between us.”
Kate lowered her eyes at the same moment her heart took a dive. “I know. I’m not exactly suitable.”
“You’re wrong.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “You are a beautiful, remarkable woman, Kate. And it would be incredibly easy to kiss you right now, to back you into your room, remove all your clothing and make love with you all through the night. But because of who I am, I don’t have that luxury. I still have too much to prove.”
“What do you have to prove?”
“That I’ve not bedded every woman from Belize to Great Britain.”
“You haven’t?”
His smile was cynical. “No. I’ve escorted quite a few women in my time, and I’ve not been a long-term celibate, but there have not been as many lovers in my life as most have assumed.”
Long-term celibate? She wanted to ask him how long had it been since he’d had a lover. But it really didn’t matter. He couldn’t be hers. “So you’re saying that you can’t be involved with anyone?”
“Not at this time. Not until I can establish myself as a serious leader, and then only when I’m ready to settle into a marriage. I doubt I will be ready for that for quite some time.”
Kate stepped back and wrapped her arms around her middle to mask the sudden chills. “Well, thanks for letting me know.” She hated the disappointment in her tone but had to admit she liked what he had said—that he did find her desirable. That he had actually had the same thoughts she’d had all day. But that didn’t change the fact that their relationship would have to remain platonic. And she might as well accept it, beginning now, even if she didn’t like it.
Again he touched her face. “Kate, it is as much for your sake as it is for mine. The people of Doriana are basically kind, but they can also be judgmental when it comes to their leaders. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
Kate could certainly accept that, but she already did hurt a little knowing that she couldn’t have him, not that she’d ever really believed she could.
After checking her watch, she tried to smile. “It’s really late. Have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He took her palm and raised it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Sleep well, Kate.”
He brushed another kiss across her cheek, then turned and walked away, leaving Kate stunned into silence, tingling at the place where his lips had been.
Kate recognized that a secret part of her still loved the man buried beneath the facade—the carefree man who existed before the kingdom had carried away his freedom.
Even if she could only be Marc’s friend, nothing could stop her from attempting to lighten his spirit, ease his burden, help him have a little fun, a little adventure.
After all, that’s what friends were for.
The shrill of a phone had Kate bolting upright from deep sleep. Disoriented, she thought she was back in the hospital on-call room. She fumbled for the phone and answered with the habitual Dr. Milner, as if she were still a resident.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late, Kate, but I’m having a problem with Cecile.”
Cecile? The baby. She wasn’t at the hospital; she was in a foreign country. The man on the other end of the line wasn’t someone on staff; he was the king. A distressed-sounding king at that.
Kate sat up and glanced at the bedside clock. Almost midnight. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not certain. Beatrice and I have tried everything to calm her before she wakes my mother, but I’m afraid we’re failing miserably. Could you suggest anything?”
“She’s had a bottle?”
“Several. The last one landed on my forehead.”
Kate fought back laughter over the image of a six-month-old using a royal forehead as target practice. “Her diaper’s dry?”
“Yes. Beatrice has changed her several times. All those bottles, you know.”
“And rocking her—”
“Hasn’t done any good. She’s determined to protest, very loudly.”
Oh, well. So much for sleep. “I’ll come and see what I can do.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll send Nicholas right away.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“And Kate, I truly appreciate this.”
No problem, and it really wasn’t. She’d grown accustomed to odd hours and very little sleep during medical school and residency. She’d also learned to dress quickly, which she did, in jeans, T-shirt and sneakers, sans bra. If she had to tend to a baby in the middle of the night, comfort would have to take precedence over class.
By the time she retrieved her standard black medical bag and hurried through the front door of the inn, Mr. Nicholas was waiting for her outside the limousine. He greeted her with a polite smile and, “Good evening, Dr. Milner. Quite a nice night for a drive.”
Kate returned his smile. “A really nice night for sleep.”
“I am sure the king will be very happy to see you,” he said as he opened the back door.
Pausing with her hand on top of the car, Kate said, “He’s having a tough time, huh?”
“I believe His Brilliance has been bested by a baby.”
Kate chuckled at Nicholas as she climbed inside the Rolls.
She’d seen true affection in the man’s eyes when he’d delivered the dig at Marc’s station.
They rode in silence as Nicholas wove the car along the winding roads leading to the palace. The route was illuminated by the moon, higher in the sky than it had been when she’d been with Marc earlier.
Marc.
She’d hoped to avoid him until morning. In reality, he’d been in her dreams—an odd, surreal dream where he was riding to her rescue on a massive white steed—totally naked. Such a shame that the phone had awakened her before she got to the good part. Now she really needed to get a grip.
On arrival at the palace, a very forlorn, disheveled Beatrice directed Kate to the nursery. She entered the room to find Marc wearing a gaping white dress shirt and navy pajama bottoms, sprawled out among the randomly discarded bottles and toys, his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the crib. Cecile sat in his lap, looking sassy and content as she chewed on a plastic duck, drooling like a leaky faucet.
A priceless picture. The portrait of father and daughter, and that thought gave Kate pause.
She couldn’t think about that now. She had to consider the baby’s well-being.
“Hey, little one,” Kate said softly. “What are you doing up so late?”
“She’s bent on torturing me.” Marc spoke without opening his eyes, his voice gruff from frustration and probably lack of sleep.
Cecile smiled a toothless grin and squealed with glee. Totally smitten, Kate set down the bag and grabbed the baby into her arms. Only then did Marc come to his feet, giving Kate an up close and personal view of his bare chest—a really, really nice chest…
Examine the baby, Kate silently admonished. You’re here to see about the baby.
Kate turned her attention to little Cecile, whose eyes looked clear, bright and alert. No signs of obvious illness. In fact, Cecile looked happier than she had all day.
Kate glanced at Marc over the top of the baby’s head. “My diagnosis is that little Cecile is suffering from separation anxiety.”
“She’s not the only one who’s suffering,” Marc said then moved to Kate’s side to lay a gentle hand on Cecile’s forehead, belying his annoyed tone. “Are you certain she doesn’t have a fever?”
The parental concern in Marc’s voice surprised Kate. “I take it you didn’t check it.”
He looked more than a little alarmed. “I would not even attempt such a delicate matter.”
Kate rested her cheek against Cecile’s and found it cool. “I’ll take her temp but I imagine it’s normal. She doesn’t look at all feverish. She could be teething, though.”
Marc held up his pointer. “I have no doubt about that since she has spent the past hour or so chewing my fingers until I located the duck.”
Kate smiled. “If you don’t mind, look in my bag and get me the thermometer.”
Marc complied and held it up. “Is this it?”
“Yes. Bring it here.”
He eyed the instrument with disdain. “Isn’t this rather large for such a small child?”
“It’s made for infants.”
“I’ll leave the room.”
“Why? It’s painless.”
Marc shifted his weight from one leg to the other, looking uncomfortable. “That would be the opinion of one who did not have to suffer the indignity.”
Kate realized Marc had never seen a digital thermometer before. Smiling, she slipped it in the baby’s ear. After the beep sounded, she checked the reading. “Normal.”
Marc’s expression heralded his relief. “Now why in the devil didn’t they have those when I was a boy and my mother thought that every sniff warranted a check?”
“The wonders of modern medicine.” Kate glanced at the bag resting on the dressing table. “Are those her things?”
“Yes.”
She strolled around the room, bouncing Cecile gently in hopes that she might become sleepy. “Look through it and see if you can find a security blanket or toy. She might need that to go to sleep.”
Marc rifled through the contents and withdrew a clear plastic bag. “This is all I can find aside from her clothes.”
Kate strolled to his side to examine the object—the probable answer to the sleep dilemma. A pacifier. “Take it out and wash it off with hot water, then bring it back to me.”
Without a word, Marc went into the adjacent bathroom and then came out a few moments later, holding the pacifier by its pink plastic ring as if it were radioactive.
When Cecile caught sight of it, she whimpered and opened and closed her tiny fists as if to say, “Hand it over now, Buster!” Marc relinquished it to her and she popped it into her mouth, then laid her head against Kate’s breast.
Kate paced the room a few moments longer as the baby’s eyes grew heavy, then finally closed. Carefully she laid her in the crib, covered her with a blanket, and turned down the lamp, leaving the room in darkness except for a small night-light near the door.
She turned to discover Marc had disappeared. Obviously he’d carted himself off to bed. Obviously she was wrong, she realized when she stepped into the corridor, closed the door and turned to find him standing there—right there—one shoulder cocked against the doorframe.
He sent her a sleepy and overtly sexy smile. “You’re a genius, Kate.”
She shrugged. “Not really. I used to baby-sit to earn extra money, so I’ve had some practice with the nighttime ritual. And pacifiers.”
“Ah, so that explains why Cecile responds to you so well. Your skill with children is very apparent. You must be a remarkable doctor.”
“Thank you. I think you handled the situation well. Not many men would’ve stayed up with a baby that wasn’t theirs?” She hadn’t meant to say that, much less end the sentence on a question.
“She’s not mine, Kate,” he said adamantly, then more gently, “but she is quite the charmer when she wants to be. She actually smiled at me a few times.”
If only Kate could believe that Cecile was fathered by someone else. Hopefully they would soon learn the truth, if not through medical means, then through an investigation if the mother or father didn’t come forward. And how could a mother give up such a beautiful child? Unless she didn’t have the means to care for her. Marc definitely had the means.
“I do hope she stays asleep for a few hours,” Marc added. “Oddly enough, I’m now quite awake.”
So was Kate. Sleep was the last thing she wanted, with him staring at her expectantly.
Attempting to focus on something other than his alluring eyes, Kate’s gaze dropped to the gaping shirt that revealed his naked chest, well-toned and tempting with its golden color and a patch of brown hair between his nipples. And below that she caught a glimpse of his navel and the stream of darker masculine hair leading downward, but no birthmark. Where in the heck was the birthmark? And where in the heck was her brain? This was no time to eyeball his very male anatomy. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a naked man before. In fact, she’d seen several, but not many who looked as well developed as Marc DeLoria.
She forced her gaze up and blurted, “Thank goodness for those pacifiers.”
“I find it amazing that a rubber nipple would be so appealing to a child.” His grin deepened, showing off his dimples to full advantage. “As a man, I personally prefer something more natural.”
Oh, no. Much too late at night for sexual innuendo. Kate pointed a finger at him. “You really are a rogue, King DeLoria.”
“And that is your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You bring out that side of me.” He inched a little closer, seeming to steal the air from the atmosphere with the scent of soap that reminded Kate of spring, warm and wonderful. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll now refuse to be my friend.” His voice was a low, deep hum—hypnotic, enticing.
Kate pretended to consider it while trying not to lose her bearings in the depths of his deep blue eyes. “I guess I’ll cut you some slack this time. I’ll still be your friend.”
“Good. I have an idea how we can spend the rest of the evening together.” He leaned forward and Kate’s resolve melted completely when he murmured, “If you’re interested in a little friendly late-night adventure.”
