Читать книгу A Royal Wager - Кристи Голд - Страница 12
ОглавлениеA midnight raid on the royal kitchen.
That was Marc DeLoria’s idea of adventure—and Kate’s biggest disappointment of the evening. She’d been hoping for a midnight swim in the moat, although, come to think of it, she hadn’t seen a moat. At the very least, she’d been hoping for a walk in the palace gardens. She had seen those when she’d first arrived—beautifully manicured gardens with roses and topiaries and a fountain set in the middle of a reflecting pool.
But instead of taking a romantic stroll with the king, she was standing in the middle of a cavernous kitchen while Marc rummaged through a lower cabinet looking for heaven only knew what. However, he was bent over at the moment, giving Kate a really nice view of his bottom, sheathed in a thin pair of pajamas that showcased the finer points of his dignified derrière. She wondered if that was where the birthmark might be found. With just a few steps forward, and a quick tug, she could find out.
Not a good idea.
She could look all she wanted, but she couldn’t touch. He’d made that quite clear outside her hotel room door. No touching allowed. No kissing. No covert rendezvous on the palace grounds, or any grounds, for that matter. But she could still fantasize about it—about him—and remember the words he had spoken earlier in a voice that had nearly brought her to her knees.
…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.
It was definitely getting hot in the castle kitchen. Kate was practically going up in flames and Marc hadn’t even turned on the stove.
“I’ve found it.” Marc straightened and showed her a sauté pan along with his sexy and oh-so-charming smile.
Was he planning to make breakfast? Kate’s belly roiled in protest. She didn’t eat heavy meals in the middle of the night. “I’m not really fond of eggs.”
“Nor am I. But I do have a fondness for crepes.”
Kate leaned back against the spotless workstation centered in the room. “I know you didn’t learn how to cook in the biology lab.”
He set the pan on the stove and turned on the burner beneath it before facing her again. “Someone taught me how to make crepes.”
Kate assumed the “someone” had been a woman. “I’m sure she got a kick out of teaching a king to cook.”
“Yes, and she taught me many things.”
Just as Kate had suspected. “Oh, really? Such as?”
“How to tie my shoes, how to read. Her name was Mrs. Perrine, my first nanny.”
“Your nanny?”
“You thought I was referring to some nubile young woman. I assure you Mrs. Perrine was anything but nubile or young. She was as tough as any headmaster, but she did have a way with crepes.”
“I’m looking forward to sampling yours.”
He sent her another killer grin. “My crepes?”
He pinned her in place with his blue eyes and suggestive tone. No touching, a little voice warned her. No nothing, just friendship. “Yes, I’m looking forward to trying your crepes, Your Highness. Or maybe I should say Your Chefness, since Mr. Nicholas isn’t around.”
“Marc will suffice,” he said as he retreated to the monstrous refrigerator and rummaged around some more, withdrawing two covered bowls and a block of butter. He set the items on the counter next to Kate and opened the bowls. One held strawberries, the other a stack of what looked to be pancakes.
“Actually,” he said, “the cook has already prepared the crepes, so I will only need to prepare the filling.”
Kate crossed her arms over her middle. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He gave her a visual once-over, pausing slightly when his gaze passed over her breasts. “You need only stand there and look beautiful, since you seem to do that very well.”
Sheesh. Beautiful? She was bare-faced and bleary-eyed. “You are such a liar, Marc DeLoria.”
His expression went stern. “I have never lied to you, Kate. I have no reason to lie.”
Remorse brought heat of a different kind to Kate’s face. Why couldn’t she stop throwing around the “L” word? “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not used to men saying those kinds of things to me.”
Marc took a cutting board and knife from the counter and began slicing the strawberries, precisely, slowly. “I assure you, Kate, men have said you’re beautiful, even if not to your face. Perhaps you give off signals that indicate you don’t wish that kind of attention.”
Kate frowned. “Do you really think…I mean…do I?”
He leveled his eyes on hers. “You do.”
Kate had never considered that before, but maybe he was right. Maybe she had been too afraid to make herself that accessible for fear that she would be rejected. “Then you’re saying I’m a snob?”
“No. You’re friendly enough yet you still retain an aloofness, as if you are untouchable. Some men find that very intimidating.”
She thought of her one medical school fling with Trevor Allen and how he’d often complained that she seemed to save all her emotions for her parents and her patients. “Do you find it intimidating?”
“No. I find it very appealing.”
A network of chills slid down Kate’s spine as Marc continued to look at her with eyes that could liquefy the stainless steel appliances. How many women had succumbed to his overt sexuality? Probably plenty. And she shouldn’t want to be among them, but for some stupid reason, she did.
Glossing over the moment, Kate turned around and propped her elbows on the counter, her palms supporting her jaws. “Are you sure I can’t help you with something? I feel so useless, just standing here looking beautiful.”
His smile finally reappeared. “Can you melt butter?”
She was melting every time he flashed his dimples. “Yes, I can do that. How much?”
He took a large wooden spoon from a ceramic container, scooped a large chunk of butter from the block then handed it to Kate. “Put this in the pan and watch it for a moment to make sure it doesn’t burn.”
Kate took her place at the stove and slapped the butter into the already heated pan. It sizzled just like the blood in her veins when Marc came up behind her and added the strawberries and brown sugar, his solid arms forming a frame around her.
“Stir that, please.” His warm breath caressed her neck.
“Stir it,” she repeated as if the instructions might be too complex. How ridiculous was that? She’d been through med school, for heaven’s sake. She could cook a few strawberries.
Marc went away for a time and she glanced at him now and then over her shoulder while he mixed whipped cream in a bowl. He returned to the stove with a ladle filled with a clear liquid. Some kind of liqueur, Kate presumed, considering the pungent aroma. Again he stood behind her as he heated the ladle over another burner for a few seconds before igniting it with a gold lighter. The flame rose from the ladle then spread over the strawberry mixture like a blue blanket as Marc poured it into the pan. The flame quietly died away, but the fire spreading through Kate when Marc’s hand came to rest on her waist singed her through and through.
“Now what?” she asked, surprised she had recovered her voice.
“We wait until the alcohol burns for a while.”
Marc’s voice, the heat radiating from his body so close to hers, acted on Kate as if she’d consumed the entire bottle of liqueur. She leaned back against him for support and his arms came around her, strong and inviting. Then he slowly turned her around in those solid arms until she was facing him.
Again Kate witnessed the indecision warring in his eyes, but this time she also saw desire win out before he cradled her jaw in his palms, then touched his mouth to hers. Yet he only brushed her lips with tempered, chaste kisses, drawing back each time until she thought she might go crazy. She wasn’t sure if it was uncertainty on Marc’s part or if he was waiting for her to make the next move. The need to know how it would feel to have him kiss her completely drove Kate to clasp his nape and pull his mouth full against hers to finally have what she craved.
Although she had imagined Marc’s kiss, although she’d thought she was ready, Kate soon realized she’d been totally deceiving herself. Skill wasn’t an adequate enough word to describe Marc DeLoria’s expertise. Never before had she been kissed so softly yet so thoroughly. He used his tongue like a feather, invading her mouth with fine strokes without being at all intrusive. And Kate felt it down to her knees and lower.
He pulled her against him and slid his hand down her back to her hips. She realized the result of this spontaneous kiss when Marc pressed against her, showing Kate up front that he was very affected. And so was she.
After abruptly breaking the kiss, Marc took a step back, rubbed a hand over his jaw and exhaled a long breath. “My apologies, Kate. Something about you standing at the stove made me forget myself.”
Kate wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted. She was, however, very winded and very warm. “Oh, so do you have one of those French maid fantasies or do you just prefer the domestic type?”
His expression turned serious. “I have to remember that nothing has changed since I left you at your hotel door. We really can’t be doing this.”
“We just did.”
“I know, and it shouldn’t happen again.”
Kate couldn’t stop her smile when she realized he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself it wouldn’t happen again. “Then I guess we should avoid kitchens if seeing a woman standing at the stove turns you on.”
He smiled reluctantly. “You’re probably right, and I believe the strawberries are done now.”
Obviously, so were they, Kate decided.
Marc assembled the crepes and placed them on plates while Kate looked on, still reeling from the kiss. She had to hand it to Marc, he had an iron will. Or maybe he was just being nice to her. But she hadn’t seen nice in his expression when she’d been in his arms. She’d seen want, maybe even need. And her thoughts at that moment wouldn’t qualify as nice, either. But from this point forward, she would probably have to settle for just that single memory.
They carried the dessert into a comfortable den with a cushy tweed couch and a fireplace in the corner. Marc set his plate on the coffee table in front of the sofa and settled beside Kate.
Kate waited for him to take the first bite, but instead he cut into one of her crepes and held it to her lips. “Your first sample.”
She slid the crepe into her mouth and savored the flavors of strawberries, whipped cream and sugar; the delicate crepe practically dissolved in her mouth. “This is almost sinful.”
His eyes held fast to hers. “That would depend on your definition of sin.”
“Calories,” she added after she swallowed another bite. “And carbs, especially when they take up residence on your thighs.”
His gaze drifted to her thighs, then traveled slowly back up again to her face. “I doubt that you need to worry about that.”
“From your mouth to my metabolism’s ear.”
“I hope you’ll put away all your concerns and simply enjoy.”
Kate did as Marc asked and ate every last bite of the crepes, all the while wondering if Marc’s comment about sinful behavior went beyond indulging in dessert. But she didn’t dare hope, didn’t dare consider anything more than spending time with him as a friend.
After they both finished, Marc grabbed the remote control and snapped on the television positioned in the entertainment center. He flipped through the channels, pausing at one nature program heralding the mating habits of the mongoose. With a groan, he changed the channel to a French-speaking movie where two people seemed engaged in a battle of wills.
After tossing the remote back on the table, he leaned back against the couch. “Not much variety this time of the night, so I suppose we’ll have to settle for this. Unless you’re ready for bed.”
Kate assumed he’d meant alone and right now that didn’t float her boat. “Funny, I’m not all that tired, although I probably should be.”
“Then perhaps this movie will put you to sleep.”
“It could, since I have no idea what they’re saying.”
Marc draped his arm over the back of the sofa, only a few inches separating their bodies. “The man’s name is Jean-Michel and he’s telling the woman, Genevieve, that he must leave her since he belongs to another.”
“The cad. What did she say to that?”
“She says Tu me veux. Je te défie de me dire que je me suis trompée. She claims he wants her and she’s daring him to deny it.”
Hearing Marc speaking in French in a low, husky voice blanketed Kate in chills. She glanced at him and realized he’d moved much closer, rekindling the fire that had been smoldering deep within her all evening. “Is he denying it?”
Marc’s gaze drifted to her mouth. “C’est impossible. It’s impossible for him to deny that he wants her.”
The conviction in Marc’s voice, the heat in his eyes, fed Kate’s optimism that he was speaking of his own desire—desire for her. Or maybe she simply wanted him so badly that she’d invented something that wasn’t really there.
Turning her attention away from Marc and back to the movie, she got the full effect of Jean-Michel’s weakness for Genevieve. Now tangled together in a passionate embrace, the lovers’ actions spoke loud and clear in that age-old universal language of love. Kate twitched when the camera panned in for an up close and very personal shot of the actors’ lips melded together, their hands roving over each other as if they couldn’t quite touch enough to be satisfied. She squirmed some more when the couple tore at each other’s clothing until they were completely, unabashedly naked.
“This must be a cable channel,” she muttered, all too aware of how dumb and unsophisticated that must have sounded.
“Actually, no. Freedom of expression is highly regarded here. Nudity is considered natural and beautiful. So is lovemaking.”
Kate’s heart bounded into her throat when Marc’s arm came to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips tracing slow, random circles on her upper arm as if drawing his name in the sand. Marking his territory so to speak, and making Kate mindful of how much the movie and his touch were affecting her.
“Maybe we should watch something else,” she said.
Marc nuzzled his face in her hair, taking her by surprise and her senses by storm. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
Kate bit her bottom lip, hard. “A little.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know.” She did know, and Marc probably knew, too. The uncensored sex on the screen, Marc’s close proximity, was turning her on, turning her into a woman on the verge of asking him at the very least to kiss her again.
She didn’t have to ask, and this time there was no reluctance in Marc’s kiss, no hesitation. So focused was Kate on the welcome invasion of his tongue, the soft insistence of his lips, that she was only mildly aware of the lovers’ soft moans coming from the TV, Marc’s evening whiskers abrading her chin and his hand traveling up and down her side, grazing her breast with each pass.
Time seemed suspended and Kate acknowledged she could go on kissing him forever. But a girl could only be kissed this way for so long without other parts of her body becoming present and accounted for. Her nipples hardened against his chest. Fire spread through her belly and settled between her thighs in a dull throb.
As if some wild wanton creature had crawled beneath her skin, Kate lifted her leg over Marc’s thighs. He groaned against her mouth and took her down onto the couch, where he settled on top of her, his own leg dividing her legs. He momentarily broke the kiss to raise her shirt, untie his robe and push it open, before taking her mouth once more. But he didn’t use his hand to tantalize her; he used his chest, lightly rubbing her bare breasts, drawing away slightly then rubbing again and again, in maddening circular motions. The fine veneer of chest hair tickled her nipples into hard, sensitive buds and sent a wash of dampness between her thighs.
Unraveled by his skill, his welcome weight and deep kisses, Kate tilted her hips up to feel him more, as if that might soothe the ache. And she did feel him, every solid inch of him, through the thin material of his pajamas.
As if he recognized her need, Marc slid his hand between them at her abdomen. The tug on the snap of her jeans only heightened Kate’s excitement and spurred her anticipation.
Then suddenly, there was nothing. No kisses. No touches. No Marc.
Kate opened her eyes and looked up to find Marc standing several feet away, his back to her, both hands laced together behind his neck. And then came Kate’s complete mortification in a few moments of silence that seemed to last hours.
“I’m sorry, Kate.”
He was apologizing again, and Kate was without a doubt more embarrassed than she’d ever been her entire life. She pulled her shirt down, scooted to the edge of the sofa and clutched her disheveled hair by the roots. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me right now.”
He sat beside her, his expression remorseful as he took her hand into his. “Would you like to know what I think of you? I think you’re the most incredible, sensual woman I’ve encountered in many years, if not ever. I think that if I hadn’t remembered why we cannot do this, I would be inside of you at this moment and that would be wrong.”
His words gave her a courage she’d never known before, at least where men were concerned. “Why would it be wrong, Marc? We’re both adults. No one’s around. No one would have to know.”
He released a harsh sigh. “Because I could only offer you a casual affair, in secret. Because you’re a good woman, Kate, and you deserve to be treated as such, not hidden away from the world.”
Kate had always been the good girl. The good, reliable girl. She’d grown tired of bearing that label, weary of being that girl. Besides, she was a woman now, with a woman’s desires and needs—and she was with a man who had the knowledge and the means to take her beyond the limit. But he wasn’t willing to answer those needs, at least not now.
Kate wrenched her hand from his and crossed her arms over her chest thinking that might alleviate the sudden cold that had replaced the heat, a futile gesture. “I guess you’re right, Marc. So let’s just chalk up my total lack of restraint to my current state of jet lag. I should probably go back to the hotel now.”
When Kate stood, Marc caught her wrist. “Stay here, tonight, Kate. With me. You need your rest. We can both sleep on the sofa.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Kate said, although regardless of her reckless behavior and his subsequent rejection, she would like nothing more than to wake in Marc’s arms.
After gathering a throw from the opposite arm of the couch, Marc tied his robe, worked his way to the corner of the sofa and pulled her down into his arms. “Stretch out your legs and put your head on my chest. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“Darn it.”
He tossed the throw over them both. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, fair lady, or I’m afraid I’ll have to lock you in the dungeon.”
Kate felt giddy and punch-drunk. “Exactly how hard is it?”
Marc cracked a crooked smile. “You could not begin to imagine.”
Oh, but she didn’t have to rely on her imagination. She’d gotten the extent of “it” a few moments before and in the kitchen. She doubted she would ever forget how he’d felt against her. But right now she should try to sleep. Morning would come all too soon, and her time alone with Marc would probably come to an end. After tonight, she had no doubt he would probably avoid her from here on out. And maybe that was best. After all, he was a king, she was a doctor, and he had something to prove—that he could resist her. That made Kate smile as she closed her eyes.
Imagine that. King Marcel DeLoria had found her irresistible.
“Marcel, wake up.”
Marc forced his eyes open to find his mother standing before the sofa, Cecile propped on one hip, flailing her tiny arms about as if directing an orchestra. What in the devil was Mary doing up this time of the night and why was she fully dressed as if ready to hold court? Unless it was already morning. Surely not. No more than an hour had passed since he’d finally drifted off, or at least it seemed that way.
Every molecule of his body ached from the position he’d kept for the past few hours, one part in particular, thanks to the woman in his arms. Some time during the night, Kate had inadvertently landed her palm on his groin—and for some insane reason, he’d left it there. Luckily the throw and his robe covered his lower body, adequately concealing his predicament from his matriarch.
When Cecile squealed, Kate snapped up like a bedspring, tossed the cover aside and pushed her hair away from her face. “What time is it?”
Marc slid the throw back into his lap as nonchalantly as possible. “Very early,” he said, his voice rough from lack of sleep, unanswered need and an abundance of annoyance.
Mary took a seat in the chair across from the sofa, Cecile in her lap happy as a lark. “It’s not quite dawn. When Cecile awakened, I relieved Beatrice so she could have some sleep, since it seems our little one has her days and nights confused.”
“At least someone’s sleeping,” Marc grumbled yet he couldn’t help but smile at Cecile as she gummed his mother’s favorite string of pearls hanging from Mary’s throat. Only an innocent could get away with such anarchy.
When Mary surveyed Kate’s disheveled appearance, Marc could almost hear the cogs turning in her mind. “I hadn’t realized Kate had not returned to the hotel,” she said.
Kate averted her eyes and tugged at her wrinkled T-shirt. “Actually, I did return to the hotel. Marc called and asked me to come and check on Cecile when she wouldn’t sleep. He thought she was ill.”
“She certainly seems well enough to me,” Mary said as she brushed a kiss across the baby’s cheek. Then she leveled her gaze on Marc. “I hope you didn’t take advantage of Kate’s courtesy, Marcel.”
He glanced at Kate who was sporting a deep blush. “Mother, I assure you I did not take advantage of Kate. And if you’re intimating that something sordid went on last night, you are wrong.” Not that he hadn’t considered it. “We were both very tired and we fell asleep during a movie.”
“Of course I would not think such a thing, dear boy. Kate would never do something sordid.”
He experienced a sudden surge of anger that effectively repressed any lingering effects of his desire for the doctor. “But I would?”
“I suppose not, since you appear to have on your robe, although it’s difficult to tell with you clutching that throw as if you feared it might walk away.”
Marc yanked the blanket aside. “Happy now, Mother? I have done nothing to compromise Kate’s or my reputation.” And not because he didn’t want Kate; he did. Even now with her curled up on the couch, both her clothes and hair a mess, he still wanted her. Badly.
Mary sighed. “But you did leave quite a disaster in the kitchen. Cook is already grousing this morning.”
“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Kate said. “I meant to clean up before I fell asleep, since Marc did the cooking.”
Mary sent Kate a kind look. “Nonsense, my dear. You are our guest. Marc could have cleaned up after himself, although I’m not certain he’s learned the fine art of housekeeping.”
His mother was obviously determined to ruin his day. “Don’t you think I already have enough responsibilities, Mother?”
“Yes, dear, you do.” She sent a pointed look at Cecile, causing Marc to grit his teeth.
After coming to her feet, Kate walked to the chair and said, “May I hold her?”
“Why, of course.” Mary stood and relinquished Cecile to Kate.
Kate hugged the baby and kissed her cheek. “I hope you’ve gotten plenty of sleep, little one, since we have a busy morning ahead of us at the clinic.”
Marc leaned his head against the sofa, all the energy seeming to drain from him at that moment. “I bloody well forgot about the damn test.”
“Take care with your language, Marcel,” Mary scolded. “You have two ladies present and one grandmother who will not tolerate disrespect.”
“My apologies,” Marc muttered, a long list of descriptive curses threatening to explode from his mouth. The queen mother was already laying claim to Cecile before proof of that fact existed.
“How is your headache, Mary?” Kate asked, looking uncomfortable over the exchange between mother and son.
Mary laid a hand on Kate’s arm. “My dear, it is completely gone, thanks to you. That neck massage you gave me did the trick.”
“It was no problem at all.” She regarded Marc over her shoulder. “I learned some massage therapy while I was in med school. Pressure points, that sort of thing, to relieve tension.”
Marc had a point of pressure he would greatly like Kate to relieve. Instead, his mother had received a massage and he’d only acquired a painful kink in his neck and a prominent swelling beneath his pajamas.
Kate handed the baby back to Mary and said, “Well, I guess I need to return to the hotel and freshen up before we go to the clinic.”
“You must stay for breakfast, dear. Cook has begun the preparations.”
Kate turned to Marc as if seeking reinforcement. “It might be better if I leave now. We need to get everything done before the clinic opens.”
Marc stood. “I’ll have Mr. Nicholas take you back to the hotel immediately.”
“That’s fine,” Kate said, a hint of disappointment in her tone.
Marc had done nothing but disappoint her the past few hours; that much he knew. Last night, she had needed something from him, something he hadn’t been able to give to her—and not because he hadn’t wanted to. But if he’d touched her in the way that he’d wanted, he might not have been able to stop with only a touch. And if not careful, it would happen again…and again.
An hour later, Kate and Marc slipped through the clinic’s back door with the baby in tow, fortunately finding the place totally deserted. In a small room at the far end of the corridor, Kate thoroughly examined Cecile, who remained content by chewing on the hem of her discarded cornflower blue dress while Marc looked on. Cecile seemed very healthy, only slightly below average in weight and height for a child of seven months, if, in fact, that was her age. Kate could only estimate unless the mother came forward. At least today they might learn more about the father, namely if he could possibly be Marc or Philippe.
With that thought, Kate took a lancet in hand to draw Cecile’s blood. She hated this part the most—sticking an unsuspecting baby.
After returning to the table, she told Marc, “If you could just hold her a little, that would be a big help.”
Marc frowned. “Will it hurt her very much?”
Kate smiled at the concern in his tone and expression. “Only a little finger prick, but she’s not going to like it. That’s why I need to make sure she doesn’t move away.”
Marc did as he was told, speaking to Cecile in a soothing tone while Kate applied the stick. Cecile looked surprised at first, then her tiny bottom lip quivered and she let out a wail when Kate began to knead her finger.
“That’s it, sweetie,” Kate said after she had enough of a sample on the glass slide. “All done here. I hope you don’t hate me now.”
Cecile buried her face against Marc’s chest and released a few sniffles before turning back to Kate and holding out her arms.
“Obviously she doesn’t hate you at all,” Marc said as Kate took the baby.
Kate wondered if Marc hated her after their interlude last night. Maybe hate was too strong a word, but she doubted he was pleased by her behavior. She couldn’t worry about that now. She had too much to do.
Kate swiped the downy blond hair away from Cecile’s forehead and planted a kiss there. “She’s a very brave girl. Now I’ll just get her dressed and you can take her home while I work on the test. Hopefully she’ll be ready for a nap.”
“I am most definitely ready for a nap,” Marc said, his off-kilter smile reappearing. “I’m sure you are as well. We could crawl up on the sofa and see what we can find in the way of daytime programming.”
Okay, so maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t all that concerned about what had and hadn’t happened last night. But it would be best for all concerned if they steered clear of that kind of situation from this point forward.
She sent him a cautioning glance. “I think we should avoid the TV at all costs.”
He looked frustrated. “You’re probably right. While you’re dressing Cecile, I’m going to see if Dr. Martine has arrived yet. He’s supposed to be on his way. I’ll be back as soon as possible since it’s getting late. Perhaps we’ll be able to leave undetected.”
“I’ll see you in a while then.”
Marc leaned over to kiss Cecile’s cheek and for the briefest of moments, Kate thought he might kiss her, too. Instead, he turned away and quickly headed out the door.
Kate rummaged through the bag and withdrew a clean diaper to change Cecile, who wasn’t altogether cooperative. Several times, Kate feared that the little girl might hurl herself off the table before Kate had the diaper secured. After success finally came, Kate pulled her up and began to dress her.
“I wish I had your energy, little one,” she told her when Cecile immediately discarded the sock that Kate had just slipped on her foot. “I just know you’re going to give Beatrice a run for her money today. That is, if I can get you to keep your clothes on.” With effort, she finally managed to secure the rest of the buttons on Cecile’s dress. “But I can’t really blame you. Right now, I’d really like to get out of these slacks and shoes and take a long, hot bath.”
“Do you need any assistance?”
The hairs on Kate’s neck stood at attention when recognition dawned. She glanced over her shoulder to confirm her fears and found Renault leaning in the doorway with all the cockiness of a twenty-year-old jock—and only half the height and body. His sparse blond hair was slicked back, his beady brown eyes focused on the baby. So much for a quick getaway.
Kate lifted Cecile into her arms and faced the jerk, trying to affect calm when her mind was struggling to come up with an explanation. “Good morning, Dr. Renault. I wasn’t expecting you so early.”
“Nor I you.” He moved closer and surveyed Cecile. “I’ve been told you would not assume your duties until tomorrow.”
Evasion was probably her best line of defense, Kate decided. “That’s correct.”
“Yet you’re examining this child.”
“Yes.”
“I did not see anyone in the waiting room. Does she have parents?”
“Of course she has parents. Didn’t they teach you in medical school that those old folktales about storks and cabbage patches aren’t true?”
Renault’s smile was cynical. “I assure you, Dr. Milner, I know all the workings of procreation. You have still not answered my question. To whom does this child belong?”
Think quick, Kate. “Actually, she belongs to me.”
Renault raised one bushy eyebrow. “Martine did not mention you have a child.”
“Well, I do, and this is her. Cecile.”
He stroked his pointy chin. “Ah, Cecile. A very fine French name. Is your husband French?”
“I don’t have a husband.” And that wasn’t a lie.
“The baby’s father, then?”
“He’s not in the picture.” An understatement in the first order.
Renault gave Kate a slimy visual once-over, fitting for a human slug. “I must say, you are in very fine shape given the age of this child. I admire you for that. In fact, I admire everything about you.”
Kate resisted telling him where to stuff his admiration. “Thank you.” She had to get away before he asked more questions. “I really need to get her home for her morning nap. But first, I have a few tests I need to run.”
“Is she ill?”
“No. Just routine labs.”
“I would be more than happy to assist you.”
“I believe Dr. Milner is quite capable of working alone, Renault.”
Kate turned to see Marc sporting a look that could wither the overhead light.
Renault didn’t look the least bit concerned over Marc’s presence or his sharp tone. “I am most certain, Your Highness, Dr. Milner is quite capable in all that she endeavors. I was simply trying to be accommodating.”
Marc balled his hands into fists at his sides. “She doesn’t need your assistance, I assure you.”
Renault turned back to Kate, bowed slightly and kissed Cecile’s hand. “You are a lovely girl, Cecile.”
Kate wanted to cheer when Cecile pulled her hand away and hid her face against Kate’s shoulder. Either she had stranger phobia or good instincts. Kate assumed the latter, considering she had taken to Kate, Marc and his mother without hesitation.
Before Renault passed Marc at the door, Marc told him, “You will practice the utmost in decorum where Dr. Milner is concerned or you will answer to me. Is that clear?”
Renault sent Kate a lecherous glance, then glared at Marc. “Quite clear, Your Majesty. I do not intend to tread on another man’s territory.”
With that, he was gone and Marc looked as if he could blow a fuse when he faced Kate again. “Did he do anything inappropriate?” he demanded.
Kate considered telling him about Renault’s intimations but decided to wait until later when she was assured they were alone. “His kind are a dime a dozen and I know how to handle them.”
“And you will tell me if he is the least bit out of line.” It wasn’t a request.
“I promise I’ll tell you if I have to hurt him.” She handed Marc the baby and smiled. “Now you go with your…king, Cecile, and I’ll be back later today.” She kissed the baby’s cheek one last time and reined in her urge to do the same to Marc. “Be a good girl, sweetie. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’m certain she’ll look forward to your return.” Marc leaned toward Kate’s ear and whispered, “And so will I, so hurry.”
Then Marc left the room, leaving Kate standing alone in a state of confusion. Couldn’t Marc make up his mind? He was making her head spin with his no-we-can’t and yes-we-will attitude. He did want her; that was becoming apparent to Kate each time they were together. Yet he kept saying he couldn’t have her. But if Marc’s resistance completely waned, how far would she allow things to go, since she recognized it wouldn’t be more than a fling? Did she dare make love with him?
Yes. No question about it. She wasn’t looking for a knight’s rescue, only a night of incredible lovemaking. A little adventure. She wanted to experience true freedom in his arms without worrying about pleasing anyone aside from herself—and Marc DeLoria.
She shivered thinking about it, thinking about him, thinking about all the ways he could take her places she’d never been before.
Imagine that, making love with a king. Now if only the king would cooperate.
