A Royal Wager

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.”

Four

A 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.