by Kristi Gold
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 a
n 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?”
