The Marine & The Princess

by Cathie Linz

  She looked at him blankly. “Exercise clothes?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Shorts and a T-shirt. Something like that.”

  “I don’t own anything like that. I do have a dance leotard.”

  “I guess that will have to do.” He wasn’t quite sure exactly what a dance leotard looked like, but surely it was like something the women wore in a gym. “Put that on.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to show you some moves.”

  “Dance moves?” she asked.

  Mark shuddered. “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Then what?”

  Instead of answering, he said, “Get in that shower and get changed. We don’t have all day.”

  Twenty minutes later she stood on the bathroom threshold and announced, “I’m ready.”

  Mark turned. He wasn’t ready for the slam of awareness that hit him midsection. The black leotard fit her like a second skin, outlining the curve of her breasts. She even had black ballet slippers on her dainty feet.

  She looked ready for a performance of Swan Lake, not the mini–boot camp he had planned for her.

  “Right.” He had to pause and clear his throat. It felt as if he’d swallowed his tongue when he’d first seen her. “Okay, Princess—”

  “I told you to call me Vanessa,” she reminded him, gliding over to him.

  Where did she learn to walk like that? he wondered irritably. In princess school?

  Whatever lessons she’d learned in her royal life, he was about to teach her some hard facts. Life was tough. She had to be tougher.

  He didn’t have much time to bring her up to scratch.

  First he had to assess her physical fitness.

  “How many push-ups can you do?” he barked out.

  She was clearly startled by his question. “I have no idea.”

  “How fast can you run a mile?” Her blank look was answer enough. “What about your exercise routine?” he continued. “Don’t you have a personal trainer or something?”

  “I’m too busy for that sort of thing,” she said with a little wave of her hand.

  “Too busy doing your princess thing,” he scoffed. “Right. Well, let me warn you, Princess, those Cinderella glass slippers of yours are liable to get broken in the real world. And you’ve got to be prepared for that. Now sit down and put your elbow on this table.”

  “One does not put one’s elbows on a table,” she informed him before sitting down.

  “One does if one is arm wrestling. Here, put your elbow on the table and bend your arm like this.” He showed her. “Now grip my hand and try to push my arm over.”

  She frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “To show me how strong you are.”

  “Why do I have to be strong? I thought that was your job.”

  “I might need you as backup,” he said mockingly.

  She took him seriously. “Oh, I see.” She blinked at him and leaned forward, thereby revealing an awesome amount of cleavage.

  While his eyes were glued to her breasts, she adroitly shoved his arm almost to the table before he realized what she was up to. The little tease!

  He recovered quickly and had her arm down in a flash. Tugging her to her feet a moment later, he began his next spiel. “I plan on teaching you some basic self-defense moves. If someone should grab you from behind like this—” He put his arms around Vanessa, pinning her arms to her sides. “I’m going to show you how you should respond.” He released her to move in front of her. “Now you put your arms around me as I just did you.”

  She did as he ordered.

  A thrill of forbidden excitement shot through her. Royal protocol precluded a princess from getting up close and personal with a U.S. Marine. Or with any other man, for that matter, unless his bloodlines were as pedigreed as her own and the man had been approved by her father.

  Once, back when she was three or four, she’d left the opening of a new school in her country’s capital city of St. Kristoff where she’d been expected to stand still like a dutiful little princess. But she’d sneaked off to the playground where the other children had been playing tag. She’d envied the children their laughter and had wanted to join in the fun.

  Instead, she’d stumbled over her own feet and had tumbled into the grass.

  Looking up, she’d seen her father standing in the doorway to the school, a frown and a look of intense disappointment on his face.

  “Stand up and stop being such a wild child,” he’d ordered her. “A princess never cries.”

  She’d tried for years not to disappoint him, but had never quite succeeded in silencing that secret inner little girl that wanted to play tag. The truth was, she was still a wild child at heart. And standing there with her arms around Mark made her feel gloriously alive for the first time in years.

  Unaware of the memories streaking through her mind, Mark continued giving orders in his brisk Marine voice. “There are several ways to respond to an attack from the rear like this. You can stomp your attacker’s foot. You can perform a shin scrape with the heel of your shoe. Or you can bend your knee for a backward kick to the groin with your heel. Do you understand those moves?”

  “Yes.” She understood them but was distracted by her body pressed against his, spoon fashion. She was tall for a princess. The term gangly had been applied to her more than once. “Vertical Vanessa” was another one the European tabloids had used. But Mark was taller by several inches. He had to be over six foot.

  While she was debating his height, Mark was moving on to the next segment. “Most attacks against women come from the front. Either the choke or the slap. To protect yourself from the slap, you put your forearm up like this.” He illustrated. “Now put your hands around my throat as if you were going to choke me.”

  When she hesitated, he said, “Just think how aggravated you were with me when I called your plans lame.”

  Nodding, she reached out. His skin was warm beneath her fingers. She could feel his Adam’s apple against her thumbs.

  “The proper response to a choke hold is to push your attacker’s pinkies away from you,” he said, bending her fingers back, gently enough not to hurt her but firmly enough for her to see how such a move done vigorously would cause a surprising amount of pain.

  “Think you got that?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She’d also gotten all hot and bothered by all this close body contact. Her cheeks felt flushed, and her forehead was damp with sweat. A princess was never allowed to sweat. Not even on a state visit to India in a hundred-and-ten-degree heat. She’d almost passed out on that visit, but she hadn’t. And she hadn’t visibly sweated. Until now.

  Excitement shot through her, heating her skin wherever they touched. A new kind of chemistry sizzled between them, a male-female chemistry that was sexy and intense.

  “Good.”

  “Mmm, good.” She had no idea what he was talking about. She felt all dreamy and distracted.

  “But sometimes, Princess—” He snared her in his arms, flashed a devilishly sexy smile at her and then lowered his head until his lips almost brushed hers as he spoke. “Sometimes your attacker might use a more devious approach. Will you be prepared for that? Will you be prepared for this?”

  Before she could think, his mouth captured hers.

  Chapter Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

  And then it was all over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Who the hell is Olga?” Mark demanded.

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

  “You could have told me that.”

  “You could have asked me,” she retorted.

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

  “Brain fever,” Mark muttered under his breath.

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

  The doctor opened his black bag and removed a stethoscope.

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

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

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

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

  “The doc owes me a favor,” Mark said.

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

  “Aside from a stubborn nature, you mean.”

  She ignored Mark’s comment.

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

  “Have you known Mark long?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “And your appetite?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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