The Royal Wager: Persuading the Playboy King / Unmasking the Maverick Prince / Daring the Dynamic Sheikh

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.