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

Marc did not need to imagine her in the bath, but he did—in great detail, right down to the curve of her hip, the shading between her thighs, the roundness of her breasts where his gaze now came to rest.

Kate pointed to a dark smudge above her right breast. “Strained peas. Little Cecile is a healthy eater but she loves to toss food. Her aim is pretty darned good.”

Marc reached for a lock of Kate’s dark hair. “Yes, I do believe I see a few remnants here.”

As he twined the soft strands in his fingers, their gazes remained fixed as Kate said, “I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”

Marc needed something from her now—although he couldn’t act on that need. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “I will personally see to your return. I’ll drive you myself.”

Her expression reflected wariness. “Are you sure? You look pretty beat.”

“I promise I will stay awake long enough to make certain you are delivered safely to your room.”

And he promised himself that he would leave her at the door because if he did not, he would find it very difficult to leave her at all tonight.

Three

A cool breeze whipped over Kate’s face as they traveled the darkened streets of St. Simone in Marc’s classic convertible chick magnet. No slick, mean, manly machine had ever turned her head. She preferred comfortable sedans and comfortable shoes, which reminded her of the less-than-comfortable pumps squeezing her feet like a sadistic vise. She was tempted to kick them off but thought it best to leave on all articles of clothing, in case Marc got the wrong idea.

Like she would really try to seduce him in her current state. Her suit was wrinkled, her hair was a mess and her bra cut into her like steel fingers. Whoever invented push-up braziers should be bound at the wrists and ankles by underwire for at least forty-eight hours.

And Marc, with his suave sophistication and the wind blowing his golden hair away from his face, could easily pass as a sexy super spy like James Bond. Kate could be his girl of the month and sidekick, Roadkill. Yeah, he would definitely be interested in that scenario.

Marc pulled up to the curb in front of the inn and put the car in park. They were immediately joined by two other black vehicles, one in front, one in back.

Marc glanced in the rearview mirror and muttered, “For once, I wish they would leave me the hell alone.”

“I’m sure they’re only concerned for your safety.”

“I seriously doubt any dissidents are waiting inside the hotel on the off chance that I might pay a visit in the middle of the night. They seem to forget that for most of my adult life, I’ve seen to my own welfare.”

“But that was before you were king.”

“And that seems like decades ago.” He shifted in the seat to face her. “I want to thank you again, Kate.”

She dislodged the rest of her wind-blown hair from her face and stared at him. “You’re welcome, but I didn’t really do anything.”

“Don’t underestimate your assistance. I’m not certain my mother would have managed the situation quite as well had you not been there.”

Kate noted the weariness in his tone and in his eyes. “What do you think will happen now? With the baby, I mean.”

“Right now, I’m too bloody tired to worry about it.” He brushed one stubborn strand of hair away from her face. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, too, although you look very beautiful at the moment.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m very serious.”

That dog don’t hunt, Kate thought, her grandfather’s favorite saying. She would do well to remember that Marc DeLoria was a master of seduction, and obviously desperate if he considered her beautiful when she was sporting the results of wind-wrecked hair and an infantile food fight.

Desperate? Ha! His little black book was probably as big as her Physicians’ Desk Reference. In fact, he’d probably utilized this very hotel for clandestine affairs.

“I’ve never been at this inn before,” he said, as if challenging her assumption.

Kate studied the red brick building’s facade and the flower boxes framing the windows to avoid his continued scrutiny. “It has old-world charm, Your Highness.” Marc wasn’t suffering in the charm department, either.

“Kate, as long as we’re in private, you may call me Marc.”

Her gaze snapped from the building to him. “What if I slip up at some point in time?”

He grinned, revealing his drop-dead gorgeous dimples. “Then it’s off with your head.”

Kate circled her hands around her throat. “Maybe I should just stick to Your Highness. Hard to treat patients without a head.”

He looked suddenly solemn. “Seriously, I would appreciate you calling me Marc. I could use a friend.”

She could use some strength. “Okay, Marc. I’ll be your friend.”

“Thank you.”

He looked so appreciative, so sincere, so darned sexy that Kate had the strongest urge to lean over and kiss him senseless.

Party’s over.

Kate needed to go upstairs, take a bath and crawl into bed. Alone. Before she did something really stupid, like convince herself that he might actually find her desirable not only as a friend, but also as a lover. How absurd. “Thanks for the ride. I can manage from here.”

“Nonsense.” He moved with the speed of a cougar as he slid out of the car and rounded the hood before she even had a chance to draw a breath.

Kate stared at him when he opened her door, afraid to move, to speak.

“Well?” he asked. “What are you waiting for?”

Her pulse to return to normal. “Really, I can see myself in.”

His grin outshone the moon. “And disobey the king?”

“Since you put it that way, I guess I’ll have to submit or risk the gallows.”

Obviously she had already lost her head for letting him escort her. Only to the lobby, she reminded herself. She would say goodbye then go upstairs alone.

Marc followed Kate into the red-carpeted vestibule absent of people except for the forty-something man sitting behind the registration desk, looking totally disinterested in the king and his entourage’s sudden arrival. Had Marc told her the truth, or was his appearance at the inn a common occurrence?

She was too worn out to contemplate that now. She needed sleep. When she turned to dismiss Marc, he asked, “Do you have your room key?”

She fumbled in her bag, withdrew the key and held it up. “Right here, so I’m all set. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He took the key from her hand, easy as pie. “I’ll see you to your room.”

Of all the sneaky sovereigns. Maybe she should summon a bodyguard for her own protection. Not that Marc seemed like the kind to do her bodily harm. But he could certainly do things to her body that she’d never before experienced, that much she knew. He’d been doing it all day without even touching her.