The Marine and The Princess. Cathie Linz
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a dirty word.
“Sweatpants and a sweatshirt.” He held them out for her. They were navy blue. Seeing that she made no effort to take them from him, he added, “They’re clean. I washed them before I packed them.”
“How reassuring. What’s that lump on the sweatshirt?”
“It’s a hood. We’ll put a baseball cap on your head, maybe add a flannel shirt, and presto, you’re no longer a princess.”
“No, I’m dressed like a bum.”
“Listen, Princess, we’re not aiming for any fashion awards,” he growled. “Our goal is to get out of here without being noticed.”
“And you don’t think someone dressed so disreputably in such an elite hotel isn’t going to garner attention?”
She had a point. Mark wasn’t pleased to have to admit that. He hadn’t been thinking clearly since he’d seen her in those skintight jeans. “All right. So wear the jeans and the T-shirt Celeste got from the gift shop.”
“You said I looked fat in those jeans.”
He gave her a startled look. “I did not.”
“You said, and I quote you here, that the jeans were ‘tight fitting.”’
“Yeah. So?”
“So that means I’m too fat for them.”
He rolled his eyes. “It means that you looked too good in them.”
“That’s not how it sounded to me.”
“Look, I’m not going to stand here and debate the issue with you.” He tossed the discarded T-shirt at her. “Put this back on along with the jeans and this sweatshirt. And tuck your hair under this Yankees baseball cap.”
“You’re a baseball fan?”
“Of course. I suppose you prefer cricket or polo maybe?”
“Actually I love basketball, but the NBA hasn’t been the same since Michael Jordan retired.” She had the pleasure of seeing his startled expression before she closed the bathroom door.
Vanessa did the best she could with what she had in hand. She’d discarded her jewelry but felt naked with nothing around her neck, so she put on the St. Christopher medal her mother had given her when she was a child. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. Which was a good thing, right? Anton, her security guard, wouldn’t recognize her either then.
Vanessa definitely wouldn’t win any fashion contests. She’d deliberately omitted her normal beauty routine and had opted for a natural-colored lipstick as her only makeup.
Opening the bathroom door, she informed Mark, “This is my final outfit. I’m not changing clothes again.”
“You’ll do.” Holding out his hand, he said, “Let’s go. I believe you mentioned something about a fast-food restaurant on that list of yours. You feel like eating tacos or burgers?”
“What about clothes? I can’t walk out of here with the things on my back and nothing else.”
His hand dropped to his side and his mocking smile returned. “Of course you can’t. Why don’t we pack up the royal luggage, and then we’ll go to Burger King?”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“Then stop being ridiculous. I already put some of your stuff in my bag. The more you carry the harder it is to slip out unnoticed.”
“You touched my things?”
She made him sound like a pervert who’d been pawing through her lingerie drawer. He was just following orders here. “Look, all I did was take some necessary items of clothing.”
“Show me.”
“Fine.” He yanked the zip open on his duffel bag and showed her what he’d packed.
“That won’t do.” She pulled out the sheer pink underwear and silk shirt. Marching over to the dresser, she proceeded to select other lingerie.
“We don’t have all day,” he growled.
She hesitated, still distracted by the thought of him touching her most intimate apparel. The image made her hot all over.
In the end, Vanessa wasn’t sure what she stuffed into his duffel bag, it certainly wasn’t much. Some sensible underwear, a few tops. She decided she could buy the rest. She had some American money with her.
“Are you ready, Princess?” he inquired mockingly.
“Yes, Captain, I am. Are you?”
“A Marine is always ready for whatever comes,” Mark automatically stated, but inside he was thinking that this mission was already turning out to be far more complicated than he’d anticipated.
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