A Royal Wager: Persuading the Playboy King / Unmasking the Maverick Prince / Daring the Dynamic Sheikh. KRISTI GOLD
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shouted from the center of crowd.
Where had that come from? She suspected she already knew the answer. Dear Dr. Renault. “Yes, I deny that,” she snapped, then added more sedately, “Before three days ago, when I arrived in Doriana to accept the hospital position, I had not seen King DeLoria in almost a decade.”
The bald guy shoved the recorder close to her mouth. “But are you not staying at the palace with him?”
“I’m staying at the inn.” Kate breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw the Rolls pull up. “I have to go now.”
She tried to shove her way through the crowd, which was larger now, since several villagers and tourists had stopped to check out the commotion. The crush of people seemed to close in on her with every step, threatening to steal her oxygen as she struggled to reach the bottom of the stairs. Then a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, while a contingent of bodyguards moved in and attempted to push the onlookers and press corps away.
Marc.
She’d never been so grateful to see anyone in her life. But she didn’t reach the safety of the car before one man swung around to capture the king on film and, in doing so, whipped his video camera into Kate’s forehead. Her head snapped to one side. Pain shot from the place of impact, bringing tears to her eyes and clouding her vision. Yet she could see well enough to witness Marc drawing back his fist and then landing a punch in the cameraman’s nose, sending the man backward into the arms of two guards.
Marc wrapped his arm around Kate’s shoulder and herded her through the stunned crowd toward the car where Nicholas stood by, holding open the door and sporting a satisfied smile. “Good show, Your Manliness.”
A regular sideshow, Kate thought as Marc ushered her into the car. Only three days spent in this quaint country and she’d already started a riot. Well, she’d wanted some adventure and it looked like she’d gotten it.
Once they were settled into the seat side by side and the door had been closed, Marc leaned forward and told Nicholas, “Take the back route to the palace.” Then he hit a button on the console that raised the smoky tinted glass, concealing the rear seat from the driver’s view.
Marc turned to Kate, a mixture of anger and concern flaring in his cobalt blue eyes. “How badly are you hurt?”
Kate touched her fingertips to her forehead, right above her left eye. The spot was only slightly tender. “I’m okay. I’ll probably just have a bruise for the next few days.”
“I’ll have Louis come to the palace to examine you.”
“I’m a doctor, Marc. Nothing’s cracked. No indentation. Just a bump. I have a very hard head.”
“Obviously. I will have Dr. Martine examine you regardless,” he repeated.
Kate was simply too tired and too rattled to argue. “Suit yourself.”
He shifted in his seat and leveled a serious stare on her. “Why were you not waiting at the service entrance?”
Kate bristled at his severe tone. “I went there first. When I didn’t find Mr. Nicholas, I decided to check the front in case I was wrong about the location. I had no idea I’d be bombarded with questions.”
Marc sighed. “This is my life, Kate. Your connection with me opens you up to scrutiny. What did they ask?”
Kate didn’t want to anger him more, but he deserved to know the truth, at least about the impromptu press conference. She would tell him about Renault’s speculation later. Much later. “They asked about our relationship. Then they insinuated Cecile is our child, yours and mine, if you can believe that.”
Marc reached into the briefcase resting at his side and withdrew a newspaper, then handed it to Kate. “This is where they came up with that theory.”
Kate couldn’t read a word of the print, but the somewhat blurry photograph of the king carrying a baby into the hospital, a woman by his side—in this case Kate—needed no interpretation.
She tossed the paper aside. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
Marc turned away and stared out the window. “It’s enough to raise suspicions. And damn the vulture who took it.”
Kate noticed Marc’s hand resting between them, the bruised and puffy knuckles. She caught his wrist and worked his fingers back and forth, all the while watching Marc’s face for any signs of pain. He just sat there staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight.
“You’re going to have some swelling,” she said. “But I don’t think you’ve done too much damage. I’m not sure I can say the same about the camera guy’s nose, or your reputation.” She sent him a shaky smile. “I can see the headlines now—King Saves Damsel in Distress.”
“And hopefully will not be charged with assault.”
“Can they do that?”
“I’ll have my staff deal with it.”
Kate allowed a few moments of silence before she said, “I’m sorry, Marc. I should have been more careful.”
He pulled his hand from hers as if he couldn’t stand to touch her. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I should have prepared you for this.”
“How would you do that? Teach me Camera Dodging, 101?”
For a moment she thought he might smile. Instead, he streaked both hands down his face then his gaze came to rest on her forehead. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
“I’m positive. Promise.”
Surprisingly, Marc moved closer and settled one arm along the back of the seat. “I would not have forgiven myself, Kate, if something more serious had happened to you. And what did happen was bad enough.”
“It was stupid for me to think that if someone suspected we were more than friends, it wouldn’t really matter.”
He took her hand and twined their fingers together. “It does matter, and I’m the foolish one, Kate.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I have inadvertently involved you in this scandal.” His intense eyes sent Kate’s heart on a marathon. “Because I know I shouldn’t do this, but I’ll be damned if I can help myself.”
Inclining his head, Marc captured her bottom lip between his lips before kissing her deeply, tenderly. His mouth melted into hers like cinnamon candy, a taste she detected on his tongue that played against hers so sweetly, softly.
For a fleeting moment, Kate rationalized that his kiss was a result of his frustration and anger, the means to let off steam and the reason why it continued and grew more passionate with every ticking second. But when he slid his palm down her rib cage, to her hip and then back up again, she couldn’t lay claim to any rationality for either of them. All she recognized at that moment was a heady warmth oozing from every pore and a desire for Marc DeLoria’s full attention that knew no limits.
What else would explain her lack of resistance when he cupped her knee, which was exposed by her skirt that had ridden up to her thighs? What else except a total absence of common sense drove her legs to part in invitation while they were driving in a car? What else could have incited the low moan climbing her throat when he slid his palm beneath the hem of her skirt?
She was very aware of what Marc intended when he kept going until his fingertips hovered at the junction of her thighs. And when he fondled her through the nylon, all thoughts slipped away.
She was growing hotter by the minute, closer and closer to losing it as Marc increased the pressure, both with his mouth firmly joined with hers and his hand working wonders between her thighs. Feeling brazen and bold, she slid her palm up his thigh and to his groin where her fingers contacted the ridge beneath his slacks. She touched him the same way he now touched her, through fabric that created a frustrating obstacle but not enough