A Royal Wager. Kristi Gold
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stupid reason, she did.
Glossing over the moment, Kate turned around and propped her elbows on the counter, her palms supporting her jaws. “Are you sure I can’t help you with something? I feel so useless, just standing here looking beautiful.”
His smile finally reappeared. “Can you melt butter?”
She was melting every time he flashed his dimples. “Yes, I can do that. How much?”
He took a large wooden spoon from a ceramic container, scooped a large chunk of butter from the block then handed it to Kate. “Put this in the pan and watch it for a moment to make sure it doesn’t burn.”
Kate took her place at the stove and slapped the butter into the already heated pan. It sizzled just like the blood in her veins when Marc came up behind her and added the strawberries and brown sugar, his solid arms forming a frame around her.
“Stir that, please.” His warm breath caressed her neck.
“Stir it,” she repeated as if the instructions might be too complex. How ridiculous was that? She’d been through med school, for heaven’s sake. She could cook a few strawberries.
Marc went away for a time and she glanced at him now and then over her shoulder while he mixed whipped cream in a bowl. He returned to the stove with a ladle filled with a clear liquid. Some kind of liqueur, Kate presumed, considering the pungent aroma. Again he stood behind her as he heated the ladle over another burner for a few seconds before igniting it with a gold lighter. The flame rose from the ladle then spread over the strawberry mixture like a blue blanket as Marc poured it into the pan. The flame quietly died away, but the fire spreading through Kate when Marc’s hand came to rest on her waist singed her through and through.
“Now what?” she asked, surprised she had recovered her voice.
“We wait until the alcohol burns for a while.”
Marc’s voice, the heat radiating from his body so close to hers, acted on Kate as if she’d consumed the entire bottle of liqueur. She leaned back against him for support and his arms came around her, strong and inviting. Then he slowly turned her around in those solid arms until she was facing him.
Again Kate witnessed the indecision warring in his eyes, but this time she also saw desire win out before he cradled her jaw in his palms, then touched his mouth to hers. Yet he only brushed her lips with tempered, chaste kisses, drawing back each time until she thought she might go crazy. She wasn’t sure if it was uncertainty on Marc’s part or if he was waiting for her to make the next move. The need to know how it would feel to have him kiss her completely drove Kate to clasp his nape and pull his mouth full against hers to finally have what she craved.
Although she had imagined Marc’s kiss, although she’d thought she was ready, Kate soon realized she’d been totally deceiving herself. Skill wasn’t an adequate enough word to describe Marc DeLoria’s expertise. Never before had she been kissed so softly yet so thoroughly. He used his tongue like a feather, invading her mouth with fine strokes without being at all intrusive. And Kate felt it down to her knees and lower.
He pulled her against him and slid his hand down her back to her hips. She realized the result of this spontaneous kiss when Marc pressed against her, showing Kate up front that he was very affected. And so was she.
After abruptly breaking the kiss, Marc took a step back, rubbed a hand over his jaw and exhaled a long breath. “My apologies, Kate. Something about you standing at the stove made me forget myself.”
Kate wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted. She was, however, very winded and very warm. “Oh, so do you have one of those French maid fantasies or do you just prefer the domestic type?”
His expression turned serious. “I have to remember that nothing has changed since I left you at your hotel door. We really can’t be doing this.”
“We just did.”
“I know, and it shouldn’t happen again.”
Kate couldn’t stop her smile when she realized he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself it wouldn’t happen again. “Then I guess we should avoid kitchens if seeing a woman standing at the stove turns you on.”
He smiled reluctantly. “You’re probably right, and I believe the strawberries are done now.”
Obviously, so were they, Kate decided.
Marc assembled the crepes and placed them on plates while Kate looked on, still reeling from the kiss. She had to hand it to Marc, he had an iron will. Or maybe he was just being nice to her. But she hadn’t seen nice in his expression when she’d been in his arms. She’d seen want, maybe even need. And her thoughts at that moment wouldn’t qualify as nice, either. But from this point forward, she would probably have to settle for just that single memory.
They carried the dessert into a comfortable den with a cushy tweed couch and a fireplace in the corner. Marc set his plate on the coffee table in front of the sofa and settled beside Kate.
Kate waited for him to take the first bite, but instead he cut into one of her crepes and held it to her lips. “Your first sample.”
She slid the crepe into her mouth and savored the flavors of strawberries, whipped cream and sugar; the delicate crepe practically dissolved in her mouth. “This is almost sinful.”
His eyes held fast to hers. “That would depend on your definition of sin.”
“Calories,” she added after she swallowed another bite. “And carbs, especially when they take up residence on your thighs.”
His gaze drifted to her thighs, then traveled slowly back up again to her face. “I doubt that you need to worry about that.”
“From your mouth to my metabolism’s ear.”
“I hope you’ll put away all your concerns and simply enjoy.”
Kate did as Marc asked and ate every last bite of the crepes, all the while wondering if Marc’s comment about sinful behavior went beyond indulging in dessert. But she didn’t dare hope, didn’t dare consider anything more than spending time with him as a friend.
After they both finished, Marc grabbed the remote control and snapped on the television positioned in the entertainment center. He flipped through the channels, pausing at one nature program heralding the mating habits of the mongoose. With a groan, he changed the channel to a French-speaking movie where two people seemed engaged in a battle of wills.
After tossing the remote back on the table, he leaned back against the couch. “Not much variety this time of the night, so I suppose we’ll have to settle for this. Unless you’re ready for bed.”
Kate assumed he’d meant alone and right now that didn’t float her boat. “Funny, I’m not all that tired, although I probably should be.”
“Then perhaps this movie will put you to sleep.”
“It could, since I have no idea what they’re saying.”
Marc draped his arm over the back of the sofa, only a few inches separating their bodies. “The man’s name is Jean-Michel and he’s telling the woman, Genevieve, that he must leave her since he belongs to another.”
“The cad. What did she say to that?”
“She says Tu me veux. Je te défie de me dire que je me suis trompée. She claims he wants her and she’s daring him to deny it.”
Hearing Marc speaking in French in a low, husky voice blanketed Kate in chills. She glanced at him and realized he’d moved much closer, rekindling the fire that had been smoldering deep within her all evening. “Is he denying it?”
Marc’s gaze drifted to her mouth. “C’est impossible. It’s impossible for him to deny that he wants her.”
The conviction in Marc’s voice, the heat in his eyes, fed Kate’s optimism that he was speaking