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

His eyes seemed to grow even darker, effectively dispensing the last of Kate’s calm. “Yes.”

“I imagine you’re probably very good at everything you do.” Imagined it in great detail, she did. “Aside from biology, that is.”

“I would imagine the same applies to you, Kate, considering how well you handled me during that first year.” She made a shaky one-handed sweep through her hair. “Funny, I don’t remember handling you at all.”

He assumed an almost insolent posture, his gaze now centered on her lap where she ran her fingertips up and down her purse strap. “Well, if you had literally handled me, I would not have forgotten, I assure you.”

If he only knew how many times she’d imagined “handling” him in her wildest fantasies. How many times she had imagined this moment when they were again face-to-face. How strongly she was reacting to him on a very primal level.

Following a brief span of tense silence, reality finally drilled its way into Kate’s psyche. She could not let him get to her again. Not this time. All those years ago, she had fallen hopelessly in love with him, knowing he could never feel the same—a mistake she didn’t dare repeat.

But that was then, and this was now. She had matured beyond the point of having puppy-love crushes on unattainable men. She had only fond feelings for Marc DeLoria.

Okay, maybe fond wasn’t a good assessment. She was unequivocally ready to jump his aristocratic bones. But she wouldn’t.

Marc DeLoria was a dynamic king, a magnetic man. And from all news accounts, he was also a rounder, a rogue and one of the world’s most notorious playboys. She needed to remember that—even if she was still seriously attracted to him, whether she wanted to be or not.

Kate tried to appear nonchalant when her overheated body was anything but unfazed by his continued perusal. “Anything else you need to know about me?”

“There is something I would like to do with you, if you’re not too tired from your trip.”

Her heart rate did double time. “What would that be?”

“Show you the hospital, as soon as I change into something more appropriate.”

Darn. For a split second, Kate had hoped he was going to propose something more exciting. “I would really like to see the facilities.”

“And I see no reason why the position could not be yours if you so choose.”

She frowned. “Just like that?”

He rubbed a hand along his shaded jaw. “Frankly, you’ve already been highly recommended by the hospital’s administrator. Our meeting is only a formality.”

“I’ll definitely consider your offer,” she said. “But first I’d like to take a look around and make sure it’s the right place for me.”

“Speaking of that, do you have a place to stay?”

“I have a room at the St. Simone Inn.”

“You should stay at the palace as our guest. You would be much more comfortable here.”

No, she wouldn’t. Not with him occupying the same castle, even if it did have a hundred rooms, which she suspected it did. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I would prefer the inn.”

“Please let me know if you change your mind.” His voice had the appeal of hot buttered rum, rich and warm going down.

“I sure will.” Her voice sounded a little too down-home with a too-high pitch.

After a brief knock, a stout, gray-haired woman breezed into the room with a tray of tea and cookies. She kept her eyes averted as she served Kate first.

Marc declined the tea, but after the woman retreated, he took one of the treats and held it to her lips. “Try the rollitos. They’re Spanish cookies, one of my two favorite indulgences.”

She wasn’t sure she could swallow. “Really? What would the other be?”

Marc’s smile arrived slowly but it quickly impacted Kate’s control at the first sign of his deep dimples. “A person should be allowed to have a few secrets, Kate. Even a king.”

Kate bit into the cookie but she didn’t taste a thing. Considering Marc’s overt sensuality, she suspected he had a lot of secrets. She also suspected his other favorite indulgence had nothing to do with food and everything to do with his desires as a man. A man who was much too tempting for his own good. For Kate’s own good.

Since his days at Harvard, Marcel DeLoria had spent almost eight years seeing the world and its wonders. For the past nine months, he had seen what it was like to have every molecule of his character examined as if he’d been placed under a high-powered microscope, not on the proverbial throne. But in all his experiences, he had never seen anything quite as surprising as the woman sitting across from him in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce.

Years before, he’d known her as a shy, intelligent student who had hidden behind too-big clothing and owl-like glasses, not the confident, stylish woman she had become. He admired her self-assurance as much as her physical conversion. And he definitely needed to quit admiring her altogether lest she catch him in the act.

As they continued through St. Simone en route to the hospital, Marc turned his attention to the quaint, colorful shops lining the cobblestoned streets. Streets practically void of automobile traffic, yet heavy with tourists and locals who had stopped to watch the motorcade pass. Would he ever grow accustomed to such spectacle? Probably not.

At times, he longed to walk among the villagers as an ordinary man, stop by the bakery and pick up his second-favorite indulgence—in terms of food—éclairs. At times, he craved putting on his old college sweatshirt and jeans to join in a game of rugby with the local team. At times, he wished he had never been born into royalty.

“This town is incredible, Your Highness.”

The soft lilt of Kate’s voice brought his attention back to her, brought to mind more of Marc’s recollections of their time together. He remembered being enamored of its quiet charm—a southern accent, she had once told him. But he had never viewed her as more than a friend. And somewhat of a savior. Had it not been for her, he might never have finished that first grueling year at Harvard.

She pointed out the window. “What’s that building over there?”

Against his better judgment, Marc moved to the seat beside her, maintaining a somewhat comfortable distance. “That is St. Simone Cathedral. My parents were married there.”

She turned her incredible green eyes on his. “It’s beautiful, all that stained glass.”

“I tend to take the village for granted,” he told her, striving for casual conversation when what he wanted to do with his mouth had nothing to do with talking.

“I guess that’s understandable,” she said. “Beauty is easy to overlook if you face it on a daily basis.”

When she turned back to the window, Marc decided she was very beautiful as well. He supposed many would view her as merely cute, with her upturned nose, graced with a slight spattering of freckles, her rounded face, not the more striking, sharper features common among what some considered the world’s greatest beauties. But her large eyes—a near match in color to the pines blanketing the Pyrenees—and her chestnut hair falling about her shoulders, were very pleasing attributes, in his opinion.

Although he tried to tear his gaze away from her, Marc found himself taking another visual excursion. The tailored lavender silk suit she wore fit her to prime perfection, showcasing a pair of elegant legs that would garner any man’s attention. She was relatively small—small hands, small feet and best he could tell, not endowed with ample curves or breasts. But he’d always believed that some of the best things in life came in small parcels. He imagined Kate was no exception.

Even though he shouldn’t, he saw her as attractive woman that he would like to know much better. Perhaps eventually in the tangle of warm satin sheets—not in the cold confines of a college laboratory. But that was impossible.

As much as the man in Marc desired Kate Milner, the king that he had become prevented him from acting on that desire. He must remain strong in light of his need to be taken seriously as his country’s leader.

Still, it would be very easy to press the button on the console, raise the windowed partition separating them from the driver and Nicholas, and allow some privacy away from prying eyes.

A fantasy assaulted him then, sharp as shattered glass—images of sliding his mouth up her delicate throat, working his way to her lips and engaging her in a provocative kiss. In his mind, Kate would be receptive to his affections, encouraging him onward as he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her skirt, moving up, up until he touched her, first through damp silk, then beneath the barrier so he could experience her heat. He would tempt her with his fingers, tantalize her with his mouth and endeavor to make her moan, make her want him inside her. He would gladly comply without regard to who he was or where he was. Without consideration of the consequences. He would make love to her until they were both sated, if only temporarily…

The vehicle came to an abrupt halt, effectively splintering the images but not the results of Marc’s journey into a wicked fantasy. He was hard as slate below his belt and could do nothing to hide his predicament short of grabbing a handful of ice from the built-in bar and shoving it into his lap. He only hoped that Kate would not notice before he had a chance to compose himself, and that his dress coat would amply conceal his sins once they exited the car.

Marc straightened his shoulders and assumed his royal demeanor while continuing to battle a strong desire for Kate Milner that made absolutely no sense. He wrote the libidinous stirrings off to a lengthy celibacy—a situation born out of necessity due to his brother’s tragic death that had thrust Marc into the role of reluctant ruler.

He adjusted his tie, tugged at his collar and sent Kate a polite smile. “It seems we have reached our destination.” And not a moment too soon. Otherwise, he might have forgotten who he was and what he lacked—a life he could call his own. A life that had no room for courting women, stealing kisses and touches or forbidden fantasies.

Seeming not to notice his discomfort, Kate glanced out the window at the simple two-story building. “It’s a very nice hospital.”

Marc detected a hint of disappointment in her tone, aiding somewhat in his body’s return to decency. “It’s very small and admittedly somewhat lacking in modern equipment. But I’m determined to remedy that soon.”

Health care was of the utmost importance, not only to Marc but also to his people. Doriana needed better facilities, more doctors. Had the hospital been modernized, Philippe might still be alive, and Marc would still be feeding his wanderlust instead of attempting to prove himself.

Kate offered an understanding smile. “These things take time.”

Marc couldn’t agree more, but he felt as if he were running out of time.

When Nicholas opened the door, Marc took Kate’s hand and helped her from the car. Her slender fingers cradled in his palm spurred another random fantasy that involved another pleasurable touch. How could he continue to be around her and still maintain control?

On sheer willpower alone.

But after Kate slid from the limo and his hand came to rest on her lower back, contacting the delicate dip of her spine encased in silk, Marc’s willpower went the way of the wind, replaced by an instantaneous shock to his senses—one that he had to disregard in order to save face.

He focused on the substantial crowd that had gathered, held at bay by a contingent of bodyguards. As always, he was forced to play the royal role with a regal facade and an official smile. Kate paused at his side when he stopped to shake the hands of a few subjects. The crowd voiced their pleasure with applause and several women pointed, but not at him. They were pointing at Kate, whispering behind their hands.

Marc realized all too late that they mistakenly believed Kate to be his current paramour, understandable since he again had his palm firmly planted on her back.

Marc took a much-needed step away from Kate, but not before he was joined by Dr. Jonathan Renault—resident hospital irritant—who had worked his way through the chaos.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” Renault said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Marc did not trust the man, and even less so when Renault blatantly assessed Kate from forehead to toes. “Good day, Dr. Renault,” he said with strained civility.

When Marc tried to usher Kate away, Renault stopped him cold by saying, “Je voudrais faire la connaissance de votre nouvelle petite amie.”

Petite amie. A direct intimation that Kate was Marc’s mistress. And to add to his total lack of propriety, he’d had the nerve to request an introduction.

In another time, in another place, Marc would have gladly punished the bastard with a slam of a fist into Renault’s prominent jaw. But Marc’s title prevented what would be considered a crude, common act. Crude, yes. Common, yes. Unjustified? Not in Marc’s opinion.

“For your information, Dr. Renault,” Marc began, an intentional trace of venom in his tone, “this is Dr. Katherine Milner. She is a very skilled physician, and quite capable of managing the entire clinic by herself.”

Although Kate looked somewhat confused, Renault didn’t appear at all affected by the pointed comment. Instead, he sent Kate a seamy smile and took her hand. “Enchanté, Dr. Milner. I would be happy to have you join my staff.”

Kate quickly pulled out of his grasp, giving Marc great satisfaction. Obviously she recognized the lecher beneath the lab coat. “Nice to meet you, Doctor,” she said with little enthusiasm.

Renault winked. “And I will look forward to seeing you again.”

With that, he strode away with a self-important lift of his pointy chin and a swaggering gait.

Kate leaned over until her lips were practically resting on Marc’s ear. “What did he say to you?”

“Keep walking.” Marc took her by the elbow and continued on to the hospital entry. Once they were on the steps, he lowered his voice and said, “He suggested we are lovers. A totally absurd assumption, but then Renault is somewhat lacking in restraint.”

Yet Marc wondered if something in his own demeanor, the way he had looked at Kate, the way he’d touched her so casually, had encouraged the speculation, not only in Renault but also in the minds of his people.

If that were the case, he would have to be more careful from this point forward. He could not allow anyone to believe that he had taken Kate Milner as his lover, even if he longed to do that very thing.

Two

An absurd assumption…

Up to that point, Kate had allowed herself to imagine she was a real, live, honest-to-goodness princess greeting royal subjects with her prince, who’d kept touching her as if he wanted everyone to know she was his.

King, she reminded herself. A man who was obviously the object of desire to women of all shapes and sizes. A man who could have his pick among any woman in this village, probably in the world. She would never be among them. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and this particular monarch wasn’t interested in common Kate Milner.

But Dr. Renault had certainly seemed interested, and that consideration made Kate cringe. The guy gave her the creeps.

None of that mattered. She was here on business, not to worry about some dubious doctor with “I want you” written all over his face. Not to get caught up in some overblown for-ever-after fantasy involving a king who thought the idea of being her lover was absurd.

Forcing herself into professional mode, Kate followed behind Marc as they made their way to the hospital’s entrance where two guards remained posted. When they entered the building, she was pleasantly surprised by the modern interior. The practically deserted waiting room, filled with contemporary chairs and tables as well as a television suspended from a stand in the corner near the ceiling, was much larger than she’d expected.

A sign positioned near the elevator written in French and Spanish indicated the location to various units. She knew some Latin, a few basic words in Spanish and only enough French to inquire about restaurants and rest rooms. She had brought along some books and tapes to study. But when treating patients, communication was a must. Maybe she would be making a mistake if she accepted the position, something she would definitely have to consider.

Kate followed Marc to the reception desk, where he presented a polite smile to the pleasant-looking older woman seated behind a computer.

A few moments later, an elderly, distinguished man with thinning gray hair pushed through the double doors to the right of the waiting area. He approached them with a wide smile. “Ah, Doctor Milner, I presume. I am Dr. Louis Martine, chief of medicine. We spoke briefly on the phone when you inquired about the position.”

Kate extended her hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Martine.”

He inclined his head and looked at her quizzically. “You truly have a unique accent.”

Obviously her Deep South roots were still firmly wrapped around her tongue. “It’s southern United States.”

Dr. Martine smiled. “Très charmant to suit a belle femme.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Kate said.

“Very charming to suit a beautiful woman,” Marc supplied, followed by an appreciative look that made Kate shiver.

She felt another blush spreading from her throat to her forehead and tried to will it away. Contacts instead of glasses, a new wardrobe and a good beautician might have changed her outward appearance, but it couldn’t mask the plain, unassuming girl that lived inside. At times she still saw herself as too skinny, too short, too awkward, too lacking in social skills. So what was she doing here, in the presence of royalty?

Ludicrous. She was a doctor, and she’d worked too darned long to let insecurities derail her hard-earned self-confidence.

Marc made a sweeping gesture toward the double doors. “Shall we take the tour now?”

Kate followed Marc and Dr. Martine through a maze of hallways into a place resembling a clinic. This particular waiting room was full of mothers and fathers and children. When she detected the familiar sterile scents, she felt somewhat back in her element and relaxed.

They strode through another door where an attractive brunette nurse with huge blue eyes and large breasts eyed Marc as if he were today’s special at Bennie’s Diner. Marc ignored her furtive glances and guided Kate inside a small office.

“This would be your station should you decide to accept the position,” Marc said.

Kate did a quick visual search and noticed the desk was cluttered with charts and coffee cups. “Whose office is this now?”

“Jonathan Renault, our current family practitioner,” Dr. Martine said. “I’m afraid you will have to share the space with him until we can set up another office for you.”

Oh, joy. Kate was not looking forward to that.

“And I assume you will be seeing to a private office for Dr. Milner immediately, Louis?” Marc stated in a firm tone.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Martine replied. “It shouldn’t take more than a day or two should she decide to join our staff.”

That remained to be seen. Kate had already come upon two very important challenges—the language barrier and the beast named Renault. Three if she considered her attraction to Marc.

Dr. Martine studied the stethoscope dangling from his neck. “Dr. Renault is a good médecin, but I am afraid he is not as interested in his practice and the patients as we would wish him to be.”

Marc frowned. “I would say that is a grave understatement, Louis.” He gave Kate a cynical look. “Renault is much more interested in the female staff. I have put him on notice that if I receive one more complaint, he will have to return to Paris.”

“Oh,” Kate said. “What hours does he work?” If luck prevailed, she could avoid him—if she decided to stay.

“Since the clinic is only open during the day, you would be working together,” Martine said.

No luck there, Kate thought.

“If he becomes unmanageable, inform me,” Marc added. “I will take care of him.”

“I’m sure I can take care of myself,” Kate insisted, mildly insulted that men tended to see women as the weaker sex. She might be small, but she knew where to thrust a knee on a strategic part of the male anatomy.

A rap came at the door and Nurse Lustful entered. She exchanged a few words with Dr. Martine, who then turned to Marc. “You have a call from the palace, Your Majesty. Line one.”

After he uncovered the debris from the desk phone, Marc picked up the receiver. He again spoke words Kate couldn’t begin to understand, but his distress was very apparent in his expression. Once he hung up, he turned to her and said, “We must return to the palace immediately. There’s been an incident.”

A serious incident, Kate presumed. “Should I stay here? Dr. Martine could show me around.”

“I could possibly need your medical expertise.”

Kate’s concern increased. “Has someone been hurt?”

“Not exactly. But it does involve a child.”

With Kate trailing behind him, Marc strode into the palace’s formal parlor to find his mother seated on the settee, holding what appeared to be the reason for his urgent summons.

She nodded at the sleeping infant in her arms and said, “I do hope you can explain this to me, Marcel.”

Explain? “It appears to be a child, Mother.”

She rose with typical grace and laid the baby in Marc’s arms, much to his dismay. “It appears to be your daughter, my son.”

He heard the sound of Kate’s sharp, indrawn breath from behind him. Unfortunately, Marc’s respiration had halted altogether.

Once he’d recovered his voice, he said, “This is not my child.”

The baby chose that moment to lift her head, turn an alarming shade of red and wail at the top of her lungs. Marc had no idea such a small creature could create such a furor. He also had no idea what to do when she began to writhe, except to hold on tightly lest he drop her. The tighter he held her, the more she wrestled and squirmed, arching her back against her confinement.

“Here, let me.” Kate took the baby from him and positioned the child on her shoulder, patting her back. The infant immediately quieted, her sobs turning to sniffs.

Kate had rescued him once again, at least for now. He met his mother’s disapproving expression. “Mother, I have no idea why you would believe this is my child.”

She turned to her attendant, who stood in the corner looking as if she would greatly like to flee. “Beatrice, bring me the note.”

The young woman hurried over and handed her a plain piece of white paper. In turn, his mother handed it to him. “The baby was left at the gate in a pram with a bag full of clothing and bottles. We found this note inside.”

Marc read it silently. The words were English, brief, but to the point.

“Her name is Cecile. She is a DeLoria.”

Shoving the paper into his pocket, he said, “This does not prove a thing. It’s obviously a ruse.”

“Look at her, Marcel.”

Marc turned to the baby now propped on Kate’s hip, occupying herself with the button on Kate’s jacket. True, she had his hair color and blue eyes, but that did not mean she was his. He had been careful to the extreme. He had not been involved with anyone since Elsa Sidleberg—an international supermodel who still graced renowned runways—and that had ended over a year ago. This made no sense whatsoever.

“Again, her appearance proves nothing,” he insisted.

“Nor does it disprove anything,” his mother replied.

Kate stepped forward. “Maybe I can help.”

Marc realized that his mother and Kate had yet to be formally introduced. He supposed his lack of manners was understandable considering the circumstance. “Kate, I present to you the Queen Mother, Mary Elizabeth Darcy DeLoria. Mother, Dr. Kate Milner.”