A Royal Wager. Kristi GoldЧитать онлайн книгу.
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