“I knew I could count on you. I have to get out of here, or I swear I’ll go crazy!” Vanessa’s voice was unsteady.
“You just stay put,” Prudence said firmly. “Help is on the way.”
Swaying with exhaustion, Vanessa headed straight for bed. She really didn’t feel well. Maybe it was the rubbery chicken served at tonight’s banquet dinner. Or the fact that she hadn’t eaten much in days. Her unhappiness with her life had grown to such monumental proportions that she couldn’t eat or sleep even when she had the time to, which wasn’t very often.
She left a trail of clothing as she aimed for her bed like a battered fighter headed for a safe corner in the boxing ring. Crawling under the covers, she instantly fell asleep plotting her escape.
She woke early the next morning just as the sun was rising. Her body was still beat, but her mind kept racing, preventing her from getting more rest. She needed to perfect her plan. How should she get an actor to pose as a doctor? She’d met George Clooney in Cannes at the film festival last year, maybe he’d be willing to do it for her. He’d sounded so doctorly on that TV show.
Sliding on her silk robe with the royal coat of arms on the breast pocket, she headed for the bathroom, still groggy after only a handful of hours’ sleep.
Opening the door, she was stunned to find U.S. Marine Captain Mark Wilder standing there waiting for her, wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt and looking incredibly dangerous and sexy. “You rang, Princess?” he drawled.
Mark couldn’t believe he was stuck baby-sitting his sister-in-law’s friend. So what if she was a princess?
He could have said no, he supposed. But Prudence had sounded so frantic and then his brother Joe had gotten on the line, and the next thing Mark knew, he’d agreed to fly up here to New York City to rescue Vanessa.
The ironic thing was that half an hour later he’d been ordered by his commanding officer to do the very same thing—to provide protection and security, among other things, for said princess. Without her knowledge of the true purpose of his mission.
While briefing him, his commanding officer had provided an entirely different picture of Princess Vanessa Alexandria Maria Teresa Von Volzemburg. Spoiled rich girl bored with her fancy life. She was driving her devoted father, who happened to be a valuable U.S. ally, crazy.
At the moment, Mark could see how she could easily drive a guy crazy. She looked great wearing a purple silk robe that showed plenty of cleavage. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing a bridesmaid dress at Prudence and Joe’s wedding nine months ago. He’d noticed her then. But she hadn’t seemed to notice him, going out of her way to be friendly to everyone else attending that wedding while totally ignoring him.
Her behavior had irked him, Mark was willing to admit that. When he’d first seen her, he’d immediately noted Vanessa’s resemblance to Grace Kelly—the same cool blond looks, same regal bearing. But Vanessa possessed exotically tilted eyes that flashed with green fire. And her lips weren’t classy, they were downright lush and full. She had the kind of mouth that made a guy think wicked thoughts and the kind of body that did the same.
She wasn’t model skinny. She definitely had curves. In all the right places. He liked that in a woman. He wasn’t so sure he liked it in a princess. Made her too damn tempting.
“What are you doing in my bathroom?” she demanded, her voice an expression of picture-perfect princess outrage. Even her bare toes, painted pink, were curled in a display of feminine affront.
Mark couldn’t believe he’d attended Marine Corps Officer Candidate School to end up here—playing bodyguard to a princess. The things he did for his family. And his country.
“You want me to leave?” He moved as if to depart.
She reached out a hand to halt him. “No, I…you just surprised me, that’s all.”
“Didn’t Prudence tell you I was coming?”
“She told me she had a Marine in mind, yes. I just didn’t expect you here so quickly. Or to find you in here.” She waved a hand around the elegantly designed bathroom. “How did you get in without my security guard seeing you?”
“I’m an officer in the United States Marine Corps. I’ve also trained with Force Recon, the Marines’ elite reconnaissance unit,” he informed her. “I know how to avoid detection, Princess.”
“I want you to treat me normally,” she told him, but in a princess-to-peon tone of voice that irked him no end. “You may call me Vanessa.”
“And you may call me Captain,” he retorted.
“I shall call you Mark,” she stated, ignoring his sarcastic comment. “How much did Prudence tell you?”
“That you had some harebrained idea about running loose in the Big Apple.”
“I sincerely doubt she worded it like that.”
Mark shrugged, drawing her attention to his broad shoulders. “The bottom line is the same.”
“You don’t sound very approving.”
“Like I said, I think it’s a harebrained idea.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I owe my brother a favor, and he asked me to help out.” That was one reason.
“Your brother is a kind man.” Her inference that Mark was not kind was clear.
“Yeah, Joe is a real peach,” Mark mockingly agreed. “So let me get this straight. You want to take a little time off from your day job of princessing to trip the light fantastic, is that it?”
“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. May we continue this conversation in the other room?” she requested, drawing the lapels of her robe more closely together. “I’m not accustomed to having a discussion in the bathroom.”
“I’d rather stay put for the time being.” He flipped the toilet seat down, and gestured for her to sit there. “It seems only right that the throne be yours.”
She frowned at him and then grinned. “You have a wicked sense of humor, Captain. I like that in a Marine.”
“And you have a wicked pair of legs, Vanessa. I like that in a princess.”
“I’m so relieved to hear it,” she noted wryly before elegantly sitting on the closed toilet seat as if it were indeed the intricately carved and jewel-encrusted royal throne of Volzemburg. “I certainly wouldn’t want to destroy any of your misguided preconceptions about princesses.”
“You’ve already done that by wanting to run away,” he told her. “How hard can this princess gig be?”
“Hard enough,” Vanessa replied in a tough voice coated with classy silk.
“Seems like it would be a cushy job to me,” Mark noted, perching on the edge of the marble tub. “I’ll bet a night in this place costs more than I make in a week, maybe even in a month.”
“You’re
