his family proud. As the only one who’d chosen the career path of a commissioned officer, he had a responsibility to his father to prove that he could rise to the highest ranks in the corps. The right kind of wife would help in that quest, someone quiet and not too demanding.
A princess definitely wouldn’t do. Way too high maintenance.
But, damn, she kissed better than any cheerleader he’d ever met.
Where the heck had a princess like her learned to kiss like that?
“Mark?” Vanessa said. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you think the doctor should phone my father from my room here at the hotel?”
“Affirmative,” Mark replied in his best crisp military voice.
“Remember, I don’t want to alarm my father into sending the royal physician over to check me out, I only want to delay my return home a few days.”
“He knows the drill,” Mark assured her, nodding at Abraham. And he did. He did his part with admirable alacrity.
“Well?” Vanessa asked nervously as the doctor hung up the phone from his transatlantic call.
“Enjoy your time off,” Abraham told Vanessa. “You heard me tell your father that you have laryngitis as well as a sinus infection with ocular involvement. He agreed that it would be best if you stayed where you are for the time being. I said it would take a week before you’d be safe to fly.”
“Thank you!” Vanessa looked as if she wanted to throw her arms around the good doctor and hug him, but instead she held out her hand for a formal handshake.
“Your father said if you’re not better in a week he’ll send the royal physician and come to New York himself,” the doctor warned her. “You’re going to have to check in with him in a few days. And I’m to give him an update tomorrow.”
Vanessa looked worried. “Will that be a problem for you?”
“No. Not as long as Mark keeps me informed on your health.”
“I’ll make sure she gets plenty of rest,” Mark said.
Eyeing them both in exasperation, she reminded them, “Gentlemen, the point of this entire exercise is for me to get some freedom, not some rest.”
“See you get both,” Dr. Rosenthal ordered before letting himself out.
“You’re going to need different clothes,” Mark said. They were the first words he’d spoken since Dr. Rosenthal had departed five minutes ago. She would have suspected he was pouting about her having dumped him on his too sexy fanny earlier, but Prudence had once told her that Marines never pout. They get even.
Which, honestly, did make Vanessa just a tad nervous. But it also excited her. The prospect of matching wits with Mark had her blood racing.
“You’ll need a disguise, so no one will recognize you,” he was saying.
“I’ll be sure to leave my tiara here,” she noted mockingly.
“You do that. Do you own any jeans? I already know you don’t own any T-shirts.”
“I’m sure they sell T-shirts in the hotel gift shop.”
“Fine. Have Celeste play tourist and go down and buy one for you.”
“An excellent idea. And one I’d actually already thought of myself,” she added.
“Sure you say that now…”
“A Von Volzemburg never lies,” she loftily informed him.
“This from a woman who just told a huge whopper to her own father.”
A woman. He’d just referred to her as a woman instead of a princess. A small thing, no doubt, but it felt huge in her own mind. Vanessa hugged the idea of Mark thinking of her as a woman instead of a princess.
Goodness knew he’d kissed her the way a man kissed a woman. There had been nothing cordial or formal about the meeting of their lips. It had been sexy and exhilarating, passionate and intense. It had been better than the best chocolate ever concocted by the royal chocolatier—and that was saying something!
Vanessa considered herself something of a connoisseur where chocolate was concerned. But she was a novice at male-female relationships. Which was ridiculous for a woman her age. She was almost thirty, for heaven’s sake. But the rules for her code of behavior were much stricter than they were for anyone else. She’d led a sheltered upbringing to put it mildly.
“As I was saying, a Von Volzemburg never lies, unless they are fighting for their freedom. Back in 1456, King Frederick put a mark on the castle saying that it was infected with the plague. It kept the enemy forces away, and the castle survived.”
“Well, you’re not going to survive the streets of New York City if you don’t fit in,” he warned her.
“I understand perfectly.”
Half an hour later, Mark stared at her in disbelief. “I thought you said you understood the concept of a disguise. Those tight-fitting jeans are sure to catch the attention of every male under the age of eighty!”
She blushed. Okay, so the jeans were tight. She’d borrowed them from Celeste, who had no derriere at all to speak of. Now Mark made her feel like a stuffed sausage in the jeans.
Sending a scorching look his way, she grabbed another outfit from the closet and marched back to the bathroom. This time he couldn’t complain about the fit of her slacks. The Valentino haute couture black pantsuit had been hand tailored to her body. The understated elegance made it a perfect fit with the silk chartreuse blouse.
Opening the door, she posed against the doorway with chic nonchalance.
Mark was clearly not impressed. “Why don’t you just put a sign around your neck saying I’m A Rich Princess, Kidnap Me.”
This Marine was really starting to aggravate her now. “What kind of disguise are you proposing? Marx Brothers glasses and a mustache? Perhaps you’d like me to wear a Charlie Chaplin costume and swing a cane around?”
“Nothing that drastic will be required, although you are getting a little closer to what I’m aiming for here. Tone down the sex appeal.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Tone down the sex appeal.”
“I’ll have you know that this suit was designed by Valentino.”
“I don’t care if it was designed by the pope, it makes you look too…” He made a motion with his hands.
Was that some kind of Marine sign language? “Too what?”
“Too good. Tone down your looks. Here, while you were in the bathroom I checked in my bag. I’ve got some sweats you can borrow.”
“Sweats?” she repeated as if he’d said a dirty word.
“Sweatpants and a sweatshirt.”
