he’d suspected. “Then she has our blood type.”
“Yes. I confirmed the results with Dr. Martine.”
He saw mistrust in Kate’s eyes, and he hated that. “You must believe me when I tell you that Elsa was the last woman in my life for well over a year, and I have exercised the greatest care. The baby is not mine.”
“It doesn’t really matter what I believe.”
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
A difficult question, and one he had avoided asking himself. “Because you’re a very special person, Kate. I need you to trust me. I know that you hold the truth in very high esteem.”
Kate’s gaze faltered. “I’m not beyond telling a lie, Marc. In fact, I told one today. A big one.”
“You’ve lied to me?”
“Not you. Renault. When he came into the exam room, he started asking questions. I told him Cecile is my daughter.”
He could not have asked for a better plan. “That’s brilliant, Kate.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Perhaps now there won’t be any speculation in terms of Cecile’s parentage until someone comes forward with the truth.”
“If someone comes forward.”
Marc did not foresee that happening, at least not soon. It would be up to him to clear his name. “I doubt that will be the case, but it’s still imperative that we find out who the mother is. Chances are, my perfect brother was not so perfect after all.”
She sent him a severe look. “Are you doing this for Cecile or for yourself? Do you want to prove that Philippe wasn’t as innocent as he seemed? And if you do that, how will it affect your family?”
Kate’s honesty threw Marc mentally off balance. He hadn’t considered how the truth might affect his mother if they proved Philippe was Cecile’s father. “I need to put this issue to bed once and for all, for everyone’s sake. How I’ll handle the rest remains to be seen. First, I must attempt to find out the mother’s identity.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
He had no right to ask, but Kate was his only hope. “With your help.”
“My help?”
“I’m only asking that you keep your ears open for any gossip. Perhaps search the hospital’s records for any mysterious woman who gave birth six to eight months ago. The staff in the palace might be forthcoming with information about my brother since you’re—”
“A commoner.”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”
“Then you’re asking me to do a little investigating in my spare time.”
“Only if you feel comfortable in doing so.”
“As long as we’ve absolutely ruled out your lover.”
He took a step forward. “Former lover. It’s over between us, Kate.”
She slowly ran a fingertip along the edge of the desk, fueling Marc’s all-consuming desire for her. “Obviously you still have something she wants.”
“She wants attention and not necessarily only from me.”
Kate leaned back against the desk, using her arms as a brace, thrusting her breasts forward, driving Marc to distraction. “Are you sure about that? She’s very vocal about your skills as a lover. So are you, Marc?”
A fool? A man too weak to resist her charms? “Am I what?”
“A skilled lover?”
Marc was only certain about one thing—he couldn’t ignore Kate’s query, asked in a sensual voice that threatened his control. Couldn’t ignore her simple black slacks and plain white blouse that would be easy to remove. Couldn’t ignore the tightness in his groin when she streaked her tongue over her lower lip.
“I do not make it a habit to speculate on my skill,” he said, clinging to his last strand of restraint.
“Maybe I should judge for myself.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking, Kate.” He did know all too well she recognized the power she had over him at that moment, and he found that incredibly hard to resist.
She swept her dark hair away from her face with one hand. “You’re wrong, Marc. I know exactly what I’m asking, and so do you. Does your expertise live up to the hype? Are you a good lover?”
“Good is an interesting term. Good only comes when you do not aspire to be great.”
“Do you aspire to be a great lover, Marc DeLoria?”
“I refuse to settle for mediocrity in any of my endeavors.”
She challenged him with a look, dared him with a sultry smile, enticed him with words when she said, “Then prove it.”
Marc was losing his tenuous hold on his common sense. He only knew that if he didn’t get away from Kate now, he would kiss her—deeply and without reservation. Touch her without hesitation. Without consideration of the consequences. He had no call to want her as much as he did. He had too much to consider in light of his position and too little to offer her beyond mutual pleasure. But he did want her, and he’d be damned if he had her—or damned if he didn’t.
Propelled by his weakness for this woman, Marc closed the distance between them in two strides and braced his palms on the desk on either side of her. He sought her mouth in a rush, as if he couldn’t survive without exploring the territory once more. She opened to him, played her tongue against his, pushed him to a point where he could easily dispense with all formality and clothing to get inside her immediately. But he rejected that notion. If he could touch her, taste her, tempt her, then that would be enough. It would have to be enough.
After breaking the kiss, he settled his face in the hollow below her throat, pressing his lips there while inhaling her enticing fragrance.
“Marc, I thought you said we couldn’t.” Her voice was a teasing, breathy caress at his ear.
“Shouldn’t,” he murmured then slid his tongue down the cleft between her breasts, stopping where the opening of her blouse ended and buttons began, knowing he should not go any farther. But knowing what he shouldn’t do did nothing to quell the urge to do what he wanted to do. To her, with her.
Kate threaded her hands through his hair, back and forth in long, torturous strokes. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”
He straightened and slipped the first button on her blouse, ignoring the persistent voice telling him to stop. “I’ve locked the door.” He released two more buttons, keeping his gaze fixed on Kate’s eyes, searching for any sign of protest. He saw nothing but need. “I gave orders that we are not to be disturbed.”
“Very resourceful,” she said, followed by a shaky smile that indicated nervousness, but not reluctance.
Finally, Marc parted her blouse, exposing her bra, which he unhooked with a quick flip of one finger beneath the front closure before pushing it aside with both hands. His gaze roved over her breasts, round and pink tinged to match the flush on her face when he lifted her up and seated her on the desk’s edge.
As he traced a path around one rosy tip with his finger, Kate watched his movements, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “Tu es parfaite,” he whispered. “Perfect.”
Dipping his head, he drew one nipple into his mouth, relishing the feel of her against his tongue. He wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted to undo her slacks, slip his hand inside, experience her wet heat. He wanted to open his own fly, give himself some blessed relief, and thrust inside her.
When