From Kiss to Queen (8 page)

“You didn't like it!” she blurted out. “Oh, I knew this would happen. I'm sorry. I just thought that because you don't know me all that well, it would be okay. You couldn't really see me, and you don't know my whole name, either, so it would be okay to just—ummpphh.”

He kissed her to shut her up. “Jane,” he said, lifting his mouth away. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh! I am, too. I'm sorry you didn't like it.”

“What?”

“You suddenly shouted and just stopped.”

Mark dropped his forehead to hers again. “I liked it,” he whispered. “And so will you—next time.”

“Next time? You want to do it again?” she asked, the alarm in her voice making him rise up to see her eyes widened to saucers.

“Not this minute,” he drawled. “But someday soon.”

“Oh. Oh, heavens.”

He cradled her face in both hands, his thumbs rubbing her flushed cheeks, and finally smiled. “We must have a little talk,” he said gently, “about what happens now.”

She nodded within his hands. “You should probably go back to your room.”

“Excuse me?”

“Before someone finds you in here. It could be . . . embarrassing.”

“I will not allow anyone to embarrass you,” he growled, squeezing her cheeks.

“Not me,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Your
father
.”

“My father,” he repeated.

She nodded again. “An admiral's son can't just bring his chippy onto one of his aircraft carriers like it's a cruise ship. Your father would lose the respect of his men.”

Admiral? Chippy?
Mark moved his hands from her face to her throat.

“Your cheek's twitching again,” she warned him. “And you're scowling.”

“So now my father is no longer a president, but an admiral?” he asked very softly, his hands touching the column of her throat but not squeezing—yet.

She nodded
again
, her jaw snapping shut when it ran into his unyielding hands.

“Let me see . . . First you thought I was a criminal. Right?” he asked calmly.

She nodded.

“Then you thought I was the son of a president.”

She shook her head. “At first I thought you were his nephew.”

“And now you think I am the son of an admiral. Is that correct?”

Jane nodded again. “Pretty good, huh, Mr. Just Mark?”

“Have I been anyone else?” he asked, his hands still not squeezing—yet.

“I . . . ah, I thought you were a spy,” she confessed. “But only for a little while.”

He gave her a good glare for that one. “But now I'm the son of an admiral, and you are my . . . chippy? Have I got it right?”

The suicidal woman nodded again. Hell, she even had the audacity to smile. “And you shouldn't carry on like this and embarrass your father,” she apparently felt compelled to add. “Not after all the trouble he's gone through to get you home.”

Mark finally squeezed, but only enough to get her attention. “If I ever again hear you refer to yourself as my
chippy
, whom I am
carrying on
with, you're going to find yourself wishing you never fished me out of that lake. Do you understand?”

Jane Abbot nodded again, rather vigorously.

Mark smiled. “Now,” he continued. “You are going to close your eyes and go to sleep, and I am going to sleep right here beside you.” He had to squeeze her again when she started to protest. “And tomorrow we are going to see my father
together
. I will introduce you to him, and then you and I are going to have a little talk. Understand?”

She didn't nod this time; she simply snapped her eyes shut.

Hearing her breathing eventually even out and figuring she had fallen asleep thinking about the fact that she was no longer a virgin, Mark started drifting off, wondering if the surprise she was in for tomorrow might not make the earthly little angel curse for real—only to snap open his eyes when he suddenly remembered something she'd said.

What in hell had she meant that he didn't know her whole name, either?

W
aking up cocooned between a warm—okay, hot—masculine chest and unquestionably strong masculine arms wasn't nearly as disconcerting as the realization that instead of being worried about spending a thousand years in purgatory for having sex without being married, Jane couldn't quit smiling.

Heaven help her, it had finally
happened
.

Despite her ordinary old everyday plainness, her crippled foot, and the fact that she was nobody special, a mysterious, handsome man had held her and kissed her and touched her in ways—and in places—she'd never been kissed or touched before.

He'd even seemed to be enjoying it, too, right up until he'd suddenly stopped.

Jane silently sighed, deciding it had been rather
disappointing for her, too—although not certainly to the point of regret. She'd enjoyed parts of it. Okay, most of it. And she wasn't so naive to think the first time would be all romantic and mushy and passionate, but in fact a little painful and probably a lot uncomfortable.

The nuns at Saint Xavier's, God bless their big pious hearts, had tried to explain marriage and sex and men to her. On the first one they'd been adamant it was a must, but on the last two they'd been complete failures. They couldn't teach what they didn't really know, and definitely not when they were stammering and skirting the more important parts.

Which was why almost everything she did know about sex she'd learned from Katy. Well, and from all the teen magazines they used to read in their secret clubhouse in the woods at the back of Katy's parents' Christmas tree farm.

Her friend had lost her virginity three years after graduating high school, Jane knew, because Katy had told her it had finally happened when she'd moved to Bangor to live with her sister and taken a course at community college to become a paramedic. She'd also made Jane promise to never, ever get drunk if there were horny, handsome men around. Because, Katy had explained, liquor apparently made a girl's hormones overrule her good sense—especially the first time she didn't have overprotective brothers and male cousins scaring off every guy she even smiled at.

And even though Katy had been a font of sexual information—garnered over the next few years and a couple of relationships—it had been the men of the woods of
Maine who had given Jane her insights into the male mind. Because while Katy had eventually chosen a profession other than selling real estate in and around Pine Creek, Jane had started working full-time at her foster parents' sporting camps right out of high school, until her foster dad had died in an auto accident and her foster mom had sold the camps and gone to live with her sister in Georgia. Jane had worked at various camps after that, and what she'd learned was that some men were jerks, some were nice, and all of them were braggarts. While catering to a lodge full of sports or spending the day in a boat as their fishing guide, she'd heard enough one-upmanship and macho bragging to wish her ears had lids like her eyes.

She'd been taught from the age of twelve to hunt and fish and camp out just like one of the guys. It was her foster parents' way of giving her a place with them, as well as skills that would serve her well into adulthood. So she'd guided hunters and fishermen, and cooked and cleaned and flown parties in and out of camp. In Maine, in her woods, she was plain old ordinary, invisible Jane Abbot.

But now this handsome, arrogant, awesome man had seen her as a woman; as somebody to make love to. So despite the fleeting pain and abrupt ending, she was overjoyed it had finally happened. Jane smiled into the golden eyes silently watching her. “Do you think I got pregnant last night?” she asked.

“Pregnant!” he shouted, bolting upright and looking incredulous.

“Yeah,” she said, hugging the blankets around her. “I could be, you know. I hope so.”

“You
hope so
?”

She nodded. “More than anything in the world, I want a baby.” Smiling dreamily, she elaborated. “I'm going to buy a nice little house on a lake. Near a town, of course, so my child can go to school. I hope it's a boy. I'd like to have a boy.” She canted her head. “He could have your eyes. You have beautiful eyes.”

“Jane.”

“And someday I'd get him a brother or sister. He shouldn't be alone. Then we'd be a real family. Every kid should have a brother or sister.”

“Jane.”

“You may have saved me a lot of trouble, if I got pregnant last night. Thank you.”

“Jane.”

Hearing his growl, she looked up to see his cheek was twitching again—which she was coming to realize only happened when he was . . . agitated. About her maybe being pregnant? “Why is your cheek twitching this time?”

He sighed hard enough to nearly part her hair, and ran a hand through his own. “Jane, I . . .” He sighed again. “Well, hell.”

“You shouldn't cuss. And I know you cuss in Shelkovan as well. You're going to spend a long time in purgatory if you don't quit.”

His eyes grew incredulous again. “Who in hell brought you up, a bunch of nuns?”

She nodded.

His eyes widened even more. Then he said something suspicious in Shelkovan. “Jane, if you're pregnant, which I doubt,” he said through gritted teeth, “you're not going
to buy a ‘nice little house' on a lake—near a town, of course. Do you think I'd let some woman having my child go off and live by herself?”

Jane lifted her chin at that
some woman
label. But then she sighed and pulled the blankets over her shoulders. That's all she was to Mark, certainly. Just
some woman
. “I wouldn't expect marriage or anything.”

“Why the hell not!” he shouted, jumping up from the bed to stand over her with his hands on his hips—apparently not realizing he was utterly and gloriously naked.

“Well, because I just wouldn't,” she whispered, fighting to keep her chin from quivering and her eyes on his feet. “All I want is a baby. That's all,” she muttered. Jane looked him in the eyes, attempting to get her gumption back. “If I'm not pregnant now, I will be soon.”

“What?”

He'd roared that time. And he took an ominous step closer to the bed.

“You are not going to make love with another man. Ever!”

“I don't have to go to bed with
any
man to have a baby. I'm going to see a doctor about getting one.”

“Lady, your education is sorely lacking. You need a man to get pregnant.”

“No, I don't. I can be artificially inseminated,” she shot back, rising to her knees on the bed while holding the blankets to her chest like a shield. “That's what I've planned on doing all along. But maybe last night you simply saved me the trouble!”

She landed on her back, a red-faced, cheek-twitching,
angry male on top of her. Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't have brought up the subject of pregnancy. Or last night, for that matter. Mark probably didn't like being reminded of how disappointing it had been. Well, or else how crazy he must have been to sneak into her room in the first place, now that he was seeing her in the light of day.

“You will not be artificially inseminated, either. Is that clear?”

“But I want a baby.”

“I'll give you one!”

Oh yeah, she was sorry she'd mentioned anything this morning. Hoping to placate him, as well as get him off her chest, she frantically nodded agreement—not really knowing or caring what she was agreeing to.

Mark closed his eyes. After several deep breaths, he looked at her again. The fire was banked in those gorgeous golden eyes, and she could feel the tension leaving his body inch by gloriously naked inch. “This is a crazy conversation,” he whispered. “One we will have later,” he added with a sigh. He gave her a rather chaste kiss then got off the bed and walked to the panel of buttons by the door—apparently still oblivious to the fact that he was still naked.

Jane propped her head on the pillow and watched. If he wanted to parade around like that, who was she to complain? Until he bent down and picked up her brace from beneath the side of the bed. “Give me that!” she squeaked, lunging for it.

He pulled back, holding it out of her reach. “Why do you hide it?”

“I don't hide it,” she lied, lifting her chin. “It's just nobody's business but mine.”

He seemed to think about that as he studied the well-worn brace. Jane had had this one for nearly six years, and she was dreading the day she'd have to break in a new one. Heck, there was even duct tape on it. She blushed when she noticed Mark fingering the tape.

“Can you not afford a new one?” he asked, his voice suddenly tender. “This one is falling apart.”

“I don't want a new one. That one's comfortable.”

He looked at her, then back at the brace, then carefully set it down on the bed. “Will you tell me how you injured yourself?”

“I can't,” she told his toes. It was either look at his toes or at his face, and she wasn't up to seeing the pity in his eyes. “I don't know how my ankle got crushed.”

“How can you not know something like that?” he asked, genuine amazement in his voice. “If you were a child, then your parents would know.”

“I have to go to the bathroom. Now,” she added when his feet didn't move.

He sighed, then bent down and picked up his clothes. “We will also leave this discussion for later,” he murmured as he slipped into his clothes. “Get dressed, Jane, and meet me in the galley. We'll have some breakfast before we leave.”

“That's the cafeteria, right? How do I find it?” she asked, thankful he was leaving.

“Ask any crewman you meet. They all speak passable English. It's required.”

“Really? Why?”

“They must know French, Spanish, Japanese, and Chinese, also. This carrier travels the world, and everyone aboard must be capable to some extent.”

“Wow. Was that your father's idea?”

He straightened from tying his boots and eyed her for several seconds, then suddenly smiled. “Yes, it was my father's idea.”

“I can't wait to meet him. I hope he's okay.”

“I can't wait until you meet him, either,” he agreed dryly. “And yes, he's going to be fine. I've already spoken with him. He is resting at home after having a minor stroke, apparently, and must now take it easy.”

“He's home so soon?”

“Very minor. He is also looking forward to meeting you.”

“You told him about me?”

“But of course. He wouldn't be seeing me if not for you.”

“Oh. Yeah. That's right. Ah . . . Are you going to leave anytime soon?”

Mark strode back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her on the lips. “Take a hot shower if you're sore this morning,” he whispered. “And don't feel compelled to rush to breakfast. I have things to see to before I can meet you there. And don't be afraid of any of the crewmen. They will take good care of you.”

Blushing at his suggestion she take a long hot shower, and why, Jane nodded and gave him a push to get him moving. He straightened with a chuckle and finally made it out the door.

And Jane finally made it to the bathroom.

*   *   *

M
ark walked back into the cabin as soon as he knew Jane was in the shower. He went to the bed and stripped off the bottom sheet, which carried the telltale
sign of her lost innocence. He folded the sheet, remade the bed so Jane wouldn't realize it was missing, then took it with him when he re-exited the room.

*   *   *

J
ane had spent the last fifteen years of her life in a mostly male environment—the first twelve years at Saint Xavier's having been exclusively female—but the journey to the galley had proved a trying affair. All the men she met had kept bowing to her, treating her like some sort of celebrity. They'd stuttered and stammered trying to give her directions, and Jane had stammered and blushed and actually sneezed on two of them. Finally, one daring, frustrated soul had simply given up and led her to the galley—puffing up his chest like a drumming partridge whenever they met other crewmen in the corridors.

Jane had been embarrassed. Now she was perturbed. She was sitting alone off to the side at a table large enough for thirty people, being stared at by at least a hundred men. The cook had come out of the kitchen bearing a monstrous tray laden with every conceivable breakfast food, followed by another man carrying fancy china, polished silver, linens, and crystal glassware—into which he'd poured what she suspected was fresh squeezed orange juice. Looking at the tables full of crewmen, Jane had seen they were eating off metal trays.

So here she was smiling at the cook smiling back at her . . . expectantly. She ate something and shot him a beaming smile, which got him to finally leave, but not
before telling her in broken English that he would be back with more food.