Page 20 of A Royal Mistake

Sweet mercy. Her lips were perfection, but he wanted more. He wanted to devour every sinful inch of her.

Henry cupped her chin and as he lowered his mouth to hers, headlights lit up the night, followed by screeching tires and flying gravel. He froze, their lips a breath apart. Pippa gave a squeak of alarm and stiffened, her gaze fixed over his shoulder. When he turned, shielding Pippa’s body with his own, four black SUVs surrounded them, the headlights damn near blinding.

Scheisse. Did diplomatic immunity cover absconding with the princess?

He was about to find out.

Henry threw a hand up to shield his eyes from the onslaught of light. The door to one of the SUVs opened and Sarah jumped out, ready for battle. Her mouth was a thin slash and her eyes narrowed as she sized him up, looking like she wanted to cut his balls off and shove them down his throat. He shifted subtly, using his free hand to protect his cock as she raised a radio to her mouth and barked, “The Crown Jewel has been recovered.”

MIDNIGHT TRYST?

On Wednesdays, well, we usually drink wine because how the hell else are we supposed to get through the work week? Turns out we’ve been doing hump day all wrong, and we have HRH Princess Philippa to thank for the scorching reality check. Last night, The Princess Royal was spotted sneaking out of the palace on the back of a—wait for it—shiny black crotch rocket.

That’s right, the princess went full throttle with an unidentified mystery man and we’re here for it!

We don’t know the identity of the helmet-wearing hottie, but we do know there wasn’t an inch of space between them. #ThickThighsSaveLives

Sources inside the palace say the princess left her security detail and her good sense in the dust, triggering a full-scale search-and-rescue mission. But you know what they say… All’s well that ends well. Unless you’re HRH. In which case, we hear there’s a royal dressing down in her future (and we don’t mean the fun kind).

So while the mainstream press is debating The Princess Royal’s virtue because she dared to go without pantyhose last week, we here atThe Daily Scoopare asking the hard questions. Like, who is this mystery man? Could he be one of the suitors? And is having all that power between your legs as thrilling as it looks?

What do you think, lovelies? Is the princess getting in one last fling before the royal engagement? We always knew that under that prim and proper facade The Princess Royal had a wild side. After all, you know what they say… royal in the street, freak in the sheets.

6

If Pippa hadto listen to one more inane story about building luxury hotels, vacationing in Fiji, or unscrupulous court politics, she was going to scream. The loud, terrifying, highly inappropriate kind. It was her own damn fault, though, wasn’t it? She’d been so wrapped up in Stanley International—and the man mentoring her—she’d forgotten about the courtship nonsense and fallen prey to yet another of Her Majesty’s bloody garden parties.

Honestly, did she really think Pippa was going to fall for one of these prats over afternoon tea?

Tea parties were for old women and stuffy aristocrats, neither of which described Pippa. To make matters worse, it was hot and sticky, a fact she couldn’t ignore as a bead of sweat trickled down the hollow between her breasts. Even the music drifting from the patio, where a quartet played, was lethargic and uninspired.

There wasn’t a breeze to be felt, making it impossible to enjoy the beauty of the gardens, which were a riot of color and showcased the unmatched skill of the palace gardeners. She was tempted to remove her wide-brim hat and use it as a fan, but she resisted the urge, knowing any relief would be temporary.

“And that’s how I became a knight,” said Nathaniel. Or was it Nicolas? Bollocks. There were so many of them, she couldn’t keep their names straight, and she’d been too busy working on her business plan to bother with the dossiers Their Majesties had provided.

Well, that and the fact that she’d thrown them all in the rubbish bin.

No matter. She’d just call him Sir Bores-a-lot because his stories, and his personality, held about as much appeal as soggy toast.

The prince from Lethoso gestured to her empty champagne flute, proving that at least one suitor was interested in something other than hearing himself talk. “Can I get you another drink, Your Highness?”

Damn. She needed another drink as badly as she needed her next breath, but she had to keep her mind sharp. The queen may have won the first round, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

It was time to shake things up.

“No, thank you.” She smiled. “If you gentlemen will excuse me for just a moment.”

She didn’t give a reason. The less they knew, the better.

Pippa slipped away from the group and made a beeline for Sarah, who stood at the edge of the garden, watching with the usual professional detachment. Despite the heat, Sarah wore a jacket and trousers. No doubt to hide her service weapons.

After the unplanned motorcycle ride with Henry three nights ago, there’d been a tense moment when she feared Sarah might tase her, but the guard had merely stuffed her in the back of the SUV and returned her to the palace. Which turned out to be worse, because Sarah had delivered her directly into the hands of Their Majesties, who had been less than amused by the stunt.

And that was before the populars had run a front-page article about her alleged midnight tryst.

“We need to liven up this party,” Pippa announced.

The bodyguard lifted a brow but said nothing. Okay, so she was still pissed off about the other night. Pippa didn’t exactly blame her, but she wished Sarah would try to see things from her perspective just once.