Page 44 of A Royal Mistake

“So, are you enjoying the ball?” he asked, changing the subject as the fountain came into view, spitting and gurgling and blending its cadence with the cricket song. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, as if the arcing spray fascinated him.

He did that sometimes—refused to meet her eyes—when they talked about her ridiculous courtship. Most of the time, she didn’t mind. It gave her the chance to study him unobserved. To fantasize about finally running her fingers through the scruff on his chin, to imagine what his lips would feel like pressed to hers, to drool over those adorable dimples he didn’t show off nearly enough.

But tonight she wanted him to look at her. To see her. To stop deflecting.

They had chemistry. He felt it too. She was sure of it.

Problem was, he seemed determined to ignore it.

Pippa stopped walking and Henry froze.

“What is it?” he asked, wheeling around to face her.

She licked her lips and forced herself to look him in the eye. She was a grown-ass woman, for Christ’s sake. She could do this. “I don’t want to talk about the ball or my cadre of suitors. Not tonight.”

Henry’s dark eyes smoldered and, just like that, the tension between them was as taut as a bowstring. “Then what do you want to talk about?” His voice was low and gravelly and she was glad that for once, he didn’t appear unaffected.

She stripped off her gloves and let them fall to the ground, one at a time. Then she reached up and cupped his cheek, relishing the scratchy-soft feel of his sexy five o’clock shadow against her fingertips. “No more talking, Henry.”

* * *

No more talking?What the fuck did that mean? Was he supposed to kiss her? Was she going to kiss him? Did it even matter?

He cut his eyes toward the fountain.

Hell yeah, it matters.

Scheisse. He couldn’t think straight with her hand pressed to his cheek. Her touch was feather light, but fuck. It did things to him. Short-circuited his brain. Made him want to scoop her up in his arms and carry her back to his suite. Made him want to explore every luscious inch of her body. With his tongue.

What was wrong with him? For weeks he’d wondered how she would taste and now, here she was, offering him the opportunity to find out for himself and he was hesitating.

Because she just threatened to ban you from the palace. For life.

He couldn’t think about that right now.

Henry closed his eyes and blew out a breath, focusing on the spot where her fingers scraped lightly across his jaw. When he opened his eyes, he met Pippa’s steady gaze. “Are you saying you want me to kiss you?” he asked, reaching up to cover her hand with his own. “I need you to be sure, love, because I don’t fancy a swim in my best tux.”

Pippa laughed, the light musical sound slicing through the tension.

“Yes, Henry.” She leaned in, closing the gap between them. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Thank Christ. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

Throwing caution to the wind, he cupped her chin and lowered his mouth to hers.

The first touch was gentle, just a brush of the lips. But when she rose on her toes and slanted her mouth over his, wildfire exploded in his gut. Then his free hand was around her waist and he was matching her ferocity as he explored the seam of her mouth with his tongue. She tasted like strawberries and champagne. Like summer.

It was the sweetest goddamn kiss of his life, and he wanted to savor it.

He deepened the kiss, clutching Pippa’s Arsch like it was the only thing that stood between him and eternal damnation. Hell, in that moment, it might’ve been because even though he had no business kissing The Princess Royal, he would’ve traded his soul for just one more taste.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

Pippa was into it, pressed flush against him with one arm wrapped around his back and the other stroking his neck. Her tongue brushed against his and she made this breathy little noise that spoke directly to his cock. He was hard as steel, his erection straining against the zipper of his trousers, but he doubted she could feel it.

Not with thirty yards of silk between them.

It was probably for the best. She’d hinted at her virginity and he didn’t want to come on too strong. Even if he longed to know every dip and swell of her body as well as he knew his own. Even if he hungered for her in a way he’d never hungered for a woman before.