Page 59 of A Royal Mistake
So much for a clean game.
Rough play wasn’t uncommon in water polo. Hell, it was expected. Which was why he didn’t think twice before delivering a retaliatory kick. He connected with Gabriel’s thigh—underwater, where it wasn’t visible—before advancing up the length of the pool as Dom dribbled toward the opposing team’s net.
Dom passed to Prince Leopold, who, under pressure, quickly returned the ball. Back in possession, Dom faked a pass and threw a power shot at the goal. The ball sailed past the goalkeeper, putting the first goal on the unofficial scoreboard.
From the sideline, Pippa cheered with a surprising level of enthusiasm.
Gabriel quickly answered Dom’s goal with one of his own, throwing in a few well-placed jabs at Henry’s expense.
The first period passed in a blur, the exchanges growing increasingly heated as the game progressed and the score remained locked at one-one. The second period passed in much the same fashion. By the third period, Henry was ready to drown Prince Gabriel, who had clearly identified him as his biggest rival in the pool and the courtship. By the fourth? The gloves had come off, because whatever the bastard lacked in skill, he more than made up for in dirty play.
“You should quit embarrassing yourself and leave Valeria,” Gabriel said, grabbing at Henry’s suit in a piss-poor attempt to gain the better position. “You don’t really think the princess is going to settle down with some glorified well digger when she could sit on the throne of Spain?”
The prince flashed a winning smile at Pippa, who waved graciously from the sideline. Taking advantage of Gabriel’s momentary distraction, Henry threw out his elbow, catching the prince with a sharp jab under the arm.
“You obviously don’t know Pippa very well,” he said through gritted teeth, “if you think she gives a damn about your title or your crown.”
Gabriel’s eyes hardened at the casual use of Pippa’s nickname, but he recovered quickly, the mask of cool disinterest back in place. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, von der Recke. Me? I figure by this time next year, I’ll be honeymooning in Seychelles with my lovely queen.”
The taunt hit its mark. Jealousy stirred in Henry’s gut at the prospect of Pippa lounging on the beach with the arrogant bastard. Worse yet, the prospect of Pippa wrapped in his arms.
Henry launched himself forward, channeling the unpleasant images into action as he attacked the net. Despite their stolen kisses, he had no claim to the princess. No right to the possessive desires that squeezed his chest like a vise.
Gabriel gave chase, but Henry had a solid lead. He positioned himself before the goalkeeper and raised a hand, signaling for the ball. Prince Thabiso obliged, and Henry threw a wicked bounce shot that spiked right over the goalkeeper and into the net, tying up the score at eight-eight.
Dom clapped him on the back and a raucous cheer went up from his teammates. But it was Pippa’s brilliant smile that soothed his red-hot nerves. She was on her feet, clapping and shouting words of encouragement as if the game really were a championship.
Holy. Fuck.
He did a double take. Pippa had discarded her prim and proper sundress and stood at the edge of the pool in the tiniest fucking yellow bikini he’d ever seen. And if her mile-long legs weren’t enough to distract every goddamn man in the vicinity—including the geriatric reporter who sat openmouthed in the cabana's shade—her breasts gave a tantalizing bounce every time she clapped.
Jesus Christ.
Every single eye in the place was locked on Pippa.
Aside from the hip-hop music pumping through the speakers, the pool was dead silent.
She slowly stopped clapping and shifted her weight as if she’d just realized she’d become the center of attention. He searched for something to say, anything, but his mouth had gone dry. He couldn’t form a proper sentence if his life depended on it.
Not when Pippa stood before him, looking like a goddess.
“What are you all bloody staring at?” Dom barked, slamming his fist down on the surface of the water and sending up a messy spray. “Get your heads out of your arses and back in the game. Next score wins.”
Dom could be a royal pain in the arse, but just then, Henry could’ve kissed the fucker.
When the game resumed, Gabriel had possession. He was by far the most skilled player on his team, but he wasn’t great at passing.He’ll go for the winning shot. Henry and Dom double-teamed the Spanish prince as he dribbled toward their goal.
“Enjoy the view while you can,” Gabriel said, jerking his chin toward Pippa. “I think I’ll have her bring that sexy little number on our honeymoon just so I can peel it off with my teeth.”
Henry’s temper flared, the edges of his vision tinged red.
It was just the distraction Gabriel was going for. He faked a shot and flipped the ball from his right hand to his left. Henry reached for it, hoping to tear it from his grip.
Gabriel kicked hard, surging over him to take the shot. Henry propelled himself upward, making one last play for the ball, and knocked it loose. They came down in a tangle of arms and legs, both fighting for the ball—and dominance—as they kicked and thrashed in the water.
Henry swallowed a mouthful of water and sputtered to the surface. He could hear the others cheering or maybe shouting at them to stop, but after Gabriel’s crude comments about Pippa, who could blame him for giving as good as he got?
The ball bobbed to the surface next to them, just out of reach.