Page 62 of A Royal Mistake

Her stomach clenched at the thought of a young Henry in such a gruesome accident. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

It also explained his complete and utter distaste for the paps. No wonder he found her life in the spotlight so abhorrent. And who could blame him?

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

Bollocks. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the accident had left more than physical scars in its wake. Curiosity coiled her mind, like an adder preparing to strike. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Henry, but she would not push.

Not if he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I guess we should we head back to the party,” she finally said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you want to stay here and rest a bit?”

She tried to sound casual, concerned even, but her voice wavered, betraying her nerves. Nerves that were stretched taut as a damn bowstring. Which was ridiculous. After all, how many times had she been alone with Henry in his suite? This was no different.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Okay, fine. It was totally different, and they both knew it. They were unsupervised, practically naked, and the humid air of the pool house had nothing on the tension vibrating between them.

Plus, there was the whole matter of Henry’s hardened cock.

Her eyes darted to his lap, confirming he was still aroused.

He tilted his head thoughtfully, and he was quiet for so long she wondered if she’d misread the situation.

Kind of hard to misread the physical evidence.

Unless erections were a side effect of concussions now?

Don’t be a twat.

Henry took her hand in his, pressing his palm to hers and lacing their fingers together. Her pulse quickened and her breath hitched in her throat as desire pooled low in her belly.

This is really happening.

“What I want is to stay here with you,” he said, looking up at her from under thick lashes, “but I have to warn you, rest is the furthest thing from my mind.”

* * *

Christ.This was a bad idea. Maybe he did have a concussion, because if his brain were bloody working, it would surely tell him that getting naked with the princess in the pool house was a bad fucking idea.

Literally.

But his cock wasn’t getting the message and even if it were, he would’ve ignored it. He was so goddamn hard his balls ached, and the sight of Pippa standing before him like a goddess was too tempting to resist.

He was only human, for fuck’s sake, weak in the face of temptation.

He tugged her hand, pulling her down into his lap. She surprised him by climbing astride so they were face to face. It was a bold move, but she was full of surprises, not the least of which was the yellow bikini he hadn’t seen coming.

She lowered herself onto him slowly, her soft curves lined up with his hardened cock as if she’d been made for him alone. “Is this okay?” she asked, biting her lip.

Okay? It was better than okay. The only thing that could make it better would be to ditch the spandex separating their bodies so he could bury himself balls deep inside her.

“It’s perfect.” He moved her hand to his chest and cupped her cheek. “You’re perfect.”

Pippa laughed, low and husky, her chin dipping in self-deprecation. “I’m far from perfect, but thank you.”