Page 66 of A Royal Mistake
The Prince of Asses ground to a halt when he saw Pippa. The others did the same, save Christian, who plowed right into the Spanish heir and spit a rather uncouth curse.
Gabriel ignored him, gaze locked on Pippa. The others turned to face her as well, staring with varying degrees of interest and panic.
She glanced down at her navy jumpsuit. It wasn’t exactly sexy, but she’d been told it would get the job done.
Practicality over pride.
“Good morning.” She clasped her hands in front of her and scanned the gathered faces. They were all here. Including Henry.
Their eyes met and her pulse fluttered in response. She smiled, unable to stop herself, and was rewarded with a crooked grin that revealed both his dimples. In the days since the pool party, the gash on his head had healed nicely, though she was certain it would scar. Not that it mattered. The man was as ruggedly handsome as the day they’d met, although it wasn’t his pretty face that had her frequenting his suite every night.
Nor was it her business plan, which was nearly complete.
No, it was the way he encouraged her, believed in her, and okay, yes, the way he worshipped her body into the late hours of the night, giving her pleasure she hadn’t dared imagine before the pool house.
Henry’s hands were made of magic. As was his mouth.
She hadn’t known physical intimacy could be so… fulfilling. Henry’s touch energized her in ways she’d never experienced, and they hadn’t even had sex yet. He hadn’t pushed, holding firm to his promise to let her set the pace. She was tempted. Oh, was she ever. But then what would she do when he left?
Would she be able to let him go?
She’d have to. There was no other choice. They were walking separate paths, hers leading to Stanley International and his to VDRI.
Pippa shoved the thought aside. She had enough on her plate at the moment without adding additional worries.
One thing at a time.
“Where’s Wellesley? That bloke owes me a hundred euros.” Christian shielded his eyes from the sun and scanned the garden, as if the Brit might hide in the bushes to avoid paying his debt. “I told him not to bet against the Spanish heir in last week’s match, but did he listen?”
The others snickered, and Pippa squared her shoulders, straightening her spine. “I imagine His Grace is back in England, where he belongs.”
She’d dismissed him after the polo match. Though she would’ve preferred to send Prince Gabriel home for his aggressive antics, her parents would’ve balked. Wellesley was an easy choice with Valeria’s Independence Day fast approaching. After all, no need to keep British nobility around for that celebration.
“What’s on the agenda today?” Dom asked, giving her an obvious once over. If he had feelings about her ill-fitting coveralls, he kept them to himself.
Pippa grinned, flashing her teeth.
“We’re going to play paintball today, so you’ll all want to suit up.” A ripple of confusion went through the group, but she just pointed to the stack of coveralls that the rental company had provided. “Once you’re all dressed, we’ll split into two groups of five.”
Prince Thabiso grabbed a jumpsuit and eyed the unflattering lump of fabric with disdain. “Should we head back to the palace to change?”
“Can’t you just… I don’t know, go behind the hedgerow?” Pippa suggested, barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. None of the guys had showed an ounce of humility at the pool party and now they were going to turn into blushing school girls? “I promise not to look.”
Prince Leopold and the Count ofÉvreux exchanged a scandalized look.
The way the suitors were gawking at her, you’d have thought she suggested they go take a shite in the queen’s roses.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Henry grabbed a suit and pulled his shirt over his head, showing off his flat stomach and deep tan. Desire curled low in Pippa’s belly as she watched him stalk over to the hedgerow, the firm muscles of his back rippling with each movement. The others watched and eventually followed his lead with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Once all the guys were suited up, looking like a team of dustmen in their matching coveralls, Pippa recited the rules as they’d been explained to her.
“The objective is to capture the other team’s flag,” she said, holding up the plastic red and yellow squares. “If you get shot, you’re out until the next round. Best of three wins. No headshots.”
Pippa was nothing if not a quick study. She’d rented helmets to protect their heads, but even with the added protection, she didn’t want to encourage rough play. Not after the skirmish in the pool.
Fate, it seemed, was on her side. When they split into teams, Gabriel and Henry were on the same team—hers. Given their open hostility and competitive natures, it was a total boon or a disaster waiting to happen.
“Ready, Your Highness?” Henry asked, nonchalantly resting his weapon against his shoulder.