Page 42 of How to Date a Prince

“Oh God?—”

And then he’s totally mine, nonsensical.

Desperately wild under my tongue.

There are no words to share how much I want him. How much I need this connection. Or words to describe the space he carves within me, even knowing him so briefly.

Then, it’s just him and me and the beat of our hearts in unison, where he begs and I give and we continue until he releases with a desperate sound drowned deep in his throat, his fingers tangled in my hair.

I hold him there until he stops fitfully thrusting, his hips at last still under my hands.

I relax, lifting my head with his fingers light on my jaw, drawing me up till we kiss endlessly. His fingers find my cock, jerking me off urgently, and it doesn’t take long for me to come a second time as I gasp hard, shudder, and bury my face in his neck as he gives me the freedom I so desperately crave. When I stop trembling in his arms, he kisses me while I try dazedly to regain my bearings, blood rushing in my ears. I take his hand, draw each finger deep in my mouth against my tongue, one after another in turn.

Which is when we hear an unmistakable scuffling sound outside, someone saying “shit,” immediately followed by the crunching sound of footsteps rushing away down the gravel path.

We stare at each other, wide-eyed, then at the open doorway to the blackness of night beyond.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my—” Thomas quickly clamps a hand over my mouth, but it’s far too late to keep quiet. Till I stop and snap my jaw shut with a click.

I shake.

We frantically dress, and then I sprint away before looking at Thomas again, with him calling out once for me in the darkness of the woods.

And I run, heart pounding.

ChapterSixteen

Sleep comes for me well after sunrise, when my heart finally calms from the pure adrenaline careening through my body after being caught with Thomas again. I wake in the afternoon, confused and disoriented. It’s not so much the afternoon waking, which I’ve done before, but not here. I’m shocked no one woke me, but then again, I don’t think last night’s activities were exactly a secret to my bodyguards, who are never too far away. My face heats immediately at the memory of Thomas, and more so at the horrifying thought that someone overheard us. Or worse—recorded us. At least it’s not, say, the tabloids. I force down a deep breath.

Did Thomas sleep in too? Does he regret doing what we did? Or—even worse—want to do it again? I shiver with desire, thoroughly unnerved. I can’t give in like that again, no matter how hot he is. It’s impossible. I’ve been far too reckless. Twice.

A cold shower, a white shirt, and pair of sage-green chinos later, I slip downstairs to find something to eat. First stop is the tea station, which is mercifully quiet. I complete a raid on the kitchen for a pair of sandwiches, apparently kept aside for me. At least the chef is keeping score of my eating habits, even if I’m not.

I’m about to head out again when Colin catches me. He beams like he’s spotted a rare bird. “Ah, there you are, Your Royal Highness. Excellent timing.”

“Is it?” I ask uncertainly, looking down at my sandwiches.

“I’ll let you eat, of course, but we would love to film a package with you once you’re finished. Or at least, do a couple of takes for our segment, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Even with my agreement, my stomach knots, and my appetite wanes. I work on the tea instead. I try to read his expression, to interpret somehow if the segment is about Thomas and about us being outed. It’s definitely not about his package, thank God. I flush.

“I promise it won’t be dreadful, old thing. I’ll be there, at least,” Colin says cheerfully. “And I’m calling the shots. Well, sort of.”

“Mm,” I acknowledge with a surreptitious glance about, but there’s no sign of Gisele, the true puppet master ofRenaissance Man. Everyone knows who actually calls the shots. “Do I want to know exactly what this… package… is about?”

“Let’s sit.” Colin gestures at the dining area, empty except for a couple of crew members working engrossed at their dedicated table at the back of the room.

We sit, and I eat while Colin explains. “We didn’t have a chance to follow up with you both on your reactions to last week’s filming, and we need some footage of you talking about home.”

“Home?” My eyebrows lift as I pause mid-sandwich. What a fucking relief. Unless it’s a trick. At least when it comes to sandwiches, someone has paid attention that I prefer the vegetarian options, and this cheddar and tomato sandwich is pleasingly fresh. “What about home?”

“Well, more specifically, we want to ask you—as we do all contestants—about their family and daily life. And for you, in full disclosure, we’ve also asked your family questions about you.”

“You’ve talked to my family?” My voice rises in alarm. I set the sandwich down. I pick up the napkin and clean off my fingers, frowning.

“It’s in the papers you signed,” Colin reminds me easily, unruffled by my reaction.

“Right. The papers.” One day, I’ll get revenge on my father, I swear. Provided he lives long enough, which is the sobering wake-up call I need about real reality.

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