Page 25 of Royal Catch
He grins and it’s like the sun comes out. He should always be this happy. I’m about to return the favor when it occurs to me the real Polly wouldn’t know how to give a blow job and might even get serious flack for it. Her monarchy is old school.
“Show me how to pleasure you,” I say instead.
He groans and slides my thong back on. “We’ll work up to that.”
“I’m ready and willing, Gabriel.” I throw his name in there because I know he likes it. I don’t think many people call him by his given name. I’ve heard a lot ofYour Highnessandsiraround here. “And I’m not sure how much time I have left here. Please let me return the favor.”
He meets my eyes for a moment, shakes his head, and then pulls my skirt back up. I stand and wiggle it over my hips. He turns me and does the zipper and clasp for me.
“No?” I’m shockingly disappointed.
He cups my ass with both his hands, giving me a squeeze. “I’ve already compromised you terribly. Keep this just between us, okay?”
“Okay.”
He turns me back to him and kisses me roughly. I taste myself, and it’s so erotic I try to climb his body. He pulls away before I can get a good foothold.
Then I’m looking at his retreating back without one word of goodbye after all we shared.
“See you at the triathlon,” I call.
“Tarantulas at the finish line,” he returns and then he’s gone.
I shiver. They don’t have tarantulas here, do they?
Chapter Eight
Anna
I belatedly remember Gabriel invited me to his room for dinner, and by late afternoon I’m actually nervous like this is a real date or something. I’m imagining dining by candlelight, intimate conversation as he finally drops the weight of being the crown prince and relaxes as just himself. At least I assume in the privacy of his suite he would be himself. He definitely seemed different last night when I showed up in his room with my plan to rescue both him and Polly. And he was divinely dirty in his private sitting room.
I’m standing in front of the closet, picking through my meager wardrobe for the perfect outfit that says sexy yet date appropriate, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call, turning to the door.
Anna steps inside and does a quick curtsy. “Your Highness, the crown prince sends his apologies that he won’t be able to meet you for dinner tonight.”
My happy bubble pops, and my shoulders droop, my limbs suddenly heavy. “Oh.” I straighten my spine and square my shoulders. “Did he say why?”
“No, ma’am.”
I bob my head. My chest is tight like a big hand is pressing down on me. I tell myself I shouldn’t feel hurt or disappointed. I was living in a dream world that I, Anna Hebert, was actually going to have a date with Gabriel, the crown prince. I turn back to the closet and shut the door. No need for the perfect outfit now.
Anna speaks again in a sympathetic voice. “I heard he left Villroy. Perhaps he had something he needed to attend to.”
He left Villroy?My eyes well up, and I order them to knock it off. I’ve never been a big crier. “Did he say when he would return?”
“No, ma’am.”
I turn to face her and give her a weak smile. “Thank you, Anna.”
She bobs her head, curtsies, and walks swiftly out the door.
I cross to the bed and flop backward on it. I shouldn’t be this upset. Except what if I never see him again? I never got to say goodbye or thank him for his generosity in giving me a spectacular orgasm and asking for nothing in return. Oh shit. What if that’s the reason he left? He was trying to restrain himself from taking Polly’s innocence. Is he hooking up with another woman to deal with his unsatisfied lust? My gut does a slow roll. I have no right to be jealous, no right to Gabriel at all, yet everything in me rebels at the thought of him with another woman.
And then it hits me. The terrible incredibly stupid truth—I’m falling for him.
I place the blame entirely on his magnificent shoulders. With his smoldering looks and gruff tenderness, any woman would fall hard. And the worst part is, I know it’s impossible. Even if he forgave me for lying about who I am, which is not at all a sure thing, he needs to marry nobility. Otherwise, why would we be having this competition among princesses? I’m the furthest thing from nobility—an American orphan—and I could never fit the traditional royal mold. My distant relation to Polly—sixth cousins tied by a common ancestor eight generations back—doesn’t count as royal anything. She was clear on that. I’m still a commoner.
