Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(144)

“I’ve heard that before. Would you ever give it up?”

“I can’t let anyone else have it. The burden is mine to bear. I would lay it down for a time, though. When my father ruled, my mother and I would travel the land with my grandfather. It was called a royal progress. At the end of each year we would settle for a month or so in a cabin in the north, at the feet of the mountains. It was always late, and the garden outside made the whole house smell of herbs. My grandfather taught me to fish in those streams. Have you ever gone fishing?”

“Yes,” I sigh. “When I was young and my brother was three or four years old, my father took us to Canada, to a lodge in Quebec. It’s not there anymore now, they tore it all down. I caught a fish.”

“Oh?”

“A little perch or something. Nothing impressive.”

“All children are impressed by their first fish.”

“We put it back in the water. I guess it’s kind of cruel to put a hook through an animal’s mouth like that, but…” I shrug. “I loved that trip. I wanted to go again so badly but we never did. I loved that part about the missionary work, sleeping in tents, even the prepared meals. I like camping and the outdoors.”

I shift closer to him, and without a word he slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in, again sniffing at my hair. He breathes deep.

“You smell earthy,” he murmurs. “Like iron and tilled soil. A good smell.”

I snort. “Thanks, you really know how to flatter a girl.”

“I want you.”

As my hand slides down his stomach and comes to rest on his erection, I sigh. “I can tell.”

As I trace the length of him through his clothes with my finger, I feel him harden more and feel a tingle between my legs. He’s, ah, impressive.

“You’re not the first guy that wanted me.”

“Or the first that has had you.”

I tense. “Careful. Is that a problem? Where I come from it isn’t.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, it’s not exactly true. I was… We never… I mean, we fooled around, but that was it. I…” I shrug. “Okay, this is weird, but my mother told me, in detail, how she slept around before she married my dad and told me that tying herself down to one man was a mistake. She kept pushing me to, I don’t know, sow my wild oats or whatever. I don’t know if it was to defy her or just who I am, but I wanted it to be special. I was waiting for my wedding night. We did other stuff. Pretty much all the other stuff. Just not that.”

He runs his fingers through my hair. They graze my scalp and leave trails of lightning in their path.

“Do you wish to wait?”

“I don’t know.” I close my eyes. “Things are different. I have more perspective. I almost died. That choice was almost taken away from me. I want it to be mine again.”

“It is yours. I will never hurt you, Penny. I will never descend to the level of those animals.”

I snicker. “You owe me three chopped-off hands already.”

My stomach quivers and my chest flutters as he pulls me onto his lap. I shift and wriggle my butt, feeling his cock dig against me through his clothes, even my skirts. His hands glide reverently across my body over the fabric of my dress, one resting on my hip, the other on my ass.

He squeezes and I jerk and wriggle in his lap and tuck up against him. He smells good, too. Like leather and trees.

“I would never descend to the level of an animal who hurts women.”

“Stop it,” I whisper, digging my fingers into his chest. I pop one of the buttons on his shirt and slip my hand inside, feeling his warm skin. “Don’t talk like that. It scares me. I want the man who carried me to safety, not the man who tore apart the people who attacked me.”

“Why do you feel such concern for them?”

“They’re people, too,” I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m tired, don’t make me think about things like that. I don’t like thinking about you killing people. I want you to stop.”

“You are an angel. Only an angel sent from heaven could have such mercy. Or feel so wonderful.”

His finger traces along my shoulder, and his hand rests on the back of my neck.

He kisses me again.

He’s more gentle this time, at least at first. Then he kisses me harder and it’s like swallowing a drop of warm honey, the heat spreading through my body. He makes me want to forget it all.

He whispers in my ear. “Your prince commands you to remove your dress.”

He looks just a little shocked when I don’t argue. I twitch from the cold stone floor against my bare feet as I stand up and undo the laces at my sides. A tug and a wriggle and the dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but these ridiculous bloomers.

He stands up, taking me by the waist, and shoves them down.

“You have freckles everywhere,” he whispers, tracing them to prove it, down the middle of my chest and stomach.

“Yeah. Grandma was Irish.”

“I thought American girls shave themselves,” he whispers in my ear, as his hand slips between my legs.

“N-n-not all,” I choke out, rising on my tiptoes as he traces a finger along my slit.

“I like it. Promise me you won’t shave.”