Page 108 of Tabloid Princess

Oliver beckoned us down a path that led away and to the side of the house. There, a row of stables backed onto a small courtyard. I gasped realising who Daisy must be.

I would simply never survive Christmas or birthdays again after this.

“Ponies!” Daisy launched herself forward.

“Daisy, wait,” I called, but Oliver caught my hand. “It’s fine, Zoe will be there, she’s expecting us.”

“Zoe?” Utterly ridiculous but a dart of jealousy speared my insides.

Until Zoe stepped out and I realised she was over fifty with long grey hair tied into a side plait. She looked like she lived, breathed, and slept with her horses.

“Miss Daisy?” she asked.

“That’s me.” I watched my little girl puff her chest out with pride.

Just at that moment a white nuzzle snuffled over the top of a stable door.

A white horse… was this a joke?

I turned to Oliver, not trusting the expression of innocence he maintained. “Daisy is an old pony. She’s been here for a long time.”

I narrowed my gaze. Many might believe him—I wasn’t one of them.

He held his hand onto his heart. “Truth.”

Zoe analysed Daisy and then turned to a supply of riding hats, picking two off the pile on the shelf and plonking them onto Daisy’s head. “This one.” She then turned to us. “We will be awhile getting to know one another before Daisy rides. I’m sure we will be more than fine.”

Oliver caught my wrist and went to pull me away. If Zoe noticed his natural action, it didn’t show on her face at all.

“I’d rather stay. Daisy’s never been near a horse before.”

“Leia.” His voice was a low command. “She’s fine. I promise. Zoe taught me to ride, and John and Isabella. Believe me, she’s the best.”

Daisy gave me a cheery wave, her distracted attention already pulling towards the horse.

“Come,” he whispered in my ear and I allowed him to lead me away. As soon as we were out of sight, his arm slipped around my waist.

His touch travelled through me like electricity and the monster who’d been half asleep on the journey here woke with a sudden start.

“Would you like the tour?”

“Another royal tour?”

He grinned. “As the royal here…”

“Shh.” I pulled him closer, slipping my hands around his waist, running them over the muscles of his back. My lips reached for his as I stood on tiptoes. The connection as our mouths crushed together made me gasp.

A hunger I’d never known clawed inside me.

His hands ran across my clothes, his thumbs travelling to my throat, grazing and caressing. A swirling pool of desire created a vortex in my stomach, a whirlpool I had no chance of surviving.

Every touch was new. Every gasp of expectation a sound I hadn’t muttered before.

In the back of my mind, the promise of our conversation jangled a bell.

This was all new for me. It wasn’t for him.

The red-hot heat quickly cooled.