Page 95 of Tabloid Princess

“Until you think you know me.”

“I don’t know. How long’s a piece of string?”

“However long you cut it.”

“That’s stupid.” I giggled against his lips and he kissed me, a brief but intoxicating sweep of his mouth.

“So string…”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

His kiss when it came back no longer teased and hinted. It pulled and challenged, dragging sensations from me I didn’t know if I wanted to give.

The monster growled as I shifted my body against his. His instant desire pressing right where it felt the best.

He’d be the end of me.

I’d never survive this burning furnace of anticipation.

All too soon he broke the kiss, one hand still on my face, his other running along my side. “I have to go.”

“You do?” My response caught between a question and a request.

I reminded myself of the Daisy Protocol. More for me than anything else.

“You’ve set me a challenge.”

“I have?” I reluctantly shifted off his body, already aching at the space between us.

He shot me a mega wattage smile and stood from the sofa.

“Mummy!”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “That’s my cue,” he whispered.

For one wild moment I wanted to ask him to stay. An irrepressible bubble of an urge lifted inside me. I didn’t. I nodded and watched him turn to the door, giving him a small wave as he slipped outside. Bill must be close, otherwise he’d never have walked out. But then maybe he’d risk it rather than break the Daisy Protocol as he called it.

“Mummy!”

I shut down my errant and dangerous thoughts and paced up the stairs.

* * *

“We’ve got the BBC coming in.” Janine’s throat blotched with red marks.

I spun on my chair. “No one said anything about that.”

“Apparently Prince Oliver has offered them a one-on-one interview with me and him.”

I pursed my lips. “That’s a surprise.”

Janine looked momentarily baffled. “I know. The impression I got from Freya was that he’d be less involved, and now he’s coming back.”

Funny that.

“He must really want us to do well.” I kept my tone even.

“You’d think he’d have better things to do.” Molly piped up. “I saw in the paper he had a date at the National Gallery.” She tapped her pen against her teeth. “Some people have all the luck. That guy I went out with on Saturday looked like he wanted to cry when I asked for fish and chips on the way home from the pub.”