Page 96 of Tabloid Princess

I kept in my grin until Molly narrowed her gaze in my direction. “Why does it look like you’re having a stroke?”

“Don’t be rude. I always look like this.”

“True.” Her gaze narrowed further. “But you are dressed better today than normal. You didn’t know about this interview, did you?”

“Me? No way!” And this was God’s honest truth.

“Okay, okay.” Janine pulled us all back around to focus on her. “Leia, have you got those media packs still?”

“Yep.”

“Good. Right can everyone straighten up. Molly, go for your ciggy now, so you don’t do it later. This is the BBC guys and the prince. It’s going to be a special on their London Tonight segment.”

Wow. My heart lurched a little.

This didn’t come under the criteria of winning me over. This came under winning everyone over.

When security walked in three hours later, the journalist and film crew had already been with Janine. Cynthia Roberts, who had beady eyes and a sharp almost biting way about her must have known his arrival time because she’d positioned herself directly in the line of sight to watch my reactions.

Externally, I remained as cool as a refrigerated cucumber.

Somehow. Through some backwards counting, imagining drowned kittens, and general breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. I even managed to continue to type although it unravelled to just bashing any old keys in a show of touch typing as I held myself together.

While inside I spun into some spiralled overdrive. When he entered the building looking all princely—wearing dark grey trousers; and a pale pink shirt, typically open at the collar and rolled at the sleeves—it was enough to make all the Bright Futures staff sit up a little straighter.

The magnetic force between us almost brought me down. The moment he stepped in, it zapped between us like electricity without an earth wire. He merely gave me a simple nod of his head and a small smile, while in my memory I replayed Friday night’s unexpected kiss, his hands on my body, his fingers in my hair over and over again until I burned like a woman on a pyre.

I folded my arms across my chest and attempted to hold myself together. Could no one else feel that?

His lips gave the briefest quirk and I knew who else could.

“Your Royal Highness.” Cynthia curtseyed. “Thank you so much for this honour.”

He extended his hand to shake hers. “The honour is all mine, I assure you.”

She giggled and I watched his face closely, as closely as I dared. He showed no response at all to being fawned over; he really was the epitome of princely behaviour; apart from Friday night when he had me pushed against the door to my house, his tongue against mine, his body hard and responsive.

He became himself with me.

Even at The National Gallery, formal though the date may have been, he had still been himself, honest in his words and actions.

The small resistance I had left unravelled another notch.

“I must say the royal correspondent has been disappointed the invite didn’t extend to her.” Cynthia said, her tone grating on my ears.

The greens flashed, but he didn’t look in my direction. “My time with Bright Futures is business not personal, and I can’t remember the last time Ava Bond wrote anything about me that wasn’t utter gossip.”

Ouch.

I almost winced for Cynthia myself. Then I remembered she appeared happy to flirt with my man. My man?

“Shall we get down to business?” Oliver changed the course of the conversation, his smile growing wide. Both Cynthia and Janine blinked blindly. “I thought we could do the interview in here with the rest of the crew working in the background.

My fingers clanged against the keyboard. Was he for bloody real?

Paula automatically breathed in, then probably realising that she’d likely die if she held it in that long she slumped over.

“Oh, okay.” Janine came around to the idea quick. “That would be wonderful. Everyone okay?”