She grins. “That’s good to know.”

But then her eyes narrow. “Have you touched them? Like this?”

I chuckle at the thread of jealousy in her tone.

“No. I’m practically a monk. It seems fate has been conspiring from the very beginning for us to end up right here.”

“Good.”

Wanting to make sure we’re clear, so there are no misunderstandings, I reiterate, “So I’ll do what I have to do, go through the motions, honor my commitment for the next two weeks. But we’ll have this, here in this room; we’ll be together. Yeah?”

She gives me a nod and I want to sigh with relief.

“Yes.”

Now that that’s out of the way, I lean forward and kiss her again, sliding my tongue against hers. She presses back eagerly, honest and so damn perfect. My lips trail up her jaw to her ear and she shivers against me.

“I want to make you come again, Sarah.”

She nips at my earlobe. “Yes, please.”

And I laugh. “So polite.”

Then there’s no more talking. There’s only moaning, and gasping and writhing and coming. Until, much later, exhausted and spent, we both fall asleep.

THE NEXT MORNING, I wake with my nose buried in the soft skin of a fragrant neck and strands of hair tickling my face. I give Sarah a squeeze and nip at her shoulder, but she just moans sleepily.

Poor thing—I kept her up very late, doing very, very bad things.

And I can’t stop bloody smiling about it.

I slip out from under the covers, shower and get dressed. It’s a location shot today; Laura and I will be hiking all day. Before I leave, I kneel beside the bed and brush back Sarah’s hair, then run my hand up and down her arm, until eventually her long lashes blink and her eyes open.

She inhales. “Henry? What time is it?”

“Early. You can go back to sleep. I just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. How are you feeling, sweets?”

I’ve never been with a virgin. And while last night wasn’t the big “first time” for Sarah, it was a lot of little firsts. As the experienced one, I want to make sure she’s all right with that.

She stretches and the sheet falls down, exposing her elegant neck and perfect tits—my mouth goes dry and my head goes blank.

“I feel . . . hungover,” she says. “Drained.” And then she smiles naughtily. “And randy. I think you’ve created a monster, Your Highness.”

My head drops to the bed with a thud. Why am I leaving this room again? Oh, that’s right, my dick reminds me—because I’m a double damned fool.

“Hold that thought.” I kiss her, quick and playful. “And don’t move from this spot. We’ll pick up right here when I get back to you tonight.”

IT’S A GLORIOUSLY INDULGENT DAY. After Henry leaves, I fall right back to sleep and don’t wake until noon. Penny comes to check on me, to makes sure I’m all right after last night. She explains that Lancaster was tossed out after Henry beat him to a bloody pulp. I’m not usually a vengeful person but in this case, I’ll make an exception.

Penelope also says that Elizabeth is leaving with Sam this morning. She wanted to stay, to go through the motions, like Henry said—for the sake of the show—but Sam put his foot down.

“Good for them,” Penny says, and I agree.

After she leaves, I shower and dress and grab a quick bite at the food service table and then head straight back upstairs, to be lazy. I lie in the nook and read, resting my forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane, but my mind keeps wandering from the story back to what Henry and I did last night.

Now I see what all the fuss is about.

I’m not completely clueless. I know what an orgasm is and have been happily giving them to myself for years. But getting one from Henry . . . just wow.

He’s bold and confident; I think that’s my favorite part. The way he moves, how he touches me and himself—how he’s sure of just what to do. And he knows it. It’s beautiful and thrilling at the same time. And I like that we talked afterward, cleared the air. It’ll make it easier. He’s the Crown Prince, the star of the show; I can’t very well expect him to quit like Elizabeth. I need to be understanding. And I am. Truly.

Plus it’s only two more weeks. It’ll be like no time at all.

It’s after six and already dark when the bedroom door opens. Henry leans back against it, watching me. His eyes shine with an intense, almost dangerous light. Everything about him is tight and coiled—his jaw, his shoulders, his clenched hands.

A shiver ripples under my skin as he stalks forward, like a jaguar or lion—all smooth grace and lethal power. He grips the back of his shirt as he goes, sliding it up and off, revealing the tight, sinewy muscles of his arms and abdomen. Lounge pants hang low on his hips, displaying a dusting of golden hair that trails a path beneath the waistband. And the image of rubbing my cheek, my lips, against that hair springs to mind. Will it be soft? Wiry? Would Henry moan if I blew on it or would he grip my hair and move my mouth to more interesting places?

When he reaches the bed, he wraps his hand around my ankle and jerks me down to the edge. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

It’s only when I speak that I realize I’m breathless. “About what?”

And the man who will be my king sinks to his knees before me.

“About tasting you. I’m going to lick you until my tongue gives out. Any objections?”