Page 70 of Away We Go

“Here.” She reaches across me to hand something to James where he sits up front, and I suck in a breath at the contact. I’vebeen keeping my distance since I almost kissed her on that bench in Imola and, like a man deprived, my body is craving the touch of her skin on mine.

My bodyguard turns to look at us, oblivious to my inner turmoil, a delighted smile lighting his face. “For me?”

“They’re jellybeans,” she explains as he stares at the bag in his hand. “I got them from a handmade lolly shop in town. They’re a mix of crazy fruity flavours.”

We watch him sift through the bag before popping a jellybean in his mouth with a giggle—that’s right, an actualgigglecomes out of the big, powerful man—and I can only stare open-mouthed in response. James came to me ex-military. He’s a giant, tatted-up soldier who takes crap from nobody. And he apparently loves lollies and giggles like a school kid.

“It tastes just like passionfruit.”

Cherry nods and settles back into her seat with a satisfied sigh.

“That was nice,” I tell her.

James chooses another jellybean and yells, “Watermelon!”

“It was nothing,” she says.

“It was something. You noticed what makes him happy and you gave it to him. It’s not nothing.”

This gets her attention. She stares up at me, her eyes searching mine, and I hurry to clear what I’m feeling for her from my face.

It’s a losing battle.

“Are we almost there?” she says, changing the subject, and the relief I should be feeling when she doesn’t push or probe me for more isn’t there. Part of me wants her to want more from me.

I glance out through the front windscreen. “We’re here now.”

Our driver pulls up on the tarmac, right next to the plane, and she jiggles in her seat next to me, pressing her nose up against the window. “It’s just like the movies.”

“I guess it is.”

I motion for her to leave the car as our luggage is unloaded from the back and once standing, she bounces up and down, staring at the stairs up to the plane like she can’t wait to get up there.

No longer resisting travelling with me now, are you, Miss Cherry?

“Wow!” she breathes when we enter the plane. “It’s just like the one they take onReal Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

She is so cute.

“Do I want to know what that is?” I murmur into her ear.

She gapes up at me. “Yes. You. Do.”

I laugh and motion to the chairs around us. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Cherry twirls on the spot, taking in the plush interior around her, the beige leather seats, the bar along one side, with a long couch along the other.

“I swear this is the exact plane the ladies ofRHOBHtook to Aspen. Gosh, that was a great season,” she chatters like an excited chipmunk.

I want to hug her.

“Mr Dimitrios. Miss Brenner. Can I offer you a drink?”

We turn in unison. “Hi, Justine,” I greet the air hostess who often travels with us. “I’m fine for now.”

She turns to Cherry, who shakes her head. “Um, maybe later.”

She nods and wanders away from us.

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