Page 28 of The Princess Trap
She sped the rest of the way home, skidding into her flat’s car park and swinging recklessly into a parking space. Well—three spaces. Horizontally. Whatever. She hit the brakes, then flipped down the visor mirror, checking her reflection. Still perfect. Good. Because there, loitering near the entrance of the car park, was a black, stretch Lincoln MKT.Gag.
Well. Hans had told her they’d be back.
With a sigh, Cherry got out of the car, striding over to the limo just as its door opened and Hans’s huge body emerged.
“Madam,” he said.
“Have you come to kidnap me? I have to warn you, my scream has been known to burst eardrums.”
His lips quirked, but his gaze remained blank; he was all smooth professionalism and intimidating silence.
“Fine,” she sighed. “Be that way.” She slipped past him and climbed into the car.
He shut the door behind her.
“I’m glad to see you,” Ruben said.
Cherry closed her eyes, just for a second, as she reined in the feelings that sentence had set off. There were many of them, bright and varied as a Bonfire Night sky, but the most pressing emotion was rage.
She was still angry, then. In case she’d been in any doubt.
When she opened her eyes again, he was frowning at her. He lounged against the limo’s leather seats, his right ankle crossed over his left knee, the fabric of his suit trousers pulling tight over powerful thighs. He wore no jacket, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to expose his forearms. For a moment, she considered allowing herself to enjoy the sight of those forearms—objectively, you know. Separating the art from the artist.
Then she pulled herself together and clutched her anger close, a burning barrier against the twisted attraction she stillfelt. Clearly, his looks did terrible things to her head. And she needed her mind clear for this conversation.
Cherry tore her gaze from his face and forced herself to speak. “I thought you said the press would leave me alone?”
“In Helgmøre,” he said, “there is an understanding between my brother—the king—and the media. The royal family are protected from certain invasions of privacy. That agreement does not, unfortunately, extend to the activities of the British press.”
“Great,” she said woodenly. “Perfect. Just what I need.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
She pursed her lips. Frankly, that wasn’t much of an apology. It had all the key parts: ‘I’m’ and ’sorry’. But she wanted something a bit more impactful. Something involving sky-writing and a grand band, perhaps. Just a few ideas. Maybe she should write him a list.
“Cherry,” he said, after her silence went on a little bit too long. “Are you going to talk to me?”
Before she could stop herself, she tutted. And then was utterly mortified. God, she sounded like her mother.
The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile. “I take it that’s a no.” At her blank stare, his smile faded. He sighed, sitting up straighter, planting both feet flat on the floor. “You’re right, obviously. Why should you talk to me?” His tongue snaked out to wet his full, lower lip. “But I have a lot to say. Do you mind if we drive?”
She shrugged. He reached over and pressed one of the buttons lined up by the nearest blacked-out window. “Køre.”
The car slid into movement, so smooth she almost didn’t notice.
“Alright,” Ruben said, clasping his hands together. “I know you like to keep things to the point—”
“And yet,” she murmured, “you continue to babble.”
He grinned. Apparently, he didn’t care what she said, as long as she spoke. “I do, don’t I? It’s natural, I’m afraid.”
She arched a brow. “Now you’re doing it on purpose.”
“What can I say?” His voice deepened, became darker, rich as molasses. “I seem to behave badly around you.”
Cherry swallowed, hard. She clamped her knees together and tried to forget the feeling of his hands tugging at her suspenders. Didn’t work. So she talked over the images crowding her brain. “Whatever you’re trying to say here, get on with it. Please. Before you bore me to death.”
His eyes captured hers and didn’t let go. They were steady, impenetrable, unavoidable, even as he gave her that devastating little half-smile. “Certainly. I’m here to make you an offer.”
