Page 9 of The Princess Trap
“We should do something to celebrate,” he said.
She shook her head. Her hair bounced around her face. He had the strongest urge to sink his hand into the curls, but she’d probably slap him for it. Definitely, in fact.
“I don’t celebrate,” she said, her voice low.
“Ever?”
“Not birthdays.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “Well done, you continued to exist?It’s ridiculous. Birthdays are for children. I am not a child.”
“But you want birthday cake,” he murmured. Did she notice the fact that he was pulling her closer? He didn’t think so. She came as if floating, half-dreaming, and now he imagined that he could feel the heat of her body, even through both their coats. There was barely a breath between them. He could kiss her. Did she notice? Or was she as mindless right now as he was?
“I always want cake,” she replied, her voice absent. “Everyone wants cake.” But her eyes were focused firmly on his lips. Maybe heshouldkiss her.
A bus barrelled past, its engine thundering and its heavy wheels splashing through the puddles left by last night’s rain. In an instant, Cherry went from half-hypnotised to razor-sharp, twisting away from the road until she stood firmly behind him.
Ruben blinked, disarmed. “What are you—?”
“A bus splashed me once,” she said. “Ruinedmy stockings. Anyway, shall we go? I’ve only got an hour, you know.”
His heart fell. She no longer sounded hypnotised. But on the bright side, he now knew that she wore stockings rather than tights.
That was valuable information.
“You know,” he said, “I’m sure Tabary wouldn’t mind if I kept you out a little longer. It’s not like you have a class schedule, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you serious? Chris is all aboutpunctuality. I’d have to be the Queen of bloody England to get away with that.”
Ruben felt his lips twitch. “Fair enough.” He turned his attention to the high street, scanning the rows of shops and cafes before them. “That place looks good.”
“Copper?” She blessed him with a smile. “You have great taste. Let’s go.”
Cherry was no stranger to flirting.
In fact, she counted it as a hobby. At least 60% of her daily social interaction consisted of flirting, and sometimes she even went wild and followed it up with dates and sex and… well, that was it, really. But the point was, when it came to flirting, Cherry was something of an expert.
Or she’d thought she was. But for the past thirty minutes, all she’d done was choke down her sandwich and avoid eye contact and try not to wring her hands. It was all very embarrassing.
Ruben sat across the table, looking irritatingly gorgeous and infuriatingly confident. He hadn’t mentioned her sudden silence. He hadn’t really tried to lure her out of it, either. There was a gleam in his eye that said he knew exactly what had her so quiet.
She believed that gleam. He seemed the kind of man who knew things. A capable kind of man, the sort with a hard-won and well-earned confidence that sent shivers down her spine and dangerous thoughts through her head. Which was why she suddenly couldn’t flirt—or even speak.
Cherrysent shivers.Cherryinspired thoughts.Cherrydrove people wild. Cherry didnotforget herself in a public street over the curve of a man’s lips or the incongruous length of his eyelashes.
Yes, it was all incredibly embarrassing. She might be infatuated.
She patted at her lips with a napkin, then rifled through her handbag, which she’d stashed on the seat next to her. At the time, she’d thought it best that he couldn’t sit beside her. But now he was sitting in front of her, and she’d spent the whole meal trying not to drool over his hands. Hishands, for Christ’s sake!
She pulled out a tube of lipstick and a compact mirror—but he reached across the table, catching her wrist. It was the lightest touch of skin against skin, hardly a restraint, but it released a torrent of dark images in Cherry’s mind. Hecouldrestrain her, if he wanted to. If she asked him to.
God, she was ridiculous.
“What?” she clipped out.
“Cake,” he said simply. And despite herself, she softened. He’d remembered the cake.
