I want a princess

to wipe the smile from his face. He was walking into town with Cherry Neita. Cherry Neita. This morning, he hadn’t even known that name. Now it held as mu

eyes crinkling at the corners. “Feel free to laugh at me,” he grinned back. “I know I’m arrogant.” She chuckled. “As long as you know.” “What I meant,” he said, “is that I like talking to people who are at eye level.” They turned into the town centre, right onto the little high street. “Where do you want to eat, by the way?” She shrugged. “I don’t really mind. Somewhere with cake.” “You like cake?” “I love cake. Plus, it’s my birthday.” The word ended quietly, her voice fading away, as if she wanted to snatch it back. Her eyes flew to his, and he had the distinct impression that she hadn’t meant to tell him that. Well. Too late now. “Your birthday,” he repeated slowly, coming to a stop. He caught her hand in his, swinging her around to face him. Every time he touched her, something inside him snapped to attention—as if, now they’d made physical contact, the party could really begin. Right. Because women always went from hand-holding to the bedroom in a matter of minutes.She looked up at him—but not up up. She really was tall, and he really did like it. A lot. “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 i

rove people wild. Cherry did not forget herself in a public streetover 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. His hands, 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. He could restrain 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 remembered the cake. Of course he did, her inner voice snapped. It sounded suspiciously like her mother. Don’t give him points for basic recollection. He plucked a dessert menu from the centre of the table and handed it to her with a flourish. It was odd—everything he did seemed utterly natural and unaffected, yet he was at once completely charming. In Cherry’s experience, charm took work. Maybe he was especially good at faking it. The thought should have made her wary, but instead, she began to think of him as a kindred spirit. A kindred spirit with deliciously broad shoulders and a beautiful smile. And very big hands. “What would you like?” He asked. “Um…” She studied the menu, as if she hadn

ngs?” “I have a sister,” she said. Beneath the table, his foot rubbed against hers. It was a slow, rhythmic touch, almost soothing. But it was hard to feel soothed by a man who set your every nerve-ending alight. “Older or younger?” He prompted. “Um… Younger. Maggie. She’s in America.” Usually, Cherry loved bragging about her sister, even when it came with the usual twinge of worry. Always, she worried about Maggie. But today, her words were as muddled as her feelings. “I mean —she goes to Harvard. She’s very clever.” “Takes after you, then?” Cherry’s brows shot up. “I’m not cle

. “It’ll save dithering. Just chocolate.” “Just chocolate it is,” he murmured. But when the cake arrived, it was a bigger slab than she’d ever seen in a middle-class cafe—places of notoriously stingy portions. And it came with two forks. CHERRY WAS LOOKING at the pair of cake forks like they’d hopped up from the table and started dancing thecancan. Ruben bit down a smile. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate being laughed at. He wouldn’t have thought, based on first impressions, that she’d be… like this. Direct in some ways, skittish in others. Verging on shy. Maybe she needed to get to know him. Maybe she found it easier to beat people into submission with those dimples and that cleavage than she did to just… talk. Or maybe she was as blindsided by this attraction as he was, and had less experience following her instincts. All of those explanations felt right, but he’d like to know for sure. He’d like to know her. Ruben picked up a fork—since she clearly wasn’t going to— and said, “Do you mind?” The words seemed to jerk her into action. If Cherry

nd your business,” she sniffed. “Mind my business?” “Yes. Here’s a tip: if you want to fly under the radar, try toning it down to Armani or something.” Ruben sighed. “Noted.” “So what’s up with that? Are you sponsoring the Academy?” If he wasn’t so attuned to the tone of her voice, to the tilt of her lips and the light in her dark eyes, he might have missed the tinge of disapproval in her words. But Ruben had spenttheir lunch watching her as closely as he’d watched her hips that morning. So he noticed. And he wanted to know why. “If I weren’t,” he said carefully, “would you try to persuade me?” “Persuade you?” She took another bite of cake. He watched her jaw work as she chewed. The sight should not be erotic, but apparently his libido was on the rampage today. “Convince me to join the cause,” he said. “Enlist me. Whatever.” “Ah. Um… Why, would you listen?” “To you?” Beneath the table, his ankle was hooked around hers. Almost absent-mindedly, her foot had started rubbing against him, silky and slow, like a cat. “You know I would.” “Oh

. How would it feel, he wondered, for a woman like Cherry Neita to hand him all that glittering power of hers? To willingly submit? If he asked, she’d probably say she’d rather die. But he wouldn’t ask. She would. Ruben settled the bill as she slid on her coat, doing up the neat little buttons. He’d taken pity on her and pushed her shoe over, beneath the table. Neither of them mentioned the fact that he’d effectively stolen it in the first place. As they left the cozy warmth of the cafe, Ruben reached out to catch Cherry’s arm. She turned to

ve to get changed first. I don’t dress like this all the time, you know.” She smiled. “Maybe you could come back to my flat. While I get ready.” Ruben shifted, trying to lessen the sudden pressure of his cock against his zip. It didn’t hel