Page 51 of Save Me (Maxton Hall #1)

Ruby

“You should have said before.” James runs a finger down my spine, and I shudder.

“Why?”

I’m lying with my head on his chest, absent-mindedly stroking his firm stomach. Our legs are interlinked, and we’re still naked, although James has pulled the duvet over us now.

“Because I’d have been gentler,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against my hairline.

“I think it would have scared you, and you’d have run away.”

“I wouldn’t. I’d just have been more careful.”

I put my head back and look up into his face. There’s a crease between his brows—he looks genuinely worried.

“But I didn’t want it gentle and careful.”

One corner of his mouth twitches slightly, and there’s a dark flash in his eyes. It vanishes as fast as it came. “Maybe I should have thought about a change of scene. Nobody should lose their virginity in a college bedroom with a squeaky bed.”

I sit up in outrage. For a split second, James’s gaze lands on my breasts, then he looks me in the eyes again. “Hello? If I’m going to lose my virginity anyway, then yes please to doing so in Oxford.”

He shakes his head with a laugh. The next moment, he takes hold of my elbows and pulls me down until I land on top of him. He wraps his arms around me and holds me firmly to his warm body. “You’re crazy, Ruby Bell.”

Maybe a little, I admit in my mind.

But it all felt so right. James and me—maybe it will never be simple for us, and maybe James’s father will do everything he can to get me out of his son’s life, but I’m ready to fight for James.

This thing between us is something special.

As of today, I know that, and the way he looks at me, and touches me, tells me that he feels the same.

We’ll do this. I’ve never been this certain of anything.

“How did it go for you?” I ask after a while, not meeting his eyes.

“Hmm?”

I focus on the pattern I’m drawing on his stomach. “I mean…how was your first time?”

He exhales audibly, and his belly sinks under my hand. “Do you really want to know?”

Now I do look at him. “Of course I do.”

“It was OK. I was fourteen, drunk, and I made a mess of it.”

“Fourteen?” Oh God, then he’s had four years’ practice. I don’t want to think about how many girls he must have been with to be this good.

“Wren bet me I wouldn’t, so I did. It took about two minutes and didn’t feel great.”

“Then you’re not exactly entitled to throw opinions about successful first times around the place,” I say quietly.

“If you ever tell anyone your story, I hope this will come out of it better.”

I press a kiss onto his chest. “Definitely. It was perfect.”

I don’t understand why, but it feels entirely normal to be lying here with him like this.

As if this is right where I belong. I haven’t felt this good in weeks, and even the slightly painful throbbing between my legs isn’t bothering me.

I meant what I said: It was perfect. And I can’t imagine a better time or place for it.

“You seemed really upset this afternoon,” James says out of nowhere, which does damp my mood a bit.

“The interview was shit,” I mumble.

His lips roam over my hairline again and graze my temple. “Those tutors were both dickheads. I think they get off on deliberately unsettling applicants. I’m sure you were great.” He says it with such certainty that I almost believe him. Almost.

“I really wasn’t. I got one question totally wrong. And I could definitely tell that they didn’t think much of what I said.”

“In what way?”

I tell him about the morning’s debacle.

“Like I said, I swear they get off on it. Don’t worry so much. If you don’t get into Oxford, nobody will.” He sounds more confident than I feel, but it’s good even to talk to anyone about it. Especially because James knows how much it means to me.

“Thank you for saying that.”

He kisses my lips by way of answer. It’s an effort not to just lose myself in him, to pull my head back after a while and ask: “How did yours go?”

He makes a rumbling sound that’s hard to interpret, and suddenly there’s that look on his face, the one that turns up anytime the talk comes around to Beaufort’s, Oxford, or his future. And it makes my heart ache.

“Talk to me,” I whisper.

James looks darkly back at me. In the end, he gives in and takes a deep breath. “I know that Oxford means the world to you, which is why it’s so hard for me to talk to you about it, but…to me, I find all the drama a bit silly.”

I try not to let that get to me. Not everyone has the same dreams and ambitions. James feeling that way has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him.

“When I was in the interview earlier…Everything just moved on around me. Like in a black-and-white film that someone’s fast-forwarding, and I’m the only person who doesn’t budge.”

“If you really don’t want to study here, or go into your parents’ firm—what would you rather do instead?”

He shakes his head, and I see the panic in his eyes. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?” I stroke his cheek and feel how rough his skin is there. There’s a bit of stubble coming through, and he’ll have shaved it off in the morning. But James looks amazing with a five o’clock shadow.

“You were right when you said that I don’t know what I want from life. I don’t think about everything I could do, because if I allow myself to dream, it just makes everything all the more depressing afterward.”

He still thinks that he has no chance to take control of his own life. But why would he, when there’s a legacy like that waiting for him, like a huge burden on his shoulders?

“Dreams are important, James,” I whisper.

“Then you’re my dream.”

For a moment, that takes my breath away, but I quickly realize that that was cheating—that he’s just trying to avoid responding to what I just said. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works.”

He gives me a wonky smile. “Yeah, that would’ve been too easy.”

“So, what do you like? What gives you a buzz?”

He has to think about that for a moment. I feel that he’s suddenly tense, and I kiss his chest as if to tell him that it’s OK and to take his time.

“I like lacrosse,” he begins hesitantly. “And books. Art. Good music. Oh, and spicy food. Spicy Asian food, to be precise. Someday, I’d like to go to Bangkok and try all kinds of things in the street markets there.”

I grin into his skin. “What, like deep-fried locusts?”

“Exactly.” His tension gradually eases.

“That all sounds in the realm of possibility.”

“Those are things you do on holiday, not goals in life.”

I run my hand in gentle circles around his stomach. “It’s a start. You could do all those things if you stopped getting in your own way.”

James says nothing.

I have an idea. Abruptly, I stand up and hunt for my underwear on the floor. I find everything right next to the bed and slip into my knickers first, then my bra. I spot a gray T-shirt of James’s on the chair by the desk. I pull it on and then turn my attention to the desk.

“What are you doing?” James asks behind me. I grab his black notebook, the one with the fancy “B,” and a pen, then turn to face him. He’s pulled his boxer shorts back on too.

“We’re going to make a list,” I answer, clambering back into bed with the book.

James looks inquiringly at me. I tap the mattress beside me. The bed is still warm, and the scent of James is all around me. Slowly, he comes toward me, his eyes suspicious. The mattress sags beneath his weight as he sits down.

I lean over him to switch on the bedside lamp. Then I open his notebook in my lap.

“Whenever I feel bad, I make lists. Ever since I was little, it’s helped me to stay focused and to keep a clear head.

Even when things aren’t going so well,” I explain.

“I find inspiring quotes or make notes of things I want to do one day, or want to change about the world, or whatever.” I pick up the pen.

“I normally make it all a bit more colorful, but this will have to do.”

The suspicion vanishes from his face, and he smiles. “You want to make a list like that for me?”

I nod. “Maybe it’ll help motivate you too.”

He studies the blank page in the notebook and then nods. “OK.”

I grin and set the pen to paper. Then I write To Do in swirly letters in the middle at the top. I draw a wavy line under the title. Then I write: 1. Travel to Bangkok . I look expectantly at James. “What next?”

He rubs his chin pensively.

“It can be anything,” I remind him.

“I’d like to keep playing lacrosse,” he says in the end, quietly.

“Oh, yes,” I murmur, making a note of the second point on the list. Then I draw a little lacrosse stick and James’s shirt with the seventeen on it. By the time I glance up, his expression is so warm, it makes my belly start to tingle.

“So, what now?”

He needs another moment to think. I don’t want to pressure him, so I wait patiently.

“I’d like to read more,” he says. “And not just my usual stuff.”

“What do you normally read?”

“Nonfiction books my dad gives me. Biographies of successful businessmen.” He frowns. “But there’s so much more. I’d like to try manga, for example.” He gives me a smile that speaks volumes.

“I could give you a list of recommendations,” I say, smiling back at him.

“I’d devour them.”

I grin and bend over the list. 3. Read more, other genres , I write. “What else?”

James swallows hard. “Obviously, I’d like a job where I feel fulfilled.

I don’t know what, or if it’s even possible, but…

” He shrugs his shoulders. It seems like he wants to say more but won’t let himself.

I put the pen down and hold his face. I tenderly run my thumb over his warm cheek and then lean in to kiss him. He shuts his eyes and sighs softly.

“Everything is possible, James,” I whisper, leaning back again. I pick up the pen and jot down: 4. Find a fulfilling career . After that, I eye my handiwork thoughtfully.

“There’s something missing,” James says suddenly, grabbing for the notebook. He takes the pen from me and writes something down.

“Finished,” he murmurs, holding the book out. I slide over next to him until my bare thigh is touching his and read what he’s added.

5. Ruby

I hold my breath and look from the list to James and back again.

“If you’re with me, I feel as though I can do anything,” he says hoarsely. “So that’s why you definitely belong on a list that’s there to make me happy.”

I don’t know what to say. So I climb onto his lap and fling my arms around his neck. He puts his hand on the back of my head and kisses me. Together, we sink back into the pillow, with molten lips and his dreams in our hands.