Page 41 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

Most Handsome Channel Islander

Ivy

T he lasagne is delicious—rich, cheesy, perfectly layered—but I barely manage half a portion. It’s not that I’m not hungry. It’s just… him.

Unlike our last date, tonight is good. Comfortable. Familiar. Like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Like it’s not just dinner—it’s foreplay.

I know it. He knows it.

Every glance, every accidental brush of hands, every low murmur of conversation is laced with tension, and it’s making my stomach do ridiculous flips.

After we finish eating—well, after Theo finishes eating, because I spend most of dinner trying to pretend I’m not hopelessly distracted—we take our drinks into the living room.

The sofa is deep and ridiculously comfortable, and I sink into it, tucking my legs beneath me.

Theo settles beside me, stretching out in that lazy way of his, arm slung over the back of the sofa .

Too close. Not close enough.

We chat easily, laughter slipping between us as effortlessly as the wine in my glass. And then, between sips, I tilt my head at him, something suddenly clicking in my mind.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask…” I gesture at him. “You, Jasper, Geoff—what’s with the old-fashioned names?”

He sighs dramatically, swirling his drink. “Theodor and Geoffrey, oh how we hated it.”

“Fitting.” I start laughing, covering my mouth with my hand. “You all have an air of poshness around you.”

Theo rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile, Jasper gets off easy—he’s just Jasper.”

I shake my head, still giggling. “So what, were your parents obsessed with history or something?”

He exhales. “My mum. She’s got some kind of old English upper-class blood, very remotely related to Edward II or something. Not that it means anything.” He rolls his eyes. “But she likes to pretend it does.”

I raise a brow. “Oh?”

He smirks. “Put it this way—she’s your typical eccentric middle-class housewife who somehow thinks she’s royalty. She basically rules the ‘high society’ of Guernsey.”

I stare at him for a second. “You’re telling me… your mum is the Queen of Guernsey?”

Theo bursts out laughing. “Something like that. She insists on calling us by our full names. Theodor, Geoffrey, Jasper—like we’re characters in a Bronte novel. Needless to say, none of us go home often.”

I let out a laugh, already picturing some grand, overly decorated house with an eccentric, pearls-and-cashmere-clad woman barking orders at her formally named sons. “I have to meet her one day.”

Theo arches a brow. “Are you mad?”

I grin. “A little.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink, but before the moment can stretch, something clicks in my brain, and I sit up straighter, suddenly very excited.

“Wait, wait, wait.” I point at him, eyes wide. “You grew up on Guernsey?”

He nods, amused by my sudden enthusiasm. “Yes…?”

I gasp. “Like Henry Cavill?!”

Theo freezes for half a second, then groans, rolling his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of his head. “Oh my God.”

I lean in, practically bouncing. “Do you know him?”

He lets his head fall back against the sofa. “Right. That’s it. Date’s over. Get out... I mean, I’ll leave.” He tries to get up, but I burst out laughing, and I stop him placing a hand on his arm.

“Come on! You both lived on a tiny island—you must have crossed paths at some point!”

Theo narrows his eyes at me, lips twitching. “First of all, no, I do not know everyone that lives on Guernsey. It is small but not that small. Second of all, he’s from Jersey, not Guernsey.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Close enough.”

“It is not close enough!” He looks deeply offended, and it just makes me laugh harder.

“I mean, it’s all the Channel Islands, right?”

Theo groans again. “Okay, this is the highest level of insulting. ”

I clutch my stomach, absolutely delighted. “But imagine if you did! You and Superman! Just two lads growing up together on a little island, sharing your deepest dreams—”

Theo levels me with a dry look. “Yes, Ivy. That’s exactly what happened. In fact, Henry and I used to have tea every Thursday. We’d sit on the cliffs and discuss our futures. He wanted to be a movie star, and I wanted to learn yoga.”

I cackle, tipping my head back against the sofa.

He shakes his head in mock despair. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable.”

But even as he’s playing it off, there’s a flicker of something else in his expression. A tiny, good-humoured flicker of jealousy.

I smirk, leaning in closer, dropping my voice into something conspiratorial. “Admit it. You’re just bitter that I brought up Henry Cavill.”

Theo scoffs. “Oh, absolutely. Gutted. Devastated, even.”

“You are!” I tease. “You wanted me to say ‘Wow, Theo, you’re the most handsome Channel Islander I’ve ever met!’”

He leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath. “I am the most handsome Channel Islander you’ve ever met.”

My smile falters slightly. Because suddenly, we’re not joking anymore.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. I exhale, forcing a casual tone. “Fine. You win. You’re officially the hottest person to come out of the Channel Islands.”

Theo grins. “I should hope so. ”

But my heart is still hammering. Because we’re sitting here, on this sofa, joking, laughing, flirting—and underneath it all, the tension is still there.

Simmering. Waiting.

We both know where tonight is heading. The question is—who’s going to make the next move?

Theo shifts on the sofa, his fingers drumming idly against his knee as he glances around the room. Then he smirks.

“Hang on.” He looks at me confused. “Where’s your army of gnomes gone?”

“What?”

“The gnomes.” He gestures around dramatically. “The creepy little festive creatures that used to haunt this place. Did they finally rise up and overthrow you?”

I roll my eyes, but my stomach tightens just a little. He noticed.

“They’re in a box,” I admit, tucking my legs under me.

Theo’s brows shoot up. “You boxed them up?”

I nod, chewing my bottom lip. “Yeah.”

His smirk deepens. “Why? Did they become self-aware? Were they plotting something sinister?”

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. “No, you dork.” I hesitate, my fingers tracing patterns on the sofa fabric. Then, before I can overthink it, I say it. “I just… I wanted to make sure the place was tidy. In case you—” I swallow. “In case you wanted to come up after dinner.”

Theo stills.

I feel his gaze on me, but I don’t look up. Bloody hell, saying it out loud makes me feel so exposed.

I risk a glance at him.

He doesn’t tease me. He doesn’t smirk .

Instead, he leans in, his voice lower, rougher. “So, you were planning this.”

I shrug, forcing an air of nonchalance even though my pulse is going insane. “Well, you did bring dinner to me, so I’d say we’re even.”

Theo studies me. Then he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Look at us.”

I arch a brow. “What about us?”

“We were both doing it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was over here making lasagne like some sort of domestic god, hoping you’d want to spend the night, and you were boxing up your gnome army to make sure I wouldn’t be scared off.”

I giggle, the tension cracking just slightly. “It was a risk. They’re quite intense.”

“You’re intense,” he murmurs.

Something about the way he says it makes my breath catch.

My giggle dies in my throat, and I suddenly realise how close we are.

His arm is still resting along the back of the sofa, and if I shifted even slightly, I’d be right against him. His gaze flicks to my lips, and for a second, I think he’s going to joke, make some snarky comment—

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his hand lifts, fingers brushing along my jaw, tilting my chin ever so slightly.

My heart stutters.

“Theo—”

But then he kisses me.

It’s not hesitant. It’s not testing the waters. It’s deliberate, firm—like he’s wanted to do this for hours and finally decided he can’t wait another second.

I melt instantly, my hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, deep and satisfied, and I feel it everywhere.

The tension that has been simmering between us all night finally ignites, and I know, without a doubt, that neither of us is stopping now.

Theo’s lips move against mine, slow and sure, like he has all the time in the world. His hands settle on my waist, firm but careful, and before I can even process it, he shifts, pulling me effortlessly into his lap.

I gasp softly against his mouth, my hands landing on his shoulders as I straddle him. I can feel his hard cock pressing against my pussy. With my skirt flared out, only the material of my knickers and his jeans is between us. A delicious shiver runs through me.

His lips trail from my mouth down to my jaw, then lower, pressing slow, lingering kisses along the curve of my neck.

I exhale, tipping my head slightly to the side, giving him more space, wanting… needing him closer.

He hums softly against my skin, his hands roaming lightly over my back, fingers dipping just under the hem of my top, teasing but not pushing. His breath is warm, his lips soft, and the way he’s holding me—steady, unhurried—makes my stomach flutter.

I shift against him instinctively, and his grip tightens slightly, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. Like he’s waiting for me to tell him exactly how far I want this to go.

And I do want this. Fuck, I want this .

But I also want him. Not just the heat, not just the way he’s making my body hum with anticipation—I want everything.

As if he can sense my thoughts, Theo presses one last kiss just below my ear and murmurs against my skin, “You know… you haven’t given me the full tour yet.”

His voice is laced with something that causes a thousand butterflies in my stomach.

I force myself to focus, my fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt. “The tour?”

His lips brush my skin again. “Mmhmm.” He presses a kiss just beneath my jaw, then lowers his voice further. “You haven’t shown me the bedroom yet.”