Page 11 of The Princess Trap

But still, she only said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes,” he said simply. The look in his dark eyes became burning hot, its intensity completely at odds with the casual confidence he exuded. But then he looked away, and his easy smile returned. “I like your nails,” he said. Apparently, they were changing the subject.

“Thanks. I got extra sparkles. You know, for my birthday.”

He laughed. “For a woman who supposedly doesn’t like birthdays—”

“I know,” she admitted. “I just like to feel my best, starting a new year and all.” It was only the 9th of January. She could attribute the nails—and the new lipstick, and the lace on her garters—to New Years’ cheer rather than birthday extravagance.

“You need to choose your cake,” he said. “Or you’ll be late back.”

“Oh, yes.” He was right. She’d lost track of time. Which she never did.

But theywouldn’tbe late, because he had things under control. And, apparently, gave a shit about her schedule. How refreshing.

Cherry belatedly realised that her standards appeared to be rather low.

“Chocolate,” she said firmly. “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 the cancan. 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 was a puzzle, manners were her key. “Oh, no. Of course not.” She picked up her own fork and, after the slightest hesitation, dug in.

And here came the part he’d really been looking forward to. Watching Cherry eat cake.

She carved out a neat little piece with her fork, scooping up as much fudge icing as she could. He approved. She slid the mouthful between her lips, or rather, between her teeth. She appeared to have perfected the art of eating without messing up her lipstick. He didn’t know why she’d bothered pulling out that little mirror. She must know that she still looked perfect.

He’d like to smudge that lipstick for her. Wondered if she’d let him. Of course, he was getting ahead of himself. The sight of her lashes fluttering in pleasure, of her tongue sliding out to trace her scarlet lower lip, would do that to a man.

She let out a satisfied sigh as she chewed. Then her eyes flitted to his and she raised her brows. Swallowed. Said, “Aren’t you eating?”

He, of course, said the first thing that came into his head. “I was enjoying the view.”

She rolled her eyes. “Predictable.”

“I suppose you hear that kind of thing a lot.”

“I certainly do.” She speared another bite of cake. “Seriously, eat. I can’t finish all this on my own.”

“I had no idea you were such a delicate flower.”

“Fuck off.”

He laughed as he finally dug in. “IfChris, darling, could hear you now.”

“God,” she snorted. “He’d skin me alive. Swearing at important visitors.”