Page 6 of The Princess Trap

“Alright! Enough about me! Tell us about the man, will you?”

Cherry rolled her eyes. She pretended to hesitate. In fact, she didn’t really have to pretend.

Ruben Ambjørn. He was foreign, from his accent—Scandinavian or something. Only he didn’tlookScandinavian, like they did on TV. He wasn’t all blonde-haired and blue-eyed.

But hewassingularly gorgeous. And deliciously broad. Cherry liked large men. Especially large men with crooked smiles and lazy confidence and dark eyes and…

Rose snapped her fingers in front of Cherry’s face. “Have we lost you, darling?”

“Oh, bugger off,” Cherry said, but there was no heat in it. “I’m sure half the teachers must have seen him by now, anyway. I heard he was getting the grand tour.”

“Maybe they have,” said Jasleen. “But they’d rather die than tellusanything.”

There was a strict hierarchy at the Academy, you see. Well—less a hierarchy, more a clear boundary. Teaching staff on one side, and everyone else—admin, I.T., finance, cleaners and groundskeepers—on the other.

Which Cherry didn’t mind. Their side of the line was, after all, much more fun.

“Fine,” she sighed, Clearly, she wasn’t getting out of this one. “He’s…”

Rose filled the gap. “Tall, dark and handsome?”

“Well, yeah,” Cherry admitted. “That about sums it up. Oh, and—”

“Incredibly well-dressed?” Jas supplied.

“Ye-e-e-s,” Cherry said. Usually, she and Rose were the only ones who cared about a man’s dress sense. “And—”

“Kind of sexily intimidating?” Beth murmured.

“Christ, have you seen him already?”

“Cherry,” said a familiar voice. It was deep, and it was smoky, and it was coming from right behind her.

Oh.Oh.

Moving slowly—she had to maintainsomesort of dignity—Cherry turned in her seat to face Ruben Ambjørn.

He towered over their little group like a looming angel. He certainly had the bone structure for it—like one of those terribly beautiful statues. Greek, or French, or whatever. She should probably stop thinking about nonsense and say something, but her mind appeared to have latched on to hiseyebrows. They were almost black—a shade darker than the stubble at his jaw. She wasn’t one for facial hair, but—

Rose kicked her under the table.

Oh, yes. Talking.

“Mr. Ambjørn,” she said, to hide the fact that she didn’t know whatelseto say. Speechlessness wasn’t something Cherry experienced. Ever. Yet here she was, flapping about like a fish.

It was his fault. He’d surprised her.

He had the grace to step in and save the conversation from collapse. “Could I steal you for a second? I have a small question, and I know you’re just the woman to answer it.”

“Oh! Of course.” Cherry turned back to the table, grabbing her handbag. Then she stood as gracefully as she could, pointedly avoiding Rose’s gaze—and Jasleen’s smirk, and Beth’s gawp. Really, the woman had half a sandwich in her gob.

The staffroom’s ever-present chatter quietened down as Cherry followed Ruben out. She supposed they made a conspicuous couple. She was tall, very tall in her heels.

And he, unusually, was taller.

He led her out of the staffroom’s double doors and into an abandoned side corridor, one that led to the loos. She should’ve been more preoccupied with the smell of industrial bleach than with the way he looked at her. But she wasn’t.

Oh dear.