Page 14 of How to Bang a Billionaire

I had no idea how long I’d taken, so I didn’t dare linger over my choices. I just shucked the rest of the formal wear, pulled on my skinniest skinny jeans (the ones that, it had been suggested, made my arse look like a ripe apricot) and my MANIC PIXIE DREAM BOY T-shirt. Then I grabbed my plum velvet jacket from the armchair and sprinted back to Caspian Hart.

Chapter 4

He was sitting on the bench beneath the lime tree, one leg crossed languidly over the other in the way that only really tall people seemed able to manage. He was diddling with an iDevice but he looked up as I skidded to a halt and smiled at me. Not his usual polite, half-smile, but a real one, all heat and unhindered pleasure.

I’d given him that.

“So this is you?” His eyes did the full sweep, making me shiver. His unrestrained attention wasn’t quite comfortable—I was too worried about coming up short—but it was somehow exciting at the same time. I wanted to be worth looking at. For him.

“Arden St. Ives, reporting for duty, sir.” I threw a pretty camp-looking salute. “Did I make it?”

For a moment, I thought it might have been nothing but an empty game, but he glanced down at his screen, checking the time, before he answered. “Yes. Four minutes, sixteen seconds.”

“What if I hadn’t?”

“That would be telling.” He tucked his tech away, not looking at me. “Shall we go?”

I nodded. It wasn’t far, just across the quad and under the arch—a journey I took pretty much every day—but it felt different to be walking next to Caspian Hart. Well, it was more of an undignified scurry on my part because he had this effortless, horizon-conquering stride that seemed to make everything his wake. And I was a shortarse.

The college was slumbering quietly through the vacation. He’d shed this world so thoroughly it was hard to imagine he’d ever been here. Ever been uncertain or self-conscious. The way I was right now—aching to blurt out something stupid like Is this better? Do you like it? Do you like me?

“You’re reading English, aren’t you?” he asked.

How safe. A question that enforced distance, rather than created intimacy. “Um, yes.”

“How are you finding it?”

“Honestly? I think I’ve gone off books.”

“That seems unfortunate.”

I shrugged. “Well, I’m meant to have read nearly everything written in England between, like, 8 AD and 1930, so I’m pretty much covered.”

“In the same way you’ve read Ulysses?”

I probably should have been mortified I was busted, but all I could think was… “You remembered.”

“I do try to recall the conversations I’ve had with people, yes.”

Even the quelling tone couldn’t diminish my happiness. I grinned. “Well, all right, I can blag nearly anything written in England between 8 AD and 1930. But that’s hardly a transferable skill, is it?”

“You’d be surprised. You don’t have plans for after graduation?”

“I guess I thought something would…turn up. Aren’t you supposed to get invited to be a spy or whatever?”

“Only if you fit the profile.”

“Apparently I didn’t fit the profile.” A flicker of instinctive pique made me scowl. “Hey, why didn’t I fit the profile? What’s wrong with me?”

“It was probably your aversion to black tie.”

“But I’d be an excellent spy. I’d love being menaced by villains.”

Caspian put a hand over his mouth, but I could tell he was amused. “I don’t think that’s an aspect of the role you’re supposed to feel so enthusiastic about.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to find out.” I scuffed moodily at the gravel path, sending pebbles springing in all directions.

He was silent a moment. And then, “I’m sure, in reality, it’s very dull. You probably sit in a dark little room in Westminster, listening to world radio.”

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