Page 10 of The Princess Trap
Of course he did, her inner voice snapped. It sounded suspiciously like her mother.Don’t give him points for basic recollection.
He plucked a dessert menu from the centre of the table and handed it to her with a flourish. It was odd—everything he did seemed so natural, so easy, yet he was constantly and completely charming. In Cherry’s experience, charm tookwork. Perhaps he was especially good at faking it. The thought should have made her wary, but instead, she began to think of him as a kindred spirit.
A kindred spirit with deliciously broad shoulders and a beautiful smile. And very big hands.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“Um…” She studied the menu, as if she hadn’t come here a thousand times. It was a touch upmarket for a weekday lunch, but his cufflinks were mother of pearl. There was no point taking him to bloody Greggs.
“Can’t choose?”
“I might be struggling,” she admitted, allowing herself a small smile. And then, before she could think better of it, Cherry slid the menu into the centre of the table and leant forward. “What do you think?”
He looked delighted. As if he’d been waiting for just this moment—for her to make a move, to come to him. Which she hadn’t, she told herself firmly. She just wanted some advice. Cake was a serious business.
But clearly, Ruben didn’t receive that message. He leant forward too, until their heads were perilously close, and he gave her another of those beautiful smiles. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his brown eyes, and his scent—clean and fresh, like linen, with a hint of something spicy—enveloped her.
Moving towards him had been a very bad idea. But she couldn’t take it back now. It would be rude. And she was rather enjoying the proximity.
“The obvious choice is chocolate,” he said. “But then, you strike me as a woman with individual tastes.” His gaze caught hers and held.
Beneath the table, Cherry crossed her legs, clenched her thighs. The heel of her shoe slipped free, dangling from her toes…
And then it disappeared, falling off completely. No—it had beennudged.
“Did you just knock off my shoe?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “Don’t know what you mean. Oh, look; they have Cherry Bakewell.”
“Very funny,” she muttered, her stockinged foot gliding tentatively over the floor beneath the table. Where on earth was that shoe?
Instead of her patent leather heel, she came across… another foot. Also shoeless. But much bigger than hers.
Cherry’s eyes flew to Ruben’s. His gaze was steady as ever. “You don’t like Cherry Bakewell?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” she huffed. “Bakewell’s only up the road. My parents took us there every summer.”
“Us?” he asked, leaning closer. In fact, he was so close now, there might as well be no table between them at all. When had that happened? His hand meandered over to hers, which rested on the table top, and he stroked a finger over the gems on her nails. “You have siblings?”
“I have a sister,” she said. Beneath the table, his foot rubbed against hers. It was a slow, rhythmic touch, almost soothing.But it was hard to feel soothed by a man who set your every nerve-ending alight.
“Older or younger?” he prompted.
“Um… Younger. Maggie. She’s in America.” Usually, Cherry loved bragging about her sister, even though it came with a twinge of worry. Always, she worried about Maggie. But today, her words were as muddled as her feelings. “I mean—she goes to Harvard. She’s very clever.”
“Takes after you, then?”
Cherry’s brows shot up. “I’m not clever.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He rolled his eyes, and then his voice flattened in a fair imitation of Chris Tabary’s. “Cherry, you silly girl, you’ve mucked up the sums!” Returning to his usual deep tones, he grinned. “I know you did that on purpose.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “Okay, yes. I was on a mission.”
“And that mission was…?”
“To see you,” she admitted. “Everyone was going on about the gorgeous man in Chris’s office. I was sent to investigate.”
“And did I meet your expectations?” he asked. The arrogant arch of his brow, that lazy smile, told her he already knew the answer.
