The Princess Trap Read online

  Demetria would be so smug when she found out about this. Hadn’t she told him to stop accepting applicants based on nothing but social networking?

  Shifting in his seat, Ruben turned to catch his bodyguard’s eye. Hans stood, as always, by the door, looking dour and dangerous as ever. Ruben would give the signal, and Hans would think up some sort of excuse—

  The sound of voices floated in through Tabary’s office door. It was muffled, but still clear enough to distract Ruben from his plan.

  “Oh! Hello…” The voice softened, trailing off into a low murmur that he couldn’t quite catch. Then came another voice in response, much lower than the first. That was one of his guards. Who were they talking to?

  “Are you alright, Mr. Ambjørn?”

  Ruben turned back towards Tabary, and found the man looking at him with a frown.

  “Yes, yes,” Ruben said. “Just… thought I heard something.”

  “Oh, there’s often a racket along these corridors.” Tabary waved a hand. “We share the tower with the administrative staff. They roam around clucking like hens, bless them. Our girls love a gossip.”

  Ruben’s brows shot up. Our girls love a gossip? The patronising little shit.

  Fuck manners. He was leaving.

  But, before he could make a move, there came a sharp knock at the door. He had just enough time to wonder if there was some emergency—hadn’t Tabary asked not to be disturbed?—before the door opened and a hurricane swept inside.

  “Chris, darling!” She tottered in on high-heels, closing the door behind her with a bump of her hips. And good Lord, what hips. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but this absolutely couldn’t wait.”

  The hurricane was a woman. A woman with laughing eyes and a heart-shaped face and a figure that could kill a man. A woman whose dark, springy curls gleamed like midnight, who has incongruously chubby cheeks and brown-sugar skin.

  She sailed past Hans as if he wasn’t even there, and Ruben wondered what had happened to the men stationed outside. Then he watched her hips sway as she walked, and decided they’d probably passed out at the sight of her.

  “Cherry,” Tabary said, frowning at her. Ruben wondered why he was calling her Cherry—a pet name?—and why he was frowning at the most beautiful woman on earth. Had the man no fucking sense? “This is a very important meeting,” Tabary continued.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman said, her tone dripping with apology. But Ruben had the strangest impression that she wasn’t sorry at all. Then, for the first time since she’d come in, her eyes flitted over to his.

  And he realised that beautiful was an understatement.

  Her face was almost unnaturally perfect. For one disturbing moment he was reminded of his sister—but Sophronia’s beauty was cold. So fucking cold.

  This woman might burst into flame at any moment.

  She slapped a stack of papers on Tabary’s desk and bent at the waist, leaning over his shoulder as she pointed at something on the first page. Her cleavage, already magnificent, swelled against the neckline of her dress. Ruben reminded himself to keep breathing.

  “If you could just have a look at this,” she said, her voice soft. “I can’t quite get a handle on it…”

  Tabary’s frown disappeared, and he gave the woman a look of affection. That look made Ruben’s fists clench, made him grind his teeth—which was both ridiculous and inevitable. He may not know this woman, but something about her triggered a single, disturbing thought.

  I have to have her.

  Confusing. Surprising. He’d seen plenty of beautiful people in his time, and he’d never reacted like this. But Ruben wasn’t in the habit of ignoring his instincts.

  “Oh, Cherry,” Tabary tutted. “Silly girl. Look here; you’ve mucked up the sums. That’s all.”

  The woman put her fingers to her lips. No—she brought them to hover just over her lips, which were painted scarlet. Her eyes widened like a doe’s as she gasped. “Oh, Chris! You’re right. What am I like?”

  Tabary rolled his eyes dramatically, a grin bursting across his narrow face. The kind of grin that weak men released when offered the chance to correct a supposedly stupid woman. His annoyance forgotten, he handed the papers back with a fond smile. “Off you go, Cherry, dear. I am in the middle of something.”

  The woman straightened up, clutching the papers to her chest. Her eyes settled on Ruben with exaggerated surprise, as if she’d only just noticed his presence. And he knew instantly that she’d orchestrated this entire thing.

  “Oh, gosh,” she said. “How rude of me.” And then, skirting around Tabary’s desk, she stepped right up to him and held out a hand, and said: “Cherry Neita.”

  Cherry. Her name was Cherry.

  Ruben stood and took her hand in his. Her skin was warm and soft, her fingers tipped with the most outrageous nails—long and pink and glittery, all studded with gems. Ridiculous. He adored them. Bowing over her hand, Ruben pressed the ghost of a kiss to her knuckles.

  Then Hans, the fucker, cleared his throat. Loudly.

  Oh. Right. Kissing women’s hands wasn’t the best way to blend in.

  Trying not to wince, Ruben straightened up and gave her his best smile. Prince Charming he was not—as the press loved to remind him—but for this woman, he’d do his best.

  “Ruben Ambjørn,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie, he told himself. Not technically.

  “Lovely to meet you,” she murmured. And for a moment, her voice dipped from the light, airy tone she’d used with Chris to something low and earthy that suited her far better. Then she looked down at their hands, arching a brow—and he realised that he was still clutching her fingers like a lost child.

  He should probably let go.

  No, his newly animalistic mind whispered. Never let her go.

  Hm. His mind was starting to sound like a stalker.

  Ruben released her, trying not to make his reluctance obvious. “What is it you do here, Ms. Neita?” He imagined she’d make an excellent teacher. Her class wouldn’t know what’d hit them.

  But God, if he’d ever had a tutor like her…

  “I’m in HR,” she said, shattering his fantasies. “And I really should get back upstairs. So sorry to intrude.” She turned to Tabary and flashed him a smile, wider this time—and Jesus fucking Christ, she had dimples. That simply wasn’t fair. “See you later, Chris!”

  With that, she disappeared, hips swaying beneath her tight skirt. The door swung shut behind her, and the office descended into a dazed sort of silence.

  Cherry fucking Neita. Fancy that.

  Chapter Three

  Cherry wound her way through the clusters of teachers filling the staffroom, sticking to their cliques as firmly as the kids out in the playground. She found Rose waiting in prime position, of course, at the table right by the toaster. Beside her were Beth and Jasleen. It would be a full interrogation, then.

  Cherry settled down into the last empty seat and gave them her breeziest smile. “Lunch already! Time flies.”

  At least, it does when you’re loitering about the I.T. Department so you don’t have to go back to your own floor.

  Rose’s only reply was an arched brow. Jas snorted, and Beth leant over the table, cradling her mug in both hands. “Don’t be coy. Where’ve you been all morning? You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”

  Cherry met Rose’s eye across the table. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Spill the beans. Don’t keep him all to yourself, you slut.”

  Cherry faked a gasp. “You’re one to talk, Elizabeth Briggs. Weren’t you caught with that mousy mathematics teacher at the Christmas party—”

  “Shut up!” Beth hissed.

  “—in the reprographics room, on the photocopier, no less!”

  Beth sniffed. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

  “You dickhead,” Jasleen smirked. “It was me that caught you.”

  “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’t look Scandinavian, like they did on TV. He wasn’t all blonde-haired and blue-eyed.

  But he was singularly 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 tell us anything.”

  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 smokey, and it was coming from right behind her.

  Oh. Oh.

  Moving slowly—she had to maintain some sort 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 his eyebrows. 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 what else to 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.

  “Cherry,” he said again, his voice soft. People tended to say her name a lot—as if they couldn’t quite believe that it was really her name. Which, to be fair, they probably couldn’t.

  The corner of his lips kicked up in a lazy sort of smirk, the kind that was self-assured enough to speed up her pulse. Confidence was another thing that Cherry loved. Not that it mattered.

  She cleared her throat and assumed her most professional voice—not the childish trill she’d put on for Chris that morning, but something closer to her usual self. “How can I help you, Mr. Ambjørn?”

  His lips twisted, part amusement and part discomfort. “Ruben. Just call me Ruben.”

  I’d rather not. It gives me ideas. “Alright. Ruben.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark, wavy strands off of his face. They sprang back into place immediately. “Listen,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Feel free to tell me to go fuck myself…”

  Fuck yourself? That would be an awful waste.

  “But I was wondering if we could have lunch together?”

  Cherry blinked. “You mean… you’d like company in the cafeteria?”

  He licked his lips, gave her that little smile again. “I mean I’d like your company. Anywhere.”

  “Oh.” Oh. Cherry wasn’t usually this slow on the uptake. She blamed the breadth of his shoulders beneath his deep blue suit. Jas had been right. He was incredibly well-dressed.

  But he’d look far better naked.

  He was staring at her like there was nothing else in the room. Nothing else in the world. But she shouldn’t be flattered. He was that kind of guy, probably—focused. She wondered if he’d kiss like that, with all that burning intensity. If he did, she might faint.

  No, she wouldn’t faint. She’d be too busy ripping his clothes off.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I am the Deputy Head of HR, you know.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Head of this, Deputy of that. This school is ridiculous.”

  “Academy,” she corrected.

  He smirked. “Ah, yes. How could I forget?” Then he reached out and captured her hand in his. Just like that. Cherry used casual touches herself, often—they worked psychological wonders, after all—but this?

  His skin was warm and slightly rough, his hand dwarfing hers. He ran his thumb over the back of her knuckles, and a spark of electricity trailed from the point where they touched to the tips of her tightening nipples. With every stroke of his thumb, the current pulsed harder. Fuck.

  “Let me take you out,” he said softly. It was less of a suggestion, more of a command. Everything he said possessed an edge of confidence, the kind that made it clear he was used to being obeyed. That shouldn’t have added to Cherry’s attraction, but she was a grown woman; she’d learned a while back that should and shouldn’t had little bearing on reality.

  “Is this how you usually do things?” She asked. “You find a woman, tell her what you want, and she just… goes along with it?”

  He gave her a smile that was almost predatory. “Something like that.”

  Made sense. He had some kind of celebrity entourage and was being courted by Chris, so he was probably a prospective sponsor. Which meant he must be rich as hell and powerful to boot.

  She opened her mouth to say “There’s no fucking way I’m going out with you.”

  But what she actually said was, “Okay.”

  Oh, dear.

  Before she could think of a polite way to retract her agreement, he smiled. Really smiled, a grin that was full and bright and utterly unstudied. He looked happy. Less like a ruthless seducer of not-so-innocent women and more like a kid who’d been allowed a treat.

  And then, just to make things even worse, he said, “Thank you.”

  Well, she told herself. She couldn’t change her mind now. He might be sad. And she’d hate to make him sad.

  Right, because you always put the needs of random men above your own.

  Cherry pushed that thought away. It was her birthday, for God’s sake. She could take a day off from being sensible. Couldn’t she?

  “You’re welcome,” she managed to say. “Um…” Her voice trailed off, suddenly uncertain. “Did you mean now?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. And beneath the sweetness of his smile, she caught something low and warm and intense that made her breath hitch. “I most definitely meant now.”

  Chapter Four

  Ruben couldn’t believe his fucking luck.

 
Even the knowledge that Hans was loitering along this street somewhere, dogging their every step, wasn’t enough to wipe the smile from his face. He was walking into town with Cherry Neita. Cherry Neita.

  This morning, he hadn’t even known that name. Now it held as much significance to him as Jan Amos Komensky’s.

  Although, he’d never wanted to fuck the father of modern education senseless. So maybe not quite the same.

  She strutted beside him, her hips twitching within the confines of that tight, knee-length skirt—not that he could see much of it, thanks to the coat she wore. Bloody January weather.

  But his imagination was filling in the gaps just fine.

  “Are you sure you want to walk?” He asked. “It’s cold.”

  She gave him an odd look. “The town centre’s just around the corner.”

  True enough; he could hear the busy traffic already. But he didn’t want her to walk a metre if it wasn’t necessary. Ruben cast a worried glance down at her high heels. “Don’t your feet hurt?”

  “No,” she smiled. Not enough for the dimples, but enough to make him feel slightly dizzy. “They aren’t that high.”

  He raised his brows, sceptical.

  “They aren’t,” she insisted with a laugh. “I’m just tall.”

  “How tall?”

  “Five-eleven. How tall are you?”

  At home, most women knew his exact height. It was part of his supposed eligibility, and one of the only positives about him.

  But here in England, no-one gave a fuck about the royal family of a tiny Scandinavian island—which was why he came here so often. No-one knew him until he knew them. That was how it should be.

  “I’m six-four,” he said. “I like that you’re tall.”

  “Oh, well if you like it, I can rest easy.”

  He looked over to find her pursing her lips, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Feel free to laugh at me,” he grinned back. “I know I’m arrogant.”

  She chuckled. “As long as you know.”

  “What I meant,” he said, “is that I like talking to people who are at eye level.” They turned into the town centre, right onto the little high street. “Where do you want to eat, by the way?”