He didn’t touch her in the kitchen. He didn’t touch her when they passed each other in the halls, or when they sat down to dinner with Demi and Hans and Agathe.

But that night, when he came into her room, he lay down beside her and prayed to every god he could think of that she might touch him.

She didn’t, of course. But the smile in her voice when she spoke felt almost as good as her hands might have. “I called my parents today.”

“Yeah?” He laced his hands beneath his head to stop himself from reaching out. “How are they?”

“Good. Still vaguely confused about this whole thing, but my mother is enjoying bragging to the neighbours. My dad’s still kind of stuck on the fact that you’ve never met.”

“Mmm. I bet he is.” The easy comfort of Cherry’s company wasn’t enough to dampen the alarm that fired in Ruben’s gut. Cherry was a daddy’s girl. And her dad almost certainly hated him.

“Everyone’s been debating you in the family group chat.”

“You have a family group chat?”

“Yep. Maggie started it.”

He tried to sound casual as he said, “So what does your dad think of me?”

“Um… He’s reserving judgement.”

“Is he?”

“No. He thinks you’re an evil playboy who’s going to break my heart, but he’s glad I’m getting to travel.”

Ruben couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “I take it you get the practicality from his side of the family.”

“Something like that. Although he’s being very uncooperative about…”

Her voice trailed off into silence, and Ruben frowned, turning towards her. So much for keeping his hands to himself; he reached out and settled his palm against her waist, soft and perfect. “About what?”

“Um… My sister’s tuition and… things. I mean, I told you Maggie’s in America, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Your genius little sister.”

“Right. Well, we all contribute to her tuition and her… Well, she has sickle cell. Do you know what that is?”

“Ah…” He searched his mind. Came up blank. “I’ve heard of it, but not really.”

“Right. Well, basically, it’s a genetic thing, a life-long illness, and she needs medicine and regular doctor’s appointments and things. But, you know, in America, you have to pay. A lot. And with the kind of studying she does, and her illness, we don’t want her to work. She couldn’t earn enough money to cover the bills anyway.”

“Right. So…” He closed his eyes as the truth sank into his gut like a fist. “So that’s why you needed the money. For your sister.”

“No,” she said seriously. “I’m spending it on my shoe collection.”

He snorted. “Sure. So what’s up with your dad?” If he kept talking, his mounting guilt might take a little longer to suffocate him.

You dragged her into your issues to save your delicate fucking feelings, and she’s doing it for her sick sister. You are a fucking Disney villain.

“Well,” Cherry said, “I was going to use the money you’re giving me, but—”

“But he doesn’t want you to.” Ruben’s voice sounded as grim as he felt. Every time he allowed himself to forget what an arse he’d been, something happened to remind him. This time, it was the realisation that he’d trapped her with the offer of money more than he had with his words to that damn reporter.

“I’ll pay the fees directly,” he said. “You shouldn’t be spending your money on that anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The money is for you. It’s what I owe you. I’ll pay your sister’s tuition and whatever else.”

She scoffed. “That doesn’t make any sense. The money’s for me, and I want to spend my money on—“

“I’ll talk to Demetria about it. And she’ll talk to you. Okay?”

There was a pause. He could almost hear her mind ticking over, considering the offer from all angles. Because she probably didn’t trust him, or his motivations.

He slid his hand from her waist.

But then she said, “Okay. You’re right. You do owe me.”

He exhaled, relieved. “Good. I’ll sort it out tomorrow.” Then a thought hit him. “Your dad’s going to hate me even more, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Great.” He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose fathers never like their son-in-laws.” He froze as he realised what he’d said. “I mean—not that we’re—obviously we’re not really—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “We’re not really getting married. Don’t worry. I’m not likely to forget that.” Her voice was strained, slightly distant, and even though they were close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her, the gap between them widened.

Because, of course, she had no idea what a mess his mind was in. How easy it would be for him to forget. How much he wanted her, even though he shouldn’t.

“Cherry,” he said, and then his breath caught in his chest as his mind fumbled for the words. The moment stretched until he had to speak, but he knew his words would be inadequate. “If I say things like that,” he explained, “it’s not because of you. It’s not for your benefit. It’s for me. Okay? It’s just for me.”

She sighed. “What does that mean?”

“Just that… I like you. If I hadn’t fucked things up so badly, I’d have tried to… I don’t know. See you again, definitely. The day we met, I felt like I’d been hit over the head.” He was relieved to hear her laugh at that. “I shouldn’t have done any of the things I did that day. I made a shit ton of mistakes. But taking you out wasn’t one of them.” Because it was important that she know that. Very, very important.

She reached out and fumbled around for his hand. He let her struggle for a second, her fingers brushing against his bare chest, along his arm, before he captured her hand with his. But, to his surprise, she didn’t hold it like a mother offering comfort. No; she put it back on her waist, as if it belonged there. As if she wanted it there.

The last vestiges of awkwardness disappeared as Ruben’s desire flared to life. He pulled the blankets away; if she was going to give him this, whatever it was, he’d take advantage while it lasted. The covers dealt with, he explored the deep curve of her waist, the swell of her hip. With her breath loud in the silence and her warmth searing right through him, he tugged up the soft, worn cotton of her T-shirt until his palm met bare skin, her hips edged by the lace of her underwear.

But he wouldn’t spend too long thinking about her underwear. If he did, the ache of his cock would sharpen into something really unbearable.

So he focused on her waist. On the little hills and rolls of her flesh, and the silken texture of her skin. “You’re so fucking soft,” he whispered. “I want to touch you everywhere. I can’t even fucking tell you.”

She stretched out like a cat, a little sigh floating into the darkness between them. She said, “You owe me, Ruben.” There was something in her voice, a desperate edge, a touch of amusement, that captured his attention and tightened his balls. When she spoke like this, he thought she might be everything he’d ever wanted.

“What do I owe you, sweetheart?”

“Anything I want.” She pressed her hand against his chest, her fingers playing lightly with the hairs there. “But I don’t know if you can handle what I want.”

He wrapped a hand around her wrist, his grip hard, and she gasped. It was the sweetest little sound, barely a breath, and still it went straight to his cock.

“I know what you want,” he said. “And you know I can give it to you. Don’t you?”

He expected her to argue. To fight back. To give him that fucking attitude, the one he loved so fucking much even when she used it to push him away.

But she didn’t. She just said, “Yes. I know.”

And his control snapped. With a growl, he rolled on top of her and captured her mouth with his.