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.”