Save The Date!: The Rebel and the Heiress / Not Just a Convenient Marriage / Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride

Her eyes narrowed and he recognised the calculation that suddenly flashed in their brilliant green depths. What amendment to their deal would she try and come up with now? He folded his arms and waited.

She moistened her lips. ‘If I help you crack that code of John’s, would you consider glancing over my business plan once I’ve written it?’

He grinned. ‘Princess, if you can crack that code I’ll write the darn plan for you.’

Her hand shot across the table. ‘You have yourself a deal.’

He closed his fingers around her hand. His hand completely encompassed hers, but her grip was firm. He didn’t want to let go.

‘When do you want to move into the cottage?’

He kept hold of it, even though he knew it was dangerous. ‘Tomorrow.’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Oh, dear Lord!’ She pulled her hand from his. ‘I’ll need to get my skates on if I’m to get it into any fit state to live in.’

‘It’s fine the way it is, Princess.’

‘It most certainly is not!’

‘There’s absolutely no need to drag your cleaning lady out at this late hour.’

Her head lifted, her chin jutted out—so unconsciously haughty that it couldn’t be feigned—and for some reason it made him want to laugh. ‘I’ll leave the key in the same spot. Will you be able to find it?’

‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’

Amazingly, she bundled up the remaining cupcakes into brown paper bags. ‘Take them home with you.’

‘An early down payment?’

‘It’ll stop me snacking on them. Besides, Tash and Mitch might like one or two.’

He couldn’t have said why, but his heart started to burn. He almost did something foolish like invite her to have dinner with him, Tash and Mitch that evening. A crazy, foolish impulse.

Why on earth would the Princess want to have dinner with him? He rose, thanked her for the cupcakes and left.

CHAPTER SIX (#u3f9fdf6e-fc9a-5cdb-9698-64df85846d7d)

RICK HAD JUST finished his last cupcake and a mug of coffee when Nell walked through the back door. She stopped short when she saw him. ‘Hey.’ She swallowed. ‘How’s it going?’

Lines fanned out from her eyes and her frock—yellow with big purple polka dots—looked rumpled and tired. He wondered what she’d been up to all day. She dropped her handbag on the table, glancing at his plate and mug. Before her face could twist up with suspicion he said, ‘You can start using the front door if you like.’

A smile lit through her, banishing the lines around her eyes. ‘You fixed it?’

He swallowed. A woman like her could make a man like him feel like Superman if he wasn’t careful. ‘It was no big deal. The wood had swollen. I filed it back, rehung it and it’s as good as new.’

He tried to pull himself back. She might be a damsel in distress...or not. But he was no hero. He knew that and so did she. ‘I did promise to earn my keep,’ he reminded her.

‘Well, yes, but I didn’t expect you to start working the moment you moved in. I thought you’d take a day or two to settle in.’

Settle in? It didn’t take much ‘settling in’ to unpack a single suitcase.

‘You left cupcakes and sandwiches for me at the cottage.’ The cottage had been spotless too—not a speck of dust to be seen. He wondered who she’d had come in and clean it at such late notice.

‘Oh, that was just a neighbourly gesture. If I’d thought you’d want to start work today I’d have left you a key.’ She stuck out a hip. ‘Which rather begs the question—how did you get in?’

His stomach burned acid and he waited for that soul-destroying suspicion to wash over her face, for her to rush off and count the family silver. Ever since he’d been released from jail it was how people treated him. They didn’t believe a man could pay his debt to society and then move on and make something of himself.

If he’d known at eighteen what he knew now, would he have still taken the rap for Cheryl, claimed the drugs were his rather than hers? He stared at the Princess and had a feeling that answer would still be yes.

Which meant he hadn’t learned a damn thing.

Which meant he was still as big a sucker as he’d ever been.

He’d gone to prison a boy but he’d come out a lot wiser and a whole lot harder. He couldn’t draw comparisons between Cheryl and Nell—their lives were too different—but the same protective instincts rose up in him whenever he looked at Nell now.

Ice washed over his skin. He had no intention of getting that close to anyone again—no intention of taking the blame for anything that would land him back in jail. Ever. Regardless of who it was.

‘Oh, get over yourself, you idiot!’

He blinked at Nell’s rudeness.

‘If I trust you with my grandmother’s jewels I’m going to trust you with the contents of my house. For heaven’s sake, there’s nothing left worth stealing anyway. My father long made off with anything of value.’

Genuine irritation rather than suspicion chased across her face and he jolted back into the present. He rolled his shoulders.

‘Is my security that bad?’

‘It’s not brilliant. You should install an alarm system. I, uh, got in through the back door.’

‘But I locked it.’

‘You need to remember to use the deadbolt.’

She sighed. ‘An alarm system? I’d better put it on the list.’

She bustled about making coffee. She eyed the jar of instant he’d bought with distaste. ‘Would you like another?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Why didn’t you make yourself a proper coffee? It’s worth the effort, you know.’

‘That coffee is yours.’

Very slowly she turned. ‘And I’m guessing there’s milk in the fridge with your name on it too and sugar in the cupboard?’

He shifted. ‘People can get funny about things like that.’

She pointed her teaspoon at him. ‘Let’s get one thing clear right now.’ She raised her voice to be heard above the gurgling of the percolator. ‘You’re welcome to help yourself to tea, coffee, bread, biscuits and whatever else is in the pantry while you’re working. And—’ she thrust out her jaw ‘—if I feel like having instant coffee I mean to help myself to your jar. You have a problem with that?’