Cinderella and the Geek (British Bad Boys)

by Christina Phillips

  Because Mac tells everyone everything and there’s no need?

  I grunt, which appears to satisfy him.

  “Have you told Dad yet? It’ll get him off my back, knowing you won a sexiest geek award.” Lucas snorts with laughter and I sigh heavily. It’s true our dad doesn’t understand all the accolades bestowed on my brother, especially since many of them have nothing to do with his unerring ability to kick a ball into a net. But since Dad’s idea of awards is something you earn by your contribution to science or the betterment of humanity, there’s no way I’m telling him about my Steele win.

  Even Mackenzie knows better than to share that news with Dad.

  “Anyway, the reason I called was about next Friday. Will’s birthday. You in?”

  Lucas and Will have been friends forever, same as Caleb and me. Will’s a good bloke and the four of us get along great, but I can guess what Lucas has planned for Friday night and it’s not my thing.

  Duck breast with pomegranate citrus glaze. I frown at the accompanying photo. It looks fantastic and sounds complicated. I scroll down the screen, looking for something I won’t potentially stuff up.

  Since Lucas is still waiting for my response, I give another grunt, since my twin has no problem interpreting this mode of conversation from me.

  “Nah, come on, man,” he says. “It won’t be the same if you’re not there. I’ve scored tickets to the opening of Hydra. Everyone’s gonna be there. It’ll be epic.”

  I’ve never heard of Hydra, but it’s obviously a hot nightclub, as Lucas and hot nightclubs have a long-standing relationship. When he first hit it big, he’d drag me along to every party, and I went because he’s my twin and, despite what the paparazzi said about him, he wasn’t nearly as confident as he pretended.

  But that was years ago, and eventually he accepted that I’d rather be coding than socializing. Now, he only asks me when it means a lot to him for me to be there, and mutual friends’ birthdays are one of those times.

  “Yeah, okay.” I couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if I tried, but it’s Friday night for fuck’s sake. I could’ve taken Alice out somewhere. It’s not like we have many weekends left before she goes to Durham.

  “Don’t forget to drag Caleb along.”

  I’m sure Caleb’ll be stoked. Not. “Can’t promise that.” I frown at the pic of mussels steamed in white wine. Although I’m game to eat almost anything, I’ll give that one a pass.

  Who would think figuring out what to cook would be such a headache? I should stick to something I can’t cock up, like pasta.

  “Hey, you still seeing that chick you took to the Steele thing?”

  That gets my attention. I should’ve known this question was coming, after Lucas witnessed that kiss. But even if Alice hadn’t made it clear she wants to keep things under wraps, I’m not ready to share this info with him. “What?”

  “Alice,” he says, and the fact he’s remembered her name makes my shoulders tense. Christ, he can barely recall the names of the girls he went out with last month, never mind someone he’s never met before. “The girl you work with, right? You should bring her on Friday. I’ve got plenty of tickets.”

  No fucking way am I taking Alice to Hydra when Lucas and his mates will be there. “She’s busy,” I growl before realizing that was the wrong response. “And we’re just friends.”

  “Whatever,” my brother says, oblivious. “Let me know. We’ll pick you up at nine, yeah?”

  He ends the call and I lean back in my chair. For as long as I can remember he’s been like a whirlwind, a blaze of energy and natural magnetism. When we were kids, strangers would stop and admire us—being identical has that effect—but it was always Lucas who charmed everyone, whereas I always hated the attention.

  Nothing much has changed in twenty years. He’s still a force of nature, and I’m still the unmoving rock.

  The longer I can keep my brother from meeting Alice, the better.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alice

  I’ve always known where Harry lives, and that he comes from money, not to mention the fact that he’s making a fortune from Exitium, but seeing his home in real life is still kind of a shock.

  Although the outside of the Grade II-listed mansion is very ordinary, it more than makes up for its deceptive facade as soon as you walk through the door. Harry’s apartment—there’s no way this expanse of magnificence can be called a flat—is on the ground floor, and the hallway alone is bigger than my front and dining rooms combined.

  I follow Harry into his kitchen, with its gleaming white units and appliances and black marble worktops, and help him unpack the shopping. Which he paid for, despite my protests that this was supposed to be my shout. Even more so, since he’s cooking it, but I gave in when he said I could pay next time.

  Because, hello, that means there’s definitely going to be a next time.

  “Wine?” He pulls out the bottle of white from a paper bag. “Or beer?”

  “Wine’s great.” I perch on one of the stools by the breakfast bar as he finds a couple of glasses and pours the wine. And then I can’t help myself. “This place is really fabulous. I love how they kept the original features when it was modernized.”

  “I love that it’s so close to Blitz.” He grins as he hands me a glass. “Cheers.”

  We clink glasses and I take a tiny sip. While part of me wants to down the lot in one swallow—for some Dutch courage should things progress to the bedroom—the other part of me doesn’t want to risk making a twat of myself.

  “Do you think anyone noticed we left work together?” Although we didn’t exactly stroll out hand in hand, it was only five o’clock, and Harry didn’t make much of an effort to disguise the fact he was leaving work hours before he usually does.

  It was almost as though he didn’t care if anyone guessed we were spending time together. Or is that just my wistful imagination?

  “Shouldn’t think so.”

  Oh-kay, then. I take another sip of wine, even though I’m not convinced he’s right, but it’s no big deal to him one way or another. Maybe they thought he was giving me a driving lesson, like the one he surprised me with at lunchtime.

  I hide my smile. The car was a new Fiesta, which was a relief since I’ve only driven small cars before, and I was worried Harry’s friend might’ve owned a mini tank or something. Best of all, Harry turned out to be a fantastic teacher. He didn’t grip his seat once or remind me I had to stop when approaching a junction the way Mum does on the rare occasions she takes me out for a practice. For the first time ever, I’m looking forward to the next driving lesson—well, the next one with Harry. Francine, my driving instructor, not so much.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nope. I’m about to wow you with my culinary skills.”

  He’s wowed me already. Luckily, I manage to keep that to myself. We’re having pasta, which is fine by me, and not only that, but pasta is something even I can cook.

  He brings out a ball of dough from the fridge in a vacuum-sealed bag, and I’m still puzzling over that when he places a gleaming stainless-steel machine next to it.

  A light bulb explodes, along with my admiration. “You make your own pasta?”

  “Yep. You’ll never go back to the shop-bought stuff after you taste this.” He throws me a mocking smile, his dimples just begging to be kissed, and it takes me a couple of seconds to remember that I can now.

  I lean over the worktop and our lips meet in a swoon-inducing kiss.

  Dimples, I’ll have you later.

  “It puts my offer to cook you bangers and mash in the shade though, doesn’t it?”

  “I love bangers and mash.”

  Could he be any more adorable?

  “As long as you don’t mind me messing up your kitchen.” Because, seriously. It’s like something out of a luxury homes magazine.

  “You can mess up my kitchen anytime.”

  I cup my chin on my hand as I watch him do the pasta. Who�
��d have thought watching a guy prepare a meal could be so freaking sexy?

  He even has a mini herb garden on his windowsill, and when he chops up the fresh basil, the aromatic scent puts the dried stuff we use at home to shame. Without missing a beat, he then melts butter and garlic in a small pan before spreading it onto a sliced baguette like a total pro.

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” I’m only half joking.

  “For you, I’ll do anything.” He gives a theatrical bow. “You might want to save your praise until after you’ve eaten. You might hate it.”

  Even if he served me up liver and bacon, which is my personal, absolute number one won’t-touch-with-a-bargepole meal, I’d probably love it. Just because he cooked it.

  Since that sounds utterly pathetic even inside my head, I decide to let it stay there.

  “Fair enough.” I toast him with my glass before taking another sip. Huh. How did I drink half of it already?

  “We should’ve done this a long time ago.”

  The wine goes down the wrong way, and I battle valiantly not to choke as my imagination goes into hyperdrive. “Done what?”

  “This. You and me.” He accompanies his words by waving the slotted spoon he’s using to stir the contents of the pan. “Everyone from work’s been here loads of times except for you.”

  “I’m not really into watching horror for an entire weekend.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Yeah, I do. Nightmares.”

  He scoffs before offering me a taste on the end of the spoon. “Here. What do you think?”

  I hold my breath as he tips the spoon to my lips. I’d love it if it tasted of cardboard, but the herbs and spices he’s used in the sauce are out of this world, and it’s hard not to drool all over his fingers.

  “Not bad,” I concede before licking my lips for any stray drop. “You’ll have to give me the recipe.” Even if my own efforts won’t stretch to homemade pasta, it’ll be nice to partner it with something that doesn’t come out of a jar.

  “Sure thing.” He puts a couple of warmed plates on the breakfast bar between us before serving up. The smell of the garlic bread wafts through the kitchen and my stomach growls, and not in a quiet way either.

  “Glad you’re hungry.” He grins, and my mortification fades under the warmth of his gorgeous blue eyes.

  “Starving,” I confirm.

  He whips the garlic bread out of the oven, and as we dig in, I swear my taste buds go into an orgasmic frenzy.

  “Verdict?” He’s sitting next to me on one of the black-topped stools, and our elbows are touching. It’s the most romantic moment of my life, snogging in the limo included.

  “Oh, God.” It comes out like a sexually charged groan. For the first time, I understand the old chestnut of the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. If he feeds me like this, I’ll even watch zombie movies with him. “This is like the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  He stares at me for a second as though he thinks I’m pulling his leg. “Good,” he says, when I confirm my words by taking another mouthful and closing my eyes in ecstasy. “If you’re this easy to please, then I’ve plenty more pasta dishes in my repertoire.”

  “I’m having second thoughts about my offer to cook for you one night.” And I’m definitely not joking, either.

  “Too late. You can’t back out now.”

  I savor the last of my garlic bread as I mentally discard my offer of grilling him some sausages. I’ll have to brainstorm with Hannah to come up with something both amazing and idiot proof.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Huh.” He leans in close until our breathing mingles, and it’s a magical moment until he jerks upright, a frown slashing his forehead. “Fuck, shit. I forgot the candle.”

  Bemused, I watch as he grabs the candle I unloaded from the shopping bag and left at the end of the worktop. He lights it and sticks it on a small plate between us.

  “Ambiance,” he announces, and I can’t keep a straight face. He sighs. “Vanilla not doing it for you? It was supposed to be beeswax.”

  “Vanilla is perfect.” I’d wondered why he was glowering at the selection of candles in the store earlier. “I’ll get a beeswax one for next time.”

  “Deal.”

  Much as I enjoy gazing at him, and could quite happily sit here doing just that for the rest of the night, my love of order kicks in.

  “I suppose I should do the washing up, since you made dinner.” I stack the two plates while he watches me with a grin. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. You. This.”

  I know exactly what he means but never thought he’d feel the same way.

  “It is kind of weird. But in a good way.”

  He folds his arms on the breakfast bar and watches me as I stroll into the kitchen and examine the state of the pans.

  “The dishwasher is to your right.”

  I rinse the plates before stacking them in the gleaming machine, which looks as though it’s never been used. “Do you ever eat at home? Because everything looks…” I pause for a second. “Untouched.”

  “Not a shit hole like my office.”

  “I was trying to be polite. But since you mention it…” I let the words drift between us and smile instead. Because his office at work always looks as though a bomb’s hit it, and yet he knows where absolutely everything is.

  “Okay, you’ve got me. I have the most fantastic lady come in a couple of times a week to clean up after me. With strict instructions not to touch a thing in my home office.”

  “Now, that makes more sense.” I find a new dishcloth under the sink and proceed to wipe down the worktops. “Although please tell me you don’t spend fifteen hours every day at Blitz and then come home and do more work here.”

  “Pass.”

  It was a rhetorical question, since he and Caleb are total workaholics, and it’s hardly a secret they have no social life that doesn’t revolve in some way around Blitz. Has he really never been out with another girl since the one who broke his heart six years ago?

  It doesn’t seem possible, because Harry isn’t just drop-dead gorgeous, he’s a great guy altogether. Then again, I guess I’ve seen the best side of him since I work for him. It’s almost like he has a different personality when it comes to anyone who isn’t in some way connected to the world of Exitium.

  “Alice.”

  I glance up, dishcloth in hand.

  “Please stop cleaning the kitchen. It’s fine.”

  It is, and I don’t know why I’m pissing about, wiping down the pristine worktops, except I need to do something with all this nervous energy that’s buzzing around inside me.

  I know exactly what I want to do.

  Yes, but my courage doesn’t quite stretch to jumping his bones, especially when I don’t have any personal experience to call on when it comes to the nitty gritty.

  I fold up the dishcloth, place it neatly next to the tap, and go to stand in front of him.

  He takes my hand and caresses my knuckles with his thumb. It’s crazy how easily he turns me on, and when he tugs me closer, I wind my other arm around his neck. We kiss, and he releases my hand, trapping me between his thighs. Tiny electric shocks dart through me, tightening my nipples, and heating me from the inside until my skin is burning. The tip of his tongue teases my lips and I open my mouth, desperate for more.

  He doesn’t disappoint, and I spear my fingers through his hair. Although the aroma of our meal lingers all around, the subtle scent of his cologne teases me like an elusive caress, and a needy moan escapes.

  It’s a perfect moment, wrapped in his arms, and I want it to last forever. His arm tightens around my waist, and his other hand slides up my back, causing erotic shivers along my spine. I sink against his rock-hard muscles, and his tortured groan is the sexiest sound ever. I’m addicted to you. His fingers tangle in my hair, holding me still, and his kiss deepens. My knees go weak and my stomach flutt
ers and…

  Thank God, I wore pretty underwear this morning.

  He tears his mouth from mine, panting erratically into my face. “We haven’t had dessert. Or d’you want some coffee—tea?”

  My heart goes all melty, just the way it did when he brought me a tea this morning instead of my usual frap. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something sexy and sultry like I’m your dessert tonight, but I don’t quite have the nerve.

  “No,” I gasp, which is about as far as you can get from sexy and sultry, but luckily he doesn’t appear to notice. “This is…nice.”

  Couldn’t I have come up with something more sophisticated than nice? Except my brain is full with the blue of his eyes and the irresistibility of his dimples and mouth and well, basically, the whole package of Harry Carter.

  His smile steals whatever’s left of the oxygen in my lungs. “This is more than nice.” His voice is deep and throaty and sets off a riot of pin-prickly tingles between my thighs. “Your mouth keeps me awake at nights.”

  Air is so overrated. Which is just as well, since I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

  “Should I be sorry?” This time my voice sounds more like a seductive siren, and I wasn’t even trying.

  “I’m not.”

  “Neither am I.” To prove my point, I kiss him again, and he pulls me hard against his chest. Yes…

  Once again, he breaks the kiss, but this time trails his lips along the line of my jaw until he reaches my ear. My skin glows with every brush of his mouth, and when he gently nips my earlobe, I give a gurgly groan that’s so embarrassing, but the way he growls against my flesh is proof enough that my response to his touch is anything but gawky.

  “Jesus, Alice.” The words are like gravel against my ear, and I give a delicious shudder because could this be more perfect? “If I’m going too fast, just tell me to back the fuck off, all right?”

  Like that would ever happen.

  “You’re not going too fast.” I drag my palm against his stubble, which is so damn sexy that I do it again. “I want this, Harry.”

  He cradles my face, forcing me to look at him, as if that’s a hardship. “Are you sure? It won’t change anything if you want to wait.”