He gazed down at her, a strange knot in his chest. ‘You’re too wonderfully stubborn to be Cinderella,’ he told her. ‘You’re far more kick-ass than she is. No wicked stepmother would ever make you act like a servant.’ He paused, aware that he was starting to babble. ‘And you don’t need a magical ballgown to be beautiful.’
Ivy smiled. ‘I’d rather be Sleeping Beauty. I think she’s more up my street.’
Winter laughed.
She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Not because she spends so long in bed but because of how she’s rescued.’ Slightly flummoxed, Winter stared at her. Ivy tutted. ‘Maybe you’re the one who needs rescuing.’
Then she kissed him.
***
‘Winter!’ The voice penetrated the folds of his sleep. ‘Winter!’
‘Mmm.’ He opened his eyes blearily. For a brief moment, he felt utterly content. Ivy was staring down at him, her hair mussed up and her lips faintly bruised. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful. That was when he realised her expression was one of horrified alarm.
He shot bolt upright. Ivy clutched the duvet. ‘Hi,’ she said. She looked more awkward than he’d ever seen her – and that included in the gym on that first morning.
He frowned as a thought occurred to him. Didn’t she remember last night? They’d both been tipsy. He stilled. Had he taken advantage of her? Ice ran through his veins.
Ivy peeked underneath the duvet at herself, then she peeked underneath the duvet at him. She tried to smile but it was obvious how shocked she was to find them both without a stitch of clothing.
‘Hey,’ he said. He cleared his throat. Damn it. ‘Um.’ This was not going well. ‘So.’
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. ‘So.’ She didn’t look upset so much as incredibly uncomfortable. Winter realised with a sinking feeling that she was embarrassed.
Willing to do just about anything to make her feel better, he shifted slightly. ‘We should probably never speak of this again.’
Ivy nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely!’ she said, jumping on his words with an alacrity that dismayed him. ‘It never happened.’ She scooted to the edge of the bed. Winter dropped his gaze. He was a prize idiot.
Without warning, Ivy yanked hard on the duvet and wrapped it around herself then raced for the bathroom – to get away from him, he thought. She slammed the door shut behind her. Winter sighed and turned away. He should get his clothes and get out of here. Ivy was obviously filled with regret. He couldn’t look at her face when he felt so very differently.
He reached down to grab his trousers. Brutus sauntered over and head butted his legs before sitting down and looking up at him with slitted eyes. ‘The trouble,’ the cat said, ‘with consorting with partners of oppositional temperaments, is that next morning one can never be sure whether they are too giddy with delight to express their thoughts or too horrified.’
Then he winked.