One effusive farewell later and they were outside. Next to him, Ruby inhaled the cold crisp air and looked up into the darkness of the sky. ‘Do you think it will snow?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘So no white Christmas?’ Ruby said with a hint of wistfulness. ‘It’s a shame, really—can you imagine how beautiful Cornwall would be covered in snow?’ She shook her head. ‘On the subject of Christmas...how do you feel about a Christmas party at Caversham? Not on Christmas Day, obviously, but maybe Christmas Eve drinks? Or eve of Christmas Eve drinks? For suppliers and locals. A lot of the staff we’ve taken on are local, so I think it would be a nice idea. Bank some goodwill...show the Caversham community ethos.’
Ethan considered—it was a good idea. But not in the run-up to Christmas.
‘It doesn’t fit with my plans.’ More plans he didn’t wish to share. ‘Maybe we could think about it later? After New Year? Anyway, I know you said you had Christmas plans as well. So take some time off. From the twenty-first—that’s not a problem.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
Enthusiasm was not prominent in her voice and Ethan swallowed the urge to ask her exactly what her plans were. Not his business—and not fair, as he didn’t want to share his own.
The limo pulled up and he held the door open for Ruby to slide in, averted his eyes from the smooth length of her leg, hoped the tantalising cinnamon smell wouldn’t whirl his head further. Employee, employee, employee.
As soon as the car started she leant forward; now her enthusiasm shone through the dim interior of the car.
‘So—for the medieval banquet... I’ve already done loads of research and I’ve got some fab dishes we could use. What do you think about eels in a thick spicy purée, loach in a cold green sauce and a meat tile—which is chicken cooked in a spiced sauce of pounded crayfish tails, almonds and toasted bread, garnished with whole crayfish tails. Or capon pasties—or even eel and bream pasties. I’ve spoken to a medieval re-enactor and I reckon he’ll know someone who will come along and cook us some samples. We could even put together a recipe book and sell it—raise some extra funds.’
‘Excellent ideas. Though...what is loach?’
‘It’s a freshwater fish. Mind you, I’m not sure you can get it here.’ A quick rummage in her evening bag netted a small notebook and pen. ‘I’ll check. What about an auction?’ A sudden grin illuminated her face. ‘Hey! You could talk to Tony. Auction off a cooking lesson with Antonio Pugliano. What do you think?’
His breath caught as his lungs suspended their function. One thought only was in his mind—Ruby was so beautiful, so animated, so unutterably gorgeous, and all he wanted was to tug her across the seat and kiss her.
RUBY BROKE OFF as all her ideas took flight from her brain in one perfect V-shaped swoop, evicted by an across-the-board sweep of desire. Ethan’s pupils had darkened and the atmosphere in the limousine morphed. Words withered on her tongue she shifted towards him, propelled by instinct, pulled by his mesmerising eyes.
His features seemed ever so slightly softened by the shadows in the dim interior. Or maybe it was because now she had gained some insight. This man cared about so much more than profit and business domination. He hadn’t let ambition consume him to the point where he forgot people in need. Forgot the Ethan and Ruby of a decade ago.
‘Ethan...’ she whispered.
Somehow they were right alongside each other, her leg pressed against the solid strength of his thigh, and she let out a small sigh. The closeness felt right, and she twisted her torso so she faced him, placed a hand over his heart, felt the steady beat increase tempo. Then his broad, capable hand cupped her jaw oh so gently, his thumb brushed her lip and she shivered in response.
His grey-blue eyes locked onto hers with a blaze of desire that melted all barriers, called to something deep inside her. She parted her lips, sheer anticipation hollowed her tummy—and then with precipitous speed his expression changed.
‘What am I doing?’
The words were muttered with a low ferocity as his hand dropped from her face, left her skin bereft.
He hauled in an audible breath. ‘This is not a good idea. I wish it were, but it isn’t.’
It took a few seconds for the words to register, to make sense, and then reality hit. Forget Ethan. What was she doing? This was her boss...this was Ethan Caversham...this was a disastrous idea.
The idea that a reporter with some sort of lens able to penetrate tinted windows might have caught them on camera made her cringe. But even worse than that was the sheer stupidity of getting involved in any way with Ethan. There was an edge of danger—a foreshadow she recognised all too well and that urged her to scramble back to her side of the seat.
‘You’re right. I... I guess we got carried away. Food, champagne, limo... It’s easily done. We’ll forget it ever happened, yes? But would you mind if we took up the brainstorming tomorrow?’
She needed time to detonate that near-kiss from her psyche, scrub it from her memory banks. Right now the idea of Ethan in her suite was impossible to contemplate. A few hours by herself and she would rebuild the façade, resume the role of Ruby Hampton, Restaurant Manager. Then all would be well—because this time the mask would be uncrackable, fireproof, indestructible...
Unable to stop herself, she glanced nervously out of the window, checking for reporters.
Ethan noticed, and his lips pulled into a tight, grim line. ‘Worried about the paps? You’re safe in here, you know.’
‘I know.’
And she did—deep down. Thanks to Ethan, who had neutralised the reporters with smooth, cold ease and rendered them powerless. The memory triggered a small thrill that she hastened to suppress. Yes, Ethan had protected her—but he had done so on principle. To him, the Hugh Farlanes and the paps out for a story at any price were scum and he would shield anyone from them. It wasn’t personal. He would champion anyone broken or wounded or hurt.
But that near-kiss was pretty personal, pointed out a small inner voice. Which was exactly why he’d shut it down. And she should be grateful for that—would be once she’d escaped this limousine, where the air swirled with might-have-beens and what-ifs.
When they arrived back at the castle Ruby practically shot from the car through the grand entrance. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she called over her shoulder.
An expletive dropped from Ethan’s lips, making her pause and turn on the stairs. He scrubbed a hand down his jaw, looking weary.
‘Listen, Ruby, we need to get rid of the awkwardness. We have a lot to do in a minimal amount of time to upgrade the opening dinner to a ball. So we must manage it—nothing happened and nothing will happen. It was one fool moment and I will not let that ruin the professional relationship we have established.’
‘You’re right. It wasn’t even a kiss. No big deal, right?’
An infinitesimal hesitation and then he nodded. ‘No big deal.’
* * *
Ethan’s head pounded as he looked across at Ruby. Seated at her desk she was back in professional mode—glossy black hair pinned back into a svelte chignon, dressed in dark grey trousers and a pinstripe jacket over a crisp white shirt. Her posture spoke of wariness and her eyes held a matching guard. The spontaneous trust, the spark doused and if Ethan could have worked out a way to kick himself round Cornwall he would have.
She straightened some papers on her desk, the action unnecessary. ‘If it’s OK with you rather than brainstorm I’ll put together a presentation.’