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 repor
ters 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.’
Which meant he’d miss out on seeing her features light with enthusiasm as she came up with ideas. Mind you it was that illumination that had led to his disastrous impulse the night before. Impulses never ended well—he knew that to bitter cost.
Ruby was a woman with a plan to have a family—she was barely out of a demoralising relationship, and he had no business kissing her. ‘Sounds good. Come down to my office when you’re ready.’ Maybe he’d rustle up some stilts to shore up the conversation. As he clicked the door shut he vowed to himself that by hook or by crook he’d win back their former camaraderie. It was necessary in order to maximise their productivity and their ability to pull of this ball. It was zip to do with a desire to see her lips curve up into a genuine smile.
So first he’d throw himself into work, get himself back on track and then he’d charm Ruby back to the status quo. But one conference call later a perfunctory knock heralded the appearance of Ruby and camaraderie looked to be the last thing on her mind—in fact she could have personified the cliché spitting mad.
‘I have a message for you.’ Annoyance clipped each syllable.
‘Shoot.’
Her chest rose and he could almost see metaphorical steam issuing from her. ‘It’s from Tony Pugliano.’
Ah... ‘Why didn’t you put the call through to me?’