by Nina Milne
* * *
Ruby’s thoughts whirled as she strove to concentrate on Tony’s question, primed her lips to smile. Maybe this was an intervention from providence itself—a reinforcement of her decision to cease with the confidences.
‘It was incredible, Tony!’ she stated.
‘How could it be anything else?’ the chef declared. ‘And now we have the perfect end to the perfect meal—I have for you a sample of the very best desserts in the world.’
He waved an expansive hand and the waiter appeared with an enormous platter, which he placed in the middle of the table.
‘I, Tony Pugliano, prepared these with my own hands for your delectation. There is praline mousseline with cherry confit, clementine cheesecake, almond and black sesame pannacotta and a dark chilli chocolate lime torta.’ He beamed as he clapped Ethan on the shoulder. ‘And of course all this is on the house.’
There went her jaw again—headed kneewards. On the house. She doubted such words had ever crossed Tony’s lips before.
‘You look surprised. No need. Because never, never can I thank this man enough. You saved my Carlo—my one and only child. You are a good man, Ethan, and I thank you with all my heart.’
Tony seemed sublimely unaware of Ethan’s look of intense discomfort. Yet the shadow in Ethan’s eye, the flash of darkness, made her chest band in instinctive sympathy.
‘I think this meal goes a long way towards thanks,’ she said. ‘It was divine. I don’t suppose you would share the secret of the truffle sauce in...?’
The tactic worked. As if recalled to his chef persona, Tony gave a mock roar and shook his head.
‘Never. Not even for you would I reveal the Pugliano family secret. It has passed from one generation to the next for centuries and shall remain sacrosanct for ever. Now—I shall leave you to enjoy the fruit of my unsurpassable skills.’
Once he had made a majestic exit, Ethan nodded. ‘Thanks for the change of subject.’
‘No problem.’ Ruby reached out and selected a mini-dessert. ‘I knew it took more than charm to get Tony Pugliano grazing from your hand. Whatever you did for his son must have been a big deal.’
Ethan shrugged his shoulders, the casual gesture at variance with the wariness in his clenched jaw. ‘I was in a position to help his son and I did so. Simple as that.’
‘It didn’t sound simple to me. More like fundamental.’
‘How about another change of subject?’
Picking up a morsel of cheesecake, he popped it in his mouth. His expression was not so much closed as locked, barred and padlocked—with a ‘Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted’ sign up to boot.
‘I think our dinner conversation has gone a bit off the business track.’
He wasn’t wrong. In fact she should be doused in relief that he didn’t want to rewind their conversational spool. Because she had been on the cusp of intimacy—tempted to confide to Ethan that her plan was to adopt, about to spill even more of her guts. And a girl needed her intestines to survive. Something she would do well to remember.
Her family plans were zilch to do with Ethan Caversham. And similarly there was no need for her to wonder why he had decided to eschew love of any sort from a partner or a child. Over the past week she’d gained his trust, they had built up an easy working relationship, and she would not risk that. She mustn’t let this man tug her into an emotional vortex again. Ten years ago it had been understandable. Now it would be classed as sheer stupidity.
‘So,’ he said. ‘How about we start with what you think of this restaurant? With your guest’s hat on?’
‘Modern. Sweeping. The glass effect works to make it sleek, and his table placement is extraordinary. I love the balcony—it’s contemporary and it’s got buzz. Those enormous flower arrangements are perfect. As for the Christmas effect—it is superb.’
Maybe she could blame the glitter of the pseudo icicles or the scent of cinnamon and gingerbread that lingered in the air for flavouring their conversation with intimacy...
‘Definitely five-star. But is this what you want for Caversham?’
‘Five stars? Absolutely.’
‘I get that, but I have an idea that you’re holding some information back. About your plans for the castle.’ Something she couldn’t quantify made her know that what Tony Pugliano had achieved wasn’t exactly what Ethan was after. His body stilled and she scooped up a spoonful of the cheesecake, allowed the cold tang of clementine to melt on her tongue. ‘Am I right?’
Ethan drummed a rhythm on the table. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘But it’s on a need-to-know basis.’
‘Don’t you think that as your restaurant manager I “need to know”?’
‘Yes—and when it’s the right time I will tell you. For now, I’d like to discuss the grand opening.’
Determination not to show hurt allowed her to nod, relieved that the movement shook her hair forward to shield her expression from those all-seeing eyes.
‘Fair enough.’
An inhalation of breath and she summoned enthusiasm—she was excited about her ideas for the event and she would not let Ethan’s caginess shadow that.
‘I thought we could have a medieval theme—maybe even a ball. And what do you think about the idea of making it a fundraiser? I know we’ve already confirmed the guest list, but I think people will happily buy tickets for a good cause. Especially if they also get publicity from it. We could offer exclusive coverage to one of the celebrity gossip mags and—’
Ruby broke off. Ethan sat immobile, his silence uninterpretable.
Then... ‘It’s a great idea,’ Ethan said. A sudden rueful smile tipped his lips and curled her toes. ‘In fact it ties in perfectly with my ideas for the castle. So I guess you now “need to know”.’ His smile vanished and left his lips in a hard straight line. ‘In brief, I want to run Caversham Castle as a charitable venture. So kick-starting it with a fundraiser would work well.’
It was as if each word had been wrung from him and confusion creased her brow. ‘I love the idea, but can you tell me more? Is it a particular charity you want to raise money for? The more information I have the more successful I can make the event.’
‘The money raised will go to a charity that helps troubled teens. Gets them off the streets, helps them back on their feet if they’ve been in juvie.’
It took a few moments for the true meaning of his words to make an impact, and then it took all her will-power not to launch herself across the table and wrap her arms around him. Only the knowledge that they were in a public place and the suspicion that Ethan would loathe the display kept her in her seat. But the idea that Ethan Caversham, renowned tough guy and entrepreneur, had a different side to him made her tummy go gooey. He’d experienced life on the streets, been a troubled teen himself and now he wanted to help others.
‘I think that is an amazing idea. Brilliant. We will make this the best fundraiser ever.’ Her mind was already fizzing with ideas. ‘How about we go back to my suite for coffee and a brainstorm?’
* * *
Ethan bit back a groan and tried to get a grip. Better late than never, after all. Somehow he’d utterly lost his grasp of events—the conversation had spiralled out of control and now he could see more than a flicker of approval in Ruby’s eyes. An approval he didn’t want.
Time to try and relocate even a shard of perspective.
Ruby was his employee—one who could help make this fundraiser work. Therefore he should be pleased at her enthusiasm and accept her approval on a professional level, not a personal one.
So... ‘Coffee and a brainstorm sound good.’
‘Perfect.’ A blink of hesitation and then she reached out and covered his hand with her own. ‘I will make this rock. I remember how it felt to be a teenager on the streets. It was like being shrouded in invisibility. Eve
n the people who dropped a ten pence piece in front of me did it without even a glance.’
A small shiver ran through her body, and her eyes were wide in a face that had been leached of colour.
‘The idea of subsisting on people’s charity made me feel small and helpless and angry and very alone.’
The image of Ruby huddled on the streets smote his chest.
‘It is an endemic problem. I know there are hostels and soup kitchens and the like, and that is incredible, but I want to do something more hands-on, more direct—’ He broke off.
The image of a homeless Ruby had set him galloping on his hobby horse.
‘Like what?’ She leant forward, her entire being absorbed in their conversation. ‘Come on, Ethan—spill. I want to help.’
Her sincerity was vibrant and how could he quench that? It would be wrong.
‘My idea for the castle is to open it as a luxury hotel for nine months of the year and then use the proceeds to utilise it differently for the remaining three months. As a place for troubled teens. Surfing holidays but also training courses, so they can learn job skills—maybe in the hotel industry.’
He’d explained his idea to Rafael, but somehow the words were much harder to utter now—maybe because Rafael understood his need for redemption, retribution, second chances. Ruby didn’t. And there it was—the dawning of approbation, the foretaste of hero worship simmering in her beautiful eyes.
‘That is an awesome idea,’ she said quietly. ‘Truly. Tony was right. You are a good man.’
The words were not what he wanted to hear—there was too much in his past for him to have earned that epithet.
‘I’m not quite ready for a halo—all I plan to do is use the profits from a business venture to try and do some good. That’s all. Don’t big it up into more than it is.’
A push of the nearly empty dessert plate across the table.
‘Now, eat up and then let’s go brainstorm.’
There went her chin again. ‘You’re not just raising money—you have a hands-on plan that will help some of those homeless kids out there. That’s pretty big in my book, and nothing you say will change my opinion. Now, we’d better find Tony and say goodbye.’
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.
CHAPTER SEVEN
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 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.