by Nina Milne
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?’
‘Obviously I tried to, but you were engaged, and then Tony said it didn’t matter—he could discuss it with me. Which was when he informed me that he will make a delivery of super-special pizzas on the twenty-second of December. Explained how happy he is to support such a worthy cause and how much he admires your plan to give these teens in care a wonderful time over the Christmas period. So there you go—message delivered.’
With that she swivelled on one black-booted foot and headed for the door.
That wasn’t just anger that radiated off her—there was hurt as well.
‘Ruby—wait.’
A heartbeat of hesitation and then she turned to face him. ‘Yes.’
‘I should have told you.’
Her shoulders lifted. ‘It’s your business—you don’t have to tell me everything.’
‘No. But I should have told you this.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘We have been and will be working full-time until the ball. I figured you’d deserve a break—those days will be pretty full-on. Plus the kids will be here from the twenty-second to the twenty-fourth, and I know you have Christmas plans. I didn’t want you to feel obliged to cancel them, or to feel guilty. It’s no big deal.’
All the truth—though nowhere near the complete truth. But it was difficult to explain his utter disinclination to let her see the full extent of his charitable activities.
Her expression softened as she studied his face, though a small frown still nipped at her wide brow. ‘Your idea of what is a big deal and mine is different. But you’re right—you should have told me. Now I know, I would like to help.’
Bad idea... The previous night had amply demonstrated that a break would do them good. ‘No need. I have it all covered here. There is nothing for you to do—so go and enjoy yourself.’
‘Ethan, I don’t want to go and enjoy myself. I know I can help. Why don’t you want me to? Is it because...?’ Her voice faltered for a second and then she met his gaze full-on. ‘Because of what happened last night.’
‘No. I don’t want you to help because I don’t want you to get burn out. There is a huge amount of work to be done in the next few days. You’ll need a break. I’ve got it covered.’
Ethan could feel the grooves in the floor where his heels were dug in. Instinct told him that if they weren’t careful, complications would abound.
‘I bet you haven’t.’ Her chin angled, pugnacious. ‘Tell me your plans and if I can work out how to improve them I get to help. Deal?’
Great! Instinct had made another express delivery—this was über-important to Ruby and it went deep, though he wasn’t sure why.
Expelling a sigh of pure exasperation, he shrugged. ‘Fine. I wanted to do it all actually on Christmas Day, but that didn’t work out. So...a busload of teenagers will arrive here on the twenty-second. They are all either in children’s homes or in foster care and they’ve all got a chequered history. We’ll have a pizza, DVD and games night. I’ve ordered a billiards table and a darts board. On the twenty-third I and a few surf instructors will take them out for a day of water sports. We’ll come back and I’m having caterers in to serve up a Christmas dinner. Another relaxed games evening, then to bed. Another morning’s water sport on Christmas Eve and then they head back.’
There—you couldn’t say fairer than that surely? So who knew why Ruby was shaking her head?
‘What you have scheduled is brilliant, but I can make it better,’ she said flatly.
‘How?’
‘Can I sit?’
Once he’d nodded she lowered herself onto a chair, rested her elbows on the desk and cupped her chin.
‘I think you’ve missed something.’
‘What? Another game? A...?’
‘The magic of Christmas. You’ve mentioned Christmas dinner, but otherwise it could be any weekend. This is about the spirit of Christmas even if it’s not actually Christmas Day. So what about a tree?’
‘I thought about that and I figured the last thing they’ll want is a tree and lots of schmaltz. These kids are tough and they’ve been through the mill. They’ll want to obliterate Christmas—suppress the tainted memories it evokes.’
‘Maybe some of them think like that—maybe that’s what they need to think in order to get through Christmas. Dissing Christmas is their method of self-defence. But deep down they are still kids, and they deserve to be given a real Christmas—to see that Christmas doesn’t always have to suck, that it can be wonderful and magical. It could be that what they’re going back to is dismal, or lonely, or grim, so this two days you give them has to be something precious. Maybe to help them dilute those tainted memories.’
Her words strummed him... They spoke of a deep, vibrant sincerity and an underlying genuine comprehension, and Ethan knew that such empathy could only come from one place.
‘Were you ever in care?’ he asked. ‘Is that why this is so important to you?’
She blinked, as if the question had zinged out of nowhere and caught her completely on the hop, skip and jump.
A flush seeped into her cheeks and then she shrugged. ‘Yes—and yes. I was in care, and that’s why I want to be part of this. I was eleven when it happened, and although I know that foster care can sometimes work out well it didn’t for me. Looking back, I can see I was a difficult child to care for—so no surprise that I was moved from place to place. Including a stint in a residential home. I empathise with these kids. Because I remember vividly how awful holiday times were. Especially Christmas. But that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on Christmas. And I don’t want these kids to either.’
‘I’m sorry the care system didn’t work for you.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not after sympathy. I’m after your agreement to let me loose on this Christmas break. What do you think?’
Ethan drummed his fingers on the table. Of course he could shut this down and tell her no, but what kind of heel would that make him? To turn away someone who fervently wanted to help with a cause he fervently believed in?
‘Go for it. You have carte blanche.’ His smile twisted a little ‘If you can give these kids some of the magic of Christmas then that would be a great thing. But I’m not sure it’ll be easy. Some of these kids come from a very notorious estate and they have all been in serious trouble at one time or another.’
Images of the estate dotted his retina like flash photography. Depressing grey high-rise buildings, tower blocks of misery, with the smell of urine up the stairs, lifts that never worked. Vandalised park areas daubed with graffiti where kids roamed in gangs, so many of them caught in a vicious cycle of young offenders’ units and truancy, the product of misery and neglect. Guilt stamped him—because he hadn’t had that excuse for the road h
e’d chosen to walk.
Suddenly aware of Ruby’s small frown, he shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. ‘Just keep it in mind that you may need more than a magic wand and sprinkle of glitter,’ he said.
‘Sure...’
The speculative gaze she planted on him sent a frisson of unease through him. It was as if she were considering waving that wand and glitter pot at him.
He tugged his keyboard across the desk. ‘Now you’re here let’s start that brainstorm session and get down to business.’
Time to make it clear this was a non-magical, glitter-free zone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘THROUGH HERE, PLEASE.’
Two days later Ruby directed the three men toting the most enormous Christmas tree she’d ever seen into the library—the room Ethan had designated as Teen Base.
‘That’s perfect,’ she stated, refusing to allow the battalion of doubts that were making a spirited attempt to gain a foothold in her brain.
It was the tyrannosaurus rex of spruces. Once the delivery men had left she contemplated the sheer enormity of actually decorating the tree, and for a second considered enlisting Ethan’s help.
No. The tree had been her idea—plus she had vowed not to orchestrate any time with Ethan that could be avoided. Somehow she had to squash the urge to try to entice him into the idea of liking Christmas—had to suppress the urge for closeness that threatened at every turn.
The problem was the more they discussed the medieval ball and ways to raise money and publicity for their cause, the more she learnt about his ideas for Caversham Castle and the worse her gooey tummy syndrome became. The more he spoke about the youths he wished to help, the more sure she was that his empathy came from his own experiences. Which in turn led to her nutty desire to enmesh Ethan in the magic of Christmas.
Only it was clear he had no wish to enter her net. In the past two days his demeanour had been always professional, with the high expectations she’d become accustomed to, alleviated by a polite charm and appreciation for her work. But there was a guardedness, a caginess that kept her at a distance.
A distance she needed to respect—to welcome, even. Because Ethan Caversham was synonymous with danger. It was an equation she had to remember—because linked to her desire for emotional intimacy was the ever-present underlay of attraction. It was a lose-lose situation all round.
So she’d better get on with the decorations herself.
Inhaling the evocative spruce aroma that now tinged the air, Ruby opened the first box of ornaments with a small sigh of pleasure. This tree would exude Christmas and be the Christmassiest tree ever seen. Or at least the bits she could reach would be...
‘Ruby.’
The sound of Ethan’s deep voice nearly sent her tumbling from the stepladder.
‘Here you are. We’re meant to be doing the final run-through of the seating plan.’
Ruby twisted round to face him. ‘I am so sorry. I lost track of time.’
‘No worries.’ His glance rested for a second on the tree. ‘Looks good.’
‘Good? Is that all you can say.’ Ruby stepped backwards to assess her handiwork so far. ‘It’s flipping marvellous, if I say so myself. I know I’ve only managed to get less than half done, but I think the bold and beautiful theme works.’
Reds, purples and golds abounded, though she had made sure that the lush green of the pine was also on display. The ornaments were tasteful, but with a vibrant appeal that she thought would at least mean the tree would be noticed.
‘So come on. Surely you can do better than “good” as an adjective.’
‘Eye-catching,’ he said, and she frowned at the obvious effort.
The syllables sounded forced. It was almost as if he didn’t want to look at the tree or at her. Well, tough! He’d agreed to her plan to try to offer these youths some Christmas spirit, so the least he could do was be polite.
Better yet... ‘Do you want to help me finish decorating it? As you can see it’s pretty big—and you’re taller than me. Plus it might be fun.’
The challenging smile slid from her lips as she clocked his sudden leaching of colour, his small step backwards. As if he’d seen a ghost.
He scraped a hand down his face as if to force his features into a semblance of normality. ‘I’ll pass, thanks. Trust me—you wouldn’t want me bah-humbugging about the place.’
It was a credible attempt to lighten his expression, marred only by the wary ice-blue flecks in his eyes and the slight clenching of his jaw.
Every instinct told her he was hurting, and without thought she moved towards him and placed her hand over his forearm—the texture of his skin, the rough smattering of hair embedded itself into her fingertips.
‘Look what happened to Scrooge. The ghosts of Christmases Past do not have to ruin the possibilities of Christmas Present.’
She’d expected him to scoff at the concept of ghosts—instead he simply shook his head. There was something intangible about him that she didn’t understand—the way his blue-grey eyes zoned in on her, haunted, glittering with something elusive, as if they could see something she couldn’t.
‘Leave it, Ruby. The tree is incredible; you’re doing a great job. Find me when it’s done. No rush.’
His voice was so flat that instinct told her his spectres hovered close. It seemed clear what she ought to do—let him go, remember his disinclination to get close, the danger signs she had already identified, his need for distance. But she couldn’t... She didn’t know what had triggered his reaction, doubted he would tell her, but maybe she could help.
‘Don’t go.’
A frown descended on his brow at her words and she clenched her fingers into her palm and forced herself to hold her ground.
‘Ethan. Stay. Try it. Let’s decorate together.’
Gathering all her courage, she squatted down and hefted a box of purple baubles.
‘Here. I get that you don’t want to, and I get that sometimes the past taints the present, but these kids will be here the day after tomorrow and there’s lots to be done.’
‘You’re suggesting tree decoration as some form of therapy?’ He was back in control now—on the surface at least—and his voice was a drawl. ‘Or have you bitten off more than you can chew?’
‘A bit of both... This tree needs help. So—are you in?’
* * *
Was he in? Ethan stared down at the box of purple ornaments. Why was he even considering this idea?
Because Ruby had a point. From a practical point of view this gargantuan tree did need to be finished, and if he left Ruby to it she probably wouldn’t get it done until past midnight.
And that was a problem because...?
Ruby was the one who had ordered the tree in the first place—and since when had he cavilled at the thought of his staff working overtime? Ethan gusted out a sigh. Since now, apparently. Because—tough business guy or not—if he walked out of this room now he would feel like an A-class schmuck.
He’d have to get over the memories and get on with it.
The shock had hit him with unexpected force. For a vivid second the memory of Tanya had been so stark he might have believed he’d been transported back in time. He’d heard his sister’s voice persuading him to help decorate the tree, remembered arranging the tinsel and the scruffy, cheap but cheerful decorations under her instruction.
The memory had receded now, and as he looked at Ruby’s almost comically hopeful expression he shrugged.
‘I’m in.’
That way maybe there’d be a chance of getting some actual work done that day.
Whoa, Ethan, play fair. He’d agreed to this whole magic of Christmas idea; he just hadn’t reckoned on the extent of Ruby’s enchantment scheme.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘So
you’re in charge of purple. I’ll do the red.’
For a while they worked in a silence that seemed oddly peaceful. To his own irritation he found himself stepping down at intervals, to check the effect of his handiwork. A snort of exasperation escaped his lips and Ruby’s subsequent chuckle had him glaring across at her.
‘Sorry. I couldn’t help it. You look so...absorbed.’
‘Yes, well. If I do something I make sure I do it properly.’
For no reason whatsoever the words travelled across the pine-scented air and took on an unintended undertone...one that brought an image of kissing Ruby with attention to every detail. It was an effort not to crane his neck in a search for mistletoe. Instead his eyes snagged on the lush outline of her lips and desire tautened inside him.
Her fingers rose and touched her lips. He heard her intake of breath and forced his gaze to return to the tree.
‘So...’ His voice resembled that of a frog. Try again. ‘So, believe me, my share of this tree will rock and roll.’
A small shake of her head and then her lips tilted into a full-wattage smile. ‘See? It is kind of fun, isn’t it?’
Ethan blinked—to his own surprise, it was...but it would be a whole lot better if he could tell himself that the reason had zip to do with his fellow decorator. Maybe her palpable belief in the magic of Christmas was contagious. Dear Lord—he’d lost the plot big-time. If he didn’t take care he’d find himself with a pillow round his middle in a red suit.
‘Could be worse,’ he muttered as he stretched up his arm to thread a silver-spangled ball on to a branch.
Hmm... Alarm bells started to toll in his brain. If Ruby had gone this over the top with the tree, what other schemes were afoot?
‘So...any other magical plans apart from the tree?’
Ruby expertly unhooked a strand of tinsel and rearranged it. ‘I’ve planned a bake-off.’
‘A bake-off?’
‘Yup. I think they’ll go for it because of all the TV shows. My plan is that everyone has a go at Christmas cookies and gingerbread. It will be friendly—they can judge each other. Or the ones who really don’t want to bake can judge. It will make a nice start to the festivities. Then they can eat Tony’s pizzas and chill, play some games, maybe catch a Christmas movie. I’ll make popcorn.’
