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
