Snowkissed: Christmas Kisses with Her Boss / Proposal at the Winter Ball / The Prince's Christmas Vow. Jennifer Faye

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      ‘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 he’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.

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