‘I wouldn’t mind sleeping in there. There’s no way you could manoeuvre your way into the room, let alone the bed. But I’ll be fine. I’m flexible.’
Unable to help herself, she gave a little shimmy to demonstrate the point and his jaw clenched again. Whoa. Probably best not to bite off more than she could nibble. But this chalet called to something deep inside her. It was a magical place, made for dreams, and even though she knew dreams were a fallacy surely there could be no harm in two days of magic? It was Christmas, for crying out loud.
‘I think we should stay here. I mean, it’s quirky—it’s different. Maybe you could build a resort with places like this. Plus, it’s a good place to work. No distractions.’
Bwa-ha-ha-ha! went her hormones as they rolled on the floor with mirth. As a small voice shrieked in the dark recesses of her brain, pointed out that all those diversions she’d dissed would have equalled an effective chaperon service.
‘I’d like to stay here, but if you think it’s too difficult...’
Too late it occurred to her that Ethan had never been able to resist a challenge. His eyebrows rose and suddenly the room seemed even smaller.
‘So you want to stay here?’
‘Yup.’
Determination solidified inside her—her ill-advised hormones would not govern her actions. This place was magical, and magical was what she wanted. Not just for herself, but for Ethan as well. Surely even his cynicism, his determination to treat Christmas as just another day, wouldn’t be proof against this chalet?
He gave so much—wanted to make a difference in the lives of Max and Tara and others teens like them. Maybe it was time someone tried to make a difference for Ethan. That darkness she’d sensed inside him a decade ago—the darkness that still remained despite the aura of success—she wanted to change that, to lighten him up with some magic. How could that be wrong?
That small, insistent voice at the back of her mind clamoured to be heard—warned her that he hadn’t wanted her help ten years before and he didn’t want it now. It was advice she knew she should heed—she didn’t know how to change people...never had, never would. So she should back off. Instead she met his gaze.
‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘I do want to stay here.’
Two days. It couldn’t harm.
His broad shoulders lifted. ‘Then so be it.’
The enormity of her own stupidity nearly overcame her. ‘Fabulous,’ she squeaked. ‘So let’s go and sample some of that Christmas coffee and gingerbread.’
And get out of the bedroom.
Repeating the mantra ‘We are professional’ under her breath, Ruby busied herself in the small kitchen area. Focused on the beautifully crafted pottery and the blue and white ceramic tiles as she made coffee. Inhaled its nutty roasted aroma and hoped it would defuse her disastrous awareness of Ethan.
Tray loaded, she headed to the lounge area. Flames crackled in the hearth and the sweet spicy scent of the logs infused the air.
Pouring out the coffee, handing out the gingerbread and lowering herself warily onto the sofa to avoid any form of thigh-to-thigh contact consumed all of five minutes.
The search for conversation turned out to be problematic. Ridiculous. Over the past days she and Ethan had spent hours in comfortable silence. Unfortunately right now comfort had legged it over the horizon into the alpine peaks.
Next to her Ethan shifted; she sipped her coffee as the silence stretched on.
This was madness—what had she been thinking? The ideal solution would have been to have let Ethan move them out of here. Here was the sort of place where couples came on honeymoon, cuddled in front of the flickering logs and cooed sweet nothings. Or the sort of place for a family holiday—a place where kids could build snowmen in the garden and sleep in that storybook bunk bed.
This must be anathema to Ethan, and yet he’d agreed to remain here. So the least she could do was come up with some conversation. A sideways glance noted that he looked brooding, one hand drumming on his knee almost as if he were waiting for something. Conversation, presumably.
‘So, if you go ahead here would you set up your own ski school, complete with equipment hire and guides? Or use an existing school and arrange for some sort of commission?’
‘They are both options I’ll consider. It depends.’
That seemed to cover that. She reached out for another piece of the spicy gingerbread—oh, so aware of the jiggling of Ethan’s leg, the tap-tap of his foot on the wooden floor. Silence reigned until Ethan put his coffee cup down with a clunk just as a jingling noise came from outside.
Turning, he cleared his throat. ‘Right on time,’ he declared, with a glance at his watch.
‘What is?’
‘Look out of the window.’ Rising, he gave a sudden smile, an odd mix of relief and trepidation in the tipping of his lips.
Despite the temptation to absorb the impact of that smile, she unsnagged her gaze from his mouth, rose to her feet and headed for the expanse of glass.