Ethan gave his companion a quick sideways glance and then returned his gaze to the stretch of road ahead. Dressed now in a pair of dark trousers, a white shirt and a soft brown jacket cinched at the waist with a wide belt, she still looked the epitome of professional. Yet his fingers still itched to pull the pins out of her severe bun and then run through the resultant tumble of glossy black hair. Even as her cinnamon scent tantalised…

      This awareness sucked.

      An awareness he suspected was mutual—he’d caught the way her eyes rested on him, the quickly lowered lashes. So why had he hired her? This level of awareness was an issue—he didn’t understand it, and the niggle of suspicion that it was more than just physical was already causing his temples to pound.

      Employing someone from his past was nuts—he should have known that. The woman next to him triggered memories of times he would rather forget—of the Ethan Caversham of a decade ago, driven to the streets to try and escape the harsh reality of his life, the bitter knowledge that his mother had wanted shot of him made worse by the knowledge that he could hardly blame her.

      Shoving the darkness aside, he unclenched his jaw and reminded himself that Ruby was the right person for the job.

      But it was more than that.

      The quiver in her voice had flicked him on the raw with the knowledge that she was scared—he’d looked across his desk at Ruby and images had surged of Tanya…of the beautiful, gentle sister he’d been unable to protect.

      Of Ruby herself ten years before.

       A far scrawnier version of Ruby stood in a less than salubrious park trying to face down three vicious-looking youths. He’d seen the scene but the true interpretation of the tableau had taken a moment to sink in. Then one of the youths had lunged and sudden fear had coated his teeth as adrenalin spiked. Not fear of the gang but fear he wouldn’t make it in time.

      Once he got there he’d take them on—bad odds but he’d weathered worse. Flipside of growing up on a gang-ridden estate meant he knew how to fight. Worst case scenario they’d take him down but the girl would escape. That was what mattered. He couldn’t…wouldn’t be party to further tragedy.

       The element of surprise helped. The youths too intent on their prey to pay him any attention. The jagged sound of the girl’s shirt rip galvanised him and he launched knocking the youth aside.

       ‘Run,’ he yelled at the girl.

       But she hadn’t. For a second she had frozen and then she’d entered the melee.

      Ten vicious minutes later it was over—the three youths ran off and he turned to see a tall, dark haired girl, her midnight hair hacked as if she’d done it herself. Her face was grubby and a small trickle of blood daubed her forehead. Silhouetted against the barren scrubland of the park, she returned his gaze; wide sapphire blue eyes fringed by incredibly long lashes mesmerised him. Their ragged breaths mingled and for an insane second he didn’t see her there—instead he saw his sister. The girl he hadn’t managed to save.

       He held his hand out. ‘Let’s go. Before they come back with reinforcements. Or knives.’

       ‘Go where?’ Her voice shaky now as reality sunk in.

       ‘Hostel. You can bunk in with me for the night. You’ll be safe with me. I promise.’

       She’d stared at his hand, and without hesitation she’d placed her hand in his, that damned hero worship dawning in her brilliant eyes.

      Present day, and the end result was he’d offered her a job. Because every instinct told him that Hugh Farlane had done her over somehow. Because he would not leave her prey to the online bullies. Because—somehow, somewhere that protective urge had been rebooted.

      The dual carriageway had reduced to a single lane. Dusky scenery flashed past the windows—a mixture of wind turbines and farmland that morphed into a small Cornish hamlet, up a windy hill, and then…

      ‘Here we are,’ he said, and heard the burr of pride as he drove down the grand tree-spanned driveway and parked in the car park.

      He turned to see Ruby’s reaction—hoped she would see in it what he saw.

      She shifted and gazed out of the window, her blue eyes fixed to where the castle jutted magnificently on the horizon. ‘It’s…awesome. By which I mean it fills me with awe,’ she said.

      He knew what she meant. Sometimes it seemed impossible to him that he owned these mighty stone walls, these turrets and towers weighted with the history of centuries, the air peopled by the memory of generations gone past.

      Ruby sighed. ‘If I close my eyes I can see the Parliamentarians and the Royalists battling it out…the blood that would have seeped into the stone…the cries, the bravery, the pain. I can imagine medieval knights galloping towards the portcullis—’ An almost embarrassed smile accompanied her words. ‘Sorry. That sounded a bit daft. How on earth did you get permission to convert it into a hotel? Isn’t it protected?’

      ‘Permission had already been given, decades ago—I have no idea how—but the company that undertook the project went bust and the castle was left to fall into disrepair. I undertook negotiations with the council and various heritage trusts and bought the place, and now…’

      ‘Now you’ve transformed it…’ Her voice was low and melodious.

      Lost in contemplation of her surroundings, she shifted closer to him—and all of a sudden it seemed imperative to get out of the confines of the car, away from the tantalising hint of cinnamon she exuded, away from the warmth in her eyes and voice as she surveyed the castle and then him.

      ‘So, let me show you what I’ve done and hopefully that will trigger some ideas for you to think about.’

      ‘Perfect.’

      The gravel of the vast path crunched under their feet as they walked to the refurbished ancient portcullis. Ethan inhaled the cold, crisp Cornish air, with its sea tang, and saw Ruby do the same, her cheeks already pink from the gust of the winter breeze.

      They reached the door and entered the warmth of the