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Kilhallon Park, Cornwall

Late February

‘Good morning and …’

I reach out my hand to turn off the radio alarm and I hit something else. Not the cold metal of the radio, but warm skin … hairy skin … and I know it’s not my dog, Mitch, because the skin next to me has smooth, firm muscle beneath it: human, not canine.

‘Are you awake, Demi?’

At the sound of his voice, I open my eyes and Cal’s face comes into focus in the dim light of this late February morning. Propped up on one elbow, he smiles down at me as I slowly surface from a deep sleep in our bed. Yes, our bed. Mine and Cal’s. It’s been over eight weeks since I moved into the main farmhouse with him but I still have to pinch myself when I think of all that’s happened since I arrived at Kilhallon Park last Easter.

Cal Penwith was – still is – my boss, but he’s also now, my … ‘boyfriend’? That makes him sound like we’re still at school and ‘partner’ sounds as if we’re sharing an office in an accountancy firm. ‘Lover’? Definitely, but also much more than that. I suppose we’re officially ‘a couple’. Christmas marked the turning point in our relationship and we not only share the same bed now but the same home and, perhaps, some of the same hopes and fears.

‘Were you dreaming?’ Cal asks, amusement glinting in his deep brown eyes. That look may seem charming and sexy but I know it hides a world of danger. You might as well bathe in the still waters of Kilhallon Cove on a summer’s day and think they could never rise up and batter you onto the rocks as believe that Cal Penwith isn’t trouble.

‘Um, I thought I was back in the cottage, and that the alarm had gone off.’

He smiles a mischievous smile. ‘Ah, but I’m your alarm now.’ He dances his fingers towards the top of the duvet. ‘And I’m a lot more fun to wake up with than Radio St Trenyan.’

I huff and hesitate before replying, to tease him, although he knows that I know that he’s totally right. ‘Mmm. Maybe. Just a little bit.’

‘More than a little bit, I hope.’ Cal peels back the duvet and plants a kiss on my shoulder. The warmth of his lips combats the instant chill of the air hitting my skin. The seventeenth-century farmhouse’s central heating hasn’t been upgraded for thirty years because Cal’s ploughed any spare cash into turning Kilhallon from a rusty old caravan site into a ‘boutique eco resort’. Our guests pad about barefoot on their underfloor heating while we grab another blanket, but that’s fine by me. The business comes first and I don’t mind, especially when I have Cal here by my side.

‘Brrr.’

Sleet rattles against the sash window, driven by a wind straight off the Atlantic Ocean. I’m shivering, although that might not be totally down to the sub-zero temperatures. I snatch the duvet up to my chin.

‘I’ll keep you warm, if you want me to,’ says Cal with a wicked grin, pulling the cover back again. He raises his eyebrow at the sight and, in return, my body tingles as my eyes adjust to being awake and I appreciate the view of him in our bed. Even after a Cornish winter there are still tan lines at his neck and arms, a hint of summer gold lingers on his skin. He spends most of his time outdoors, working on the cottages and campsite in all weathers. Of course I want him to keep me warm. Leaving the heat of my bed and Cal’s body to head out into the winter sleet is about as appealing as mucking out Cal’s ‘lively’ horse, Dexter, but work comes first, doesn’t it?

‘We have tons to do today. Haven’t you forgotten this is the most important day ever for Kilhallon Park and Demelza’s Cafe?’ I say.

Reminding myself about our big – make that humungous – day sends a shiver down my spine. Demelza’s Cafe is my responsibility: it was my idea to set it up on the coast path as part of Kilhallon, Cal’s new boutique holiday resort on the far west Cornish coast. Cal invested a pot of money in it and named it after me. No pressure there, then … Not that I don’t love running it more than anything I’ve ever done in my life.

We weathered some almighty storms last year while we were fighting to get the resort and cafe off the ground. Sometimes I still have to pinch myself when I stand behind the counter, knowing I’m the manager of my own cafe. The day I first met Cal, I’d just lost my job at a cafe in our local town, St Trenyan. I had no job, no home and I’d become estranged from my family. I’d no idea what I was going to do next, then I heard of a job going as an ‘assistant’ at a new holiday resort up the coast …

Now, here I am, less than a year later, about to show two famous actors around as we launch Kilhallon as an ‘alternative’ wedding venue.

I take a deep breath. ‘Our VIP visitors are coming and I want everything to be perfect. You can call me paranoid but I’m desperate to make sure everything goes well.’

Cal strokes my cheek. ‘I know you are. I know how much Demelza’s means to you and how hard you’ve fought to make it a success but it’s ages until they arrive and I’ll be there to meet them with you.’

‘Technically, they’re your responsibility anyway,’ I tease. ‘Lily Craig and Ben Trevone are friends of Isla’s.’

Cal tuts while dancing his fingers down my chest. ‘Don’t play the Isla card,’ he warns, risking a joke about his ex-girlfriend. Cal used to be an aid worker in Syria and returned to Kilhallon Park last Easter after a series of traumatic events. He was devastated to find Isla was engaged to Luke, although he assures me he’s over her now and I think I believe him. Isla is a glamorous TV producer and she persuaded her actor friends, Ben and Lily, to hold their wedding at Kilhallon Park to help boost our profile. They’ve been so busy filming and doing publicity that they haven’t had time to visit Kilhallon yet or set a date but I really hope they confirm the wedding day while they’re here. It’s our first event of the kind and will mean massive kudos for the resort and cafe, if it all goes well.

‘Like I said, I’ll be there to meet them with you. You’re worrying way too much and besides, nothing’s as important as keeping your boss happy,’ Cal says, cheekily.

‘You promised never to play the boss card.’

‘No more often than strictly necessary.’ He lifts a lock of my hair from my face. I catch a glimpse of it in the rust-mottled mirror on the dressing table. I definitely have morning hair.

‘Have I ever told you you look incredibly sexy when you’ve just woken up? Sort of rumpled and wild and up for it …’ He lets my hair fall and kisses the hollow at the top of my breastbone.

‘Only when you want something …’ I murmur, unable to keep still. ‘Mitch will want his morning run in a minute …’ I say feebly.

Cal trails a warm tongue down my cleavage. ‘All the more reason to make hay while the sun shines …’

‘There’s no sun,’ I murmur.

Scratching and whining from outside the door tells me that Mitch is awake and restless already. Crows caw loudly from the trees behind the farmhouse, as if to warn me. Cal disappears under the duvet, his voice muffled. ‘Mitch will be fine and as for the sun,’ he says as I squirm in pure, wicked pleasure, ‘I’ll make sure things get hot in here.’

So I ignore my dog and the fact we need to get ready for this important day in Kilhallon’s history and give in to some activities that involve shared body heat. After all, I’m only human, and I told you Cal is dangerous.