Ewan threw his head back and laughed. ‘Oh how I wish that was the reason! It’s true. Have you any idea how many rounds of edits a book goes through before it gets published? Or how many drafts of a book are written before it’s submitted in the first place. Because, you know, it can be a lot and writing can be a struggle, even for those of us who do it all the time. So we work harder and research more.’

‘And end up sitting opposite neurotic wannabe writers in a bar instead of spending time actually writing?’ Jo said, her toes curled with embarrassment at her lack of understanding about how the business worked.

‘But I am working on my novel. Didn’t we have a research ice cream on the Main Street and didn’t you show me the Mass rock where the priest was martyred under the penal laws? And the little hideouts on the coast? This is all great, authentic research material. Apart from the ice cream. That was just really nice.’ He smiled warmly and Jo startled when he reached across the table and took her hand in his. She looked at his tanned skin, the soft hairs, bleached by the sun, the sinewy muscle of his forearms. Maybe the wine had gone to her head, but the surreal nature of the entire experience had made her a little giddy, and the warmth of his skin on hers made her breath catch in the back of her throat.

She raised her glance to his face, to that damned irresistible smile of his, and there was a moment where she honestly thought he might just reach across the table and pull her towards him. He was tall, strong, he could easily sweep her off her feet and kiss her so hard she would see stars. Jo realised, in that moment, she would probably let him. Not only that, she would probably kiss him back even harder. Her head was fuzzy now, and her heart thumped. Ewan McLachlan, in that moment, was like a magnet to her.

Her eyes darted to his mouth, his full lips. Her heart thudded faster as he started to stand up. Maybe she’d been right. He was going to kiss her. She braced herself.

‘Jo,’ he said, and her gaze moved reluctantly from his lips to his eyes. ‘Do you want another drink? I’m just going to the men’s and I’ll order them on the way.’

It wasn’t the seduction she’d hoped for. It wasn’t any seduction at all. He was just in need of the toilet. The spell, if it had even been there in the first place, was broken.