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Andy had constantly reassured Fiona that everything was fine, so she’d had plenty of free time to assist her grandmother, helping with the boarding house and Grandad’s physiotherapy, and the exhausting regime had paid dividends. Grandad was making a remarkable recovery, astonishing everyone with his resilience. It was funny, fate, she acknowledged: it had been her turn to take Grandfather to the day centre but when Kate, the guide who led tours, had not turned up for work at the distillery, Fiona took her place, grateful for the change of scene. She loved taking the tourists around the distillery; she was proud of her heritage and found the whole process of making whisky fascinating. Her natural exuberance was transmitted to the tourists, who always seemed more talkative and questioning when she took them around. Fiona allowed herself a smile as she thought of Grant; he had asked more questions than she had ever thought possible! She could remember that day so clearly, as if it had been branded into her brain. The damp smell of autumn mists was already in the air, and vibrant colours filled the moors as the forests turned from verdant green to a kaleidoscope of crimsons, yellows and browns. At the end of the summer, tourists—mostly families on holiday—had returned for the start of the new school term, leaving only the retired catching the last moments of sunshine, or younger parents with tiny tots still not old enough to attend school. Fiona had hurried them all into the foyer away from the crisp chilling air—she was well aware how the damp could affect old bones, so she had decided to begin the tour inside. It was then that she first saw him and he had immediately started her pulses racing. He had pushed the hood of his dark green waxed jacket from his face, revealing a thick corncoloured mane of hair that fell casually around his deeply tanned face. His tan was not weathered but smooth, and its colour even, making a perfect backdrop for his vivid blue eyes. At first, Fiona imagined he was Swedish; he looked Scandinavian like a Viking warrior of old, and maybe it was some historical instinct that had warned her to beware of him as her pulse increased still further.
‘Hi, I’m Grant.’ He smiled widely and she knew at once he was American.
‘Hello,’ Fee managed to respond. ‘Come inside, I’m just about to begin the tour,’ she said, stepping back to allow him to enter.
‘Thanks. I was going out walking but the weather looks a little…’
‘Yes, yes, it does. I think you were wise not to go. The mists can come down so very quickly, though you do seem properly dressed,’ she remarked, noting his thick navy sweater with an intricate cable pattern which seemed to emphasise the breadth of his muscular chest. The well-worn denim jeans that curved around his firm hips and thighs seemed to fit with an almost indecent snugness, and they were pushed carefully into a pair of ancient, scuffed brown walking boots. Fiona felt herself blush as she realised how closely she was looking at him. She turned her attention to the other tourists, offering a sample of her family’s best whisky to everyone.
‘It has an unusual flavour,’ Grant commented, sipping the amber liquid with appreciation.
‘Indeed it has,’ Fiona said loud enough for everyone to hear. Her attention was directed solely at Grant, as if drawn by some powerful hidden magnet. ‘This is a family distillery; we produce our own Scotch to a family recipe.’ The pride in Fiona’s voice was evident. Grant nodded his approval and Fiona’s heart leapt at his appreciation. A small child pulled eagerly at her tray, nearly causing the glasses to unbalance.
‘Oh, no, you don’t, young lady,’ Grant laughed, lifting the squirming bundle high into the air and tickling the little girl till she crowed with delight, forgetting all about the tray of drinks.
‘Thank you.’ Fiona smiled her gratitude and was awarded the full brilliance of his perfect white teeth. He laughed as he placed the child back safely on to the floor and turned his attention to Fiona.
‘My pleasure. I hate to see good Scotch go to waste.’ He laughed again. Laughter came so easily to him and Fiona found herself responding—it seemed so long since she had smiled. With the worry of Grandfather’s health, the responsibility of the distillery, her doubts about Andrew and the still hidden pain of Mark’s betrayal, laughter had somehow faded from her life. She swallowed a little nervously as she began her wellrehearsed speech and, though she tried to talk to everyone, her eyes constantly strayed in Grant’s direction and fixed on the generous curve of his sensual mouth. She answered all his questions, thinking he was just interested. She should have known then, despite his halo of blond hair and the innocent blueness of his eyes, that he was no angel; now of course she knew him better. She realised he resembled the very devil himself! His interest had been far more than that of a passing tourist.
‘Fiona!’ Grant’s crisp voice barked, shattering all thoughts and making her jump. Her cup rattled in its saucer as her eyes shot open. ‘Are you all right?’ His voice had changed and for a moment she thought there was a note of concern there, but his grim expression soon shattered that illusion.
‘Yes,’ she snapped back, already on the defensive, too aware of him ever to be completely immune. The brand of sexuality he wore was far too lethal. She knew she could never forget him, or forgive him for what he had done. His eyebrows rose and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at her prompt reply, but it faded fast as she passed a hand to her forehead, rubbing at the returned throbbing pain of tension.
‘Headache?’ he asked, getting to his feet with alarming alacrity. Fiona gently nodded her head and then moaned at the movement. ‘Here?’ he questioned, feeling expertly across her neck, fixing on the tip of her spine and beginning a firm but gentle massage. Fiona wanted to object, to pull her body away from his as her shoulders fell comfortably against his chest. His hands moved with rhythmic ease across them, easing the tension of her headache away but arousing her more base instincts.
That’s fine, really,’ she muttered, stiffening against his persuasive touch and moving away. A lazy grin spread across his face at her objection, but he said nothing, returning to the desk with an expressive shrug of his broad shoulders.
‘I’ve been looking over the company records; some seem—’ he paused as if carefully weighing up his next words ‘—some are incomplete.’
‘Incomplete?’ she echoed, not fully understanding what he was saying, but feeling a frisson of alarm rushing down her spine. First fire then ice ran through her body. Grant leant across the table and picked up a buff-coloured file.
‘The last twelve months’ figures just don’t seem to tally,’ he explained, opening the file and running a cursory glance down a bank of figures. Fiona jumped to her feet, indignation rising within her like a huge tidal wave.
‘My God, you’re back on that track, are you?’ she demanded, her face growing pink with anger as she marched over to the desk. She saw his body stiffen, his shoulders straighten at her attack, but she was undaunted. ‘Give it here,’ she said in a clipped tone, snatching the file from his hands. She flicked open the file, her mind working overtime as she surveyed the figures. She was painfully aware he was watching her. The clean scent of him filled her senses, and she struggled to make sense of the mass of numbers.
‘These aren’t our figures,’ she retorted, pushing the file back at Grant in a gesture of contempt. He nodded slowly in agreement, his hair momentarily falling softly on to his face before he swept it back in a gesture of frustration. He rested his head on his fingers and rubbed at his forehead, as he whistled lowly, shaking his head. He sighed audibly before raising his head to meet the frozen look in her eyes.
‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ he asked. ‘Those are my accountants’ figures, achieved by simple mathematics; less creative perhaps than Andrew Farr’s, but I assure you far more accurate,’ he concluded grimly.
‘You’re pathetic,’ stormed Fiona. ‘You’ve had it in for Andrew all along. It’s jealousy, sheer jealousy,’ she bit out, before an iron grip wrapped around her wrist forcing her to be silent. Grant leant across the table, his strength unrelenting. He fixed his icy-blue gaze on her face, as if searching for the truth.
‘I’ve no reason to be jealous of Andrew Farr,’ he asked almost warily, ‘have I?’ He effortlessly pulled her towards him until she was close cnough to catch the familiar scent of sandalwood aftershave.
‘No, no reason,’ she admitted nervously, hating her weakness and despising his strength. Once again he had forced her to reconsider Andrew’s motivation. He released her immediately and she moved away, keeping a safe distance between them. Her breathing was fast and erratic and she wondered if there could be a safe distance from Grant once his formidable temper was aroused. The silence that followed was tangible and the tension between them seemed to rise up like a huge, impenetrable wall.
‘Look; Fee,’ began Grant, reopening the file. ‘Please just look, judge for yourself.’ He tried to sound conciliatory, but there was a firmness in his voice that she instantly recognised and her eyes darted to his face in an attempt to read his poker expression. ‘It’s all here, Fee. My suspicions were correct,’ he added almost impatiently, as she stood rooted to the spot, not attempting to move or show any interest in the file. ‘For God’s sake, Fee!’ he finally snapped, leaping to his feet and slamming his fist down noisily on top of the file. ‘Look at it, will you?’
Fiona raised her eyes to look at him instead. She had half expected this. She had hoped that perhaps he wouldn’t resort to such low tactics, but Andy had warned her he would. For some reason she was disappointed; she had wanted to believe in Grant, somewhere deep within her very being. Despite all the facts to the contrary, she still was holding on to that glimmer of hope.
‘I was expecting this,’ she informed him, trying to keep the pain from her voice and failing. ‘I had been warned you would attempt this sort of tactic—’ she sighed before being interrupted.
‘Tactic?’ Grant echoed as he flicked her a probing glance. ‘What are you talking about? The facts speak for themselves.’
She didn’t reply and, after a short pause that was filled with tension and hostility, he said, ‘All the figures are here.’ His voice was sharp and heavy with sarcasm. He raised his hand in frustration, raking his strong fingers through his golden hair. ‘Why won’t you listen?’ he demanded impatiently.
‘I have listened,’ Fiona returned tartly.
Grant’s brow frowned with displeasure at her tone and his eyes flickered over her thoughtfully.
‘Let me guess,’ he taunted, ‘Andrew Farr suggested I would say the figures were wrong.’
A rush of heat to Fiona’s cheeks caused her to blush and she knew it was pointless to deny his statement. Instead she raised her head and confronted his anger with barely concealed contempt. Her usually soft brown eyes were hard, and sparks of indignation flared within them.
‘Yes, it was Andrew, and he was right, you have questioned the accounts.’ The accusation in her voice was cutting, but Grant’s equilibrium was not shaken in the least. He strode over to the window, allowing the crisp morning air to wash over him, as if losing his temper was a gamble he was not prepared to take. He sank his hands deep into his pockets and gazed out, his eyes seemingly following the natural rise and fall of the surrounding hills.
Finally he spoke, his voice calm and deep. ‘I’ve checked the accounts myself and there are discrepancies—’
‘Rubbish, it’s just another one of your ploys, to make sure I sell at a loss,’ Fiona interrupted sharply. Grant swung around, his eyes flashing warning lights as a dark storm of anger rose in their depths. He glared at her, his jaw stiff and unyielding, and Fiona stepped back as he made a threatening step towards her.
‘There was a time, Grant, when I believed you—’ She paused and shook her head, trying to cast out the bittersweet memories. ‘Look, let’s forget our personal differences; this is business,’ she said tightly, hating herself for the traitorous way her body responded to him.
‘There’s more than business at stake here, Fee, and you know it.’ His voice was rough with intensity.
She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. She had tried the whole time he was away to sort out her feelings; the pain and isolation she had felt had been unbearable, and she had tried to rationalise their whirlwind romance. Now all her theories about being on the rebound had evaporated once he returned and she was with him again.
‘Fee,’ he said more softly, the gentleness of his voice momentarily soothing her. ‘I’m not happy with these figures—’ He stopped when she flashed another look of contempt at him. ‘Look, OK,’ he continued, raising the flat of his palms up to her in a gesture of compromise. ‘You check them,’ he said with a grim finality.
‘I don’t have to; unlike you, I happen to trust Andy,’ she countered obstinately, a small niggling doubt beginning to surface. She dismissed it promptly when she remembered the cautionary words of Andy, warning her that Grant would try to put doubts in her mind. She bristled immediately, defiant and determined to fight on.
‘Trust no one, Fee,’ Grant informed her, obviously sensing her doubt and wanting to build on it.
‘Including you?’ Fiona retorted spitefully, enjoying Grant’s sudden intake of breath at her words. She wanted to hurt him, wanted him to know how it felt to be rejected and betrayed. He stirred quickly at her words, too quick for her to move, and once again she found herself imprisoned by his strong hands. She raised her head to voice her objections, but he caught her off guard and his lips claimed hers. For one brief, magical moment, Fiona allowed herself to respond. The spark of desire he immediately aroused in her caused her to give way. Her soft lips parted and his kiss deepened, and their bodies moulded together like a well-fitted jigsaw. Fiona found herself drowning in the heady depths of desire and she had to fight to regain her sanity. It seemed eternity before her common sense took over. She knew she couldn’t allow this, it wasn’t right. She was aware how weak she was where Grant was concerned and her body would always betray her, respond to him, despite everything. She would be at his mercy and she was sure he would take advantage of the situation. She fought against him, wrenching herself from his arms.
‘Stop that,’ she ordered, her eyes flaring, but her uneven breath betrayed her arousal. ‘This is supposed to be a business meeting.’ Grant watched her with a glimmer of amusement that made his blue eyes shine deeply.
‘Are you annoyed because I kissed you, or because you responded?’ Grant’s lips curled into a devilish grin and Fiona felt compelled to look at him.
‘You had no right to do it,’ she objected crossly, ignoring the arrogant smile that filled his face.
‘I think I had every right,’ he told her, his voice suddenly serious. ‘Or are your kisses just for Andrew now?’ A dangerous edge had entered his tone and Fiona’s eyes darted to his.
‘There’s nothing between me and Andy,’ she flared back, annoyed when he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘There’s nothing,’ she repeated forcefully.
‘I’m glad,’ he murmured softly, as he stroked the side of her face with a cool brush of his strong hand. Fiona leapt at his electric touch. She had been seeing a lot of Andrew since Grant went away, and she knew there had been times when he had wanted to kiss her but she had never allowed him. She stepped back, a mixture of fear and excitement inside her as Grant strode back to the desk and began to replace the papers, leaving the file on the desk.
‘What’s going on?’ Fiona demanded to know, as a hot jet of panic surged through her. Surely he wasn’t leaving? She wanted the deal to be finalised today, so that at least she knew that the distillery was safe. Grant raised his head, the morning sun catching his hair, making it dazzle with a golden haze.
‘I have been advised not to go ahead with the takeover of this company,’ he said in a detached tone.
Fiona froze at his words; it was all so unreal that she couldn’t take it in. ‘What?’ she managed to splutter, watching him warily as he clicked his case closed. He glanced up at her, his face an expressionless mask.
‘I’m sorry, Fee. With these figures, it’s just not a viable proposition,’ his deep voice drawled. She felt a stab of hostility at his arrogant attitude and her sense of betrayal deepened still further. Now she realised what he was playing at—Andy had been right all along; she should have listened to him, taken his advice, instead of being charmed by this charlatan.
‘If this is an attempt to make me lower the asking price, then forget it,’ she stated, scanning his face for some relaxation. But there was none, he seemed resolute.
There was a flash of anger for a moment, before he said through clenched teeth, ‘No, this is not a feeble attempt to make you lower the price,’ he said scornfully, the disdain in his voice making her cringe inwardly. ‘It is merely the truth. This company is no longer a viable proposition, it’s as simple as that.’
‘You can’t be serious! It’s all you ever wanted,’ Fiona protested, as hot pinheads of tears that pricked the back of her eyes threatened to fall. She was shouting—she could hear her own voice crashing about her ears, but she didn’t care, she was so desperate to understand.
‘It’s not all I ever wanted,’ Grant thundered back at her, his face set. Fiona’s eyes darted to his face and she stared at him, locked into immobility. She stood her ground, determined not to show her true emotions, but her eyes grew soft with sorrow as she felt the world crumbling beneath her feet.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_9f75495f-044f-5488-bc06-8b52c88dab0a)
FIONA suddenly felt giddy. The room spun as the realisation that she was actually already bankrupt whirled inside her head. The word rushed through the enveloping darkness of her mind. She swayed slightly before Grant’s arms wrapped around her and carefully lowered her on to a chair. She sank back, her mind in confusion, her face devoid of all colour. Grant turned away, his eyes closing as he exhaled a long breath. Then he moved quickly away from her. She watched him silently, knowing he was angry with her, but she was too confused to understand. He strode to the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Fiona asked, troubled; for a brief fleeting moment she allowed herself to need him. She didn’t want to feel that destroying loneliness ever again, especially not now.
‘To get some water,’ Grant snapped, not attempting to conceal his irritation or frustration. ‘You look as if you need it.’
She could hear the distant chinking of glasses and the slamming of cupboard doors. Shakily Fiona pushed herself into an upright position as she heard Grant return. She took a swift glance at his face: his features were set uncompromisingly and Fiona regretted her hasty words—yet it was true; she knew now that everything else had been a game and she was just an innocent pawn. She shuddered at the thought of her own naïveté; did she honestly expect a sophisticated man of the world, wealthy and important, to be interested in her? A plain, ordinary girl with the love of the country seeped deep in her bones? Surely she had learned her lesson with Mark? He, too, had been hungry to become part of the family firm. She had come to believe that Grant was the same; he too had always wanted the company. His trip to Scotland had been with the sole aim of acquiring a distillery. His family were looking for ways of diverting their funds into the new European market. She had given him the golden opportunity, falling for his plausible act. She had really believed he loved her, her foolish heart ruling her head.
Fiona accepted the glass of water gratefully, sipping it slowly. She hadn’t wanted this, a show of weakness. She had wanted to be strong, to prove to him that she didn’t care about him, but she couldn’t. It was all too much. She hoped the water would steady her frayed nerves as she tried to understand why Grant had changed his mind. She hadn’t wanted to lose control of the family company, but in the face of losses Grant had become her only option. What had gone wrong back home? She sensed it was something more personal than the distillery. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, aware that its coldness matched the chilling atmosphere in the room.
‘What’s going on, Fiona?’ Grant demanded heavily in an attempt to control his patience and control.
‘I knew things weren’t good. Our bank has been getting very twitchy lately,’ she admitted, quietly keeping her eyes firmly on her water to avoid his penetrating gaze. ‘I tried to raise more money from elsewhere, but with no luck. In the end, I was relying on you—no one else has shown interest,’ she confessed, almost ashamed. ‘But I didn’t realise I was bankrupt! Andrew…’ She faltered. She hated being this dependent upon Grant, like some damsel in distress waiting for her knight to save her. She felt the growing rebellion inside her, yet he was her only chance of survival and she was willing to do anything in order to keep the bank from foreclosing now. A puzzled look darted across Grant’s face but he quickly masked it.
‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. There was a knowing gleam in his eyes as he watched the startled rise of Fiona’s head.
‘Do you?’ asked Fiona. In spite of her effort to reply calmly, her voice sounded expectant, her mind still muddled but grateful for any ray of hope. ‘You said yourself it isn’t viable; why should anyone want to buy it?’ she said mournfully, as she saw her dreams being torn apart.
‘I thought you wanted to keep it as a family concern, concentrate on producing a single malt?’ he asked. Fiona nodded her head in silence; she was too choked to speak. That had always been her dream—to produce one of the finest single malts, to mature it for many years till it became as smooth as a French cognac.
‘Well?’ demanded Grant, as if he were irritated by her silence and her hopeless attitude of defeat. Her head shot up again, this time with a sudden show of defiance.
‘It was a dream, a little girl’s dream, but the adult world just wasn’t interested. It just wasn’t a viable proposition.’ She threw his words back at him, unable to keep the pain and bitterness from her voice.
‘It was more than a dream, Fee. It was a damn good idea. What the hell has been going on?’
‘You’re a little late with your concern, aren’t you?’ she flared back at him, remembering how he had left her alone after all his promises. She fought hard to rid her mind of the empty pain she had felt then! The vivid blue irises of Grant’s eyes darkened to navy at her accusation.
‘Still looking for someone to blame, and it’s always me, isn’t it?’ he ground out. His remonstration made Fiona avert her head. She knew there was a grain of truth in what he said, yet he had made such promises and, like a stupid child, she had believed him.
‘It’s not a case of blame; it’s no one’s fault,’ she admitted grudgingly.
But Grant snapped back immediately, ‘Where’s Andy?’
‘Andy! Andy! I suppose he is to blame, is he?’ she retorted, aware of Grant’s anger, and it fuelled her own, her expression freezing as she remembered the arguments that they’d had about Andrew Farr. She knew Grant was jealous of Andrew; his whole attitude was dangerous towards him. And it had been Andy who had warned her about Grant, and she had foolishly ignored his advice.
‘What do you think?’ he asked quietly, controlling the possibility that the issue would build into a shouting match.
Fiona frowned and sighed. She watched him warily; his very presence seemed to dominate the room. She didn’t want to argue, she wanted this settled, but he seemed determined to force it.
‘I don’t know what you have against Andy—’ she began, but Grant interrupted immediately.
‘Don’t you?’ His tone was low and grim, and heavy with sarcasm.
Fiona ignored his interruption, but a telltale flare of pink flushed across her cheeks as she recalled with a sudden flash of memory the difficult situation she had been caught in. If only Grant had listened, let her explain, but he was so quick to condemn, to see Andrew’s faults so clearly mirrored in her.
‘He has been very loyal, taking care of the firm, taking on new staff—’
‘Taking care of the firm!’ Grant interjected forcefully. ‘If he’s taken care of the firm, why is it in the mess it’s in now?’
‘He’s tried hard to help steer the distillery through hard times,’ countered Fiona. Why did Grant never listen? Andy had worked so hard. She had relied on him totally during the first few months following Grandad’s stroke, and he had been the rock she had so desperately needed. ‘It doesn’t appear to have worked,’ acknowledged Grant smoothly. Her eyes fastened on him and she felt a stab of hostility at his cool arrogance.
‘But he tried his best! He stayed here, remained faithful and loyal, which was more than you did!’ Fiona shouted, her eyes wide with anger. There was a fleeting sense of danger, as if she had foolishly run to the edge of a high cliff and now tottered at its very edges. She saw him change, his face becoming hardened, his features cold as if chiselled in marble. Instinctively Fiona drew away, her mind barely registering anything other than a wish to take back what she had just said. She flinched as his powerful hands fell on to her slim shoulders.
‘I’ve been faithful and more loyal than perhaps you deserve,’ he growled at her, his white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. He was about to say more, but instead he turned away in disgust. Fiona stared, aware of the still volatile feelings that he was barely controlling. She wanted to say something but any words just died on her lips.
‘I’ll try to sort something out with the bank to give us more time,’ Grant said, his voice heavy with emotion.
Fiona tried to smile her thanks but the immense gratitude she felt upset her; the last thing she wanted was to become dependent on his help. Their relationship was complicated enough without adding to it. She remained silent, trapped in an inner struggle; she had wanted to tell him how much she needed his assistance immediately, but now the moment had passed. She wondered how he would have reacted—with anger or relief, she thought, staring into his broad back till he turned suddenly and faced her. There was a speculative gleam in his eyes.
‘Look, you go home, make us some dinner. We can have a proper talk then,’ he ordered, as he pulled her to her feet. Fiona stiffened.
‘Home?’ she echoed in a small voice, watching him warily; surely he couldn’t be serious? A cold chill ran down her spine.
‘Yes, home,’ he nodded, ignoring her obvious reluctance, and pushed her gently towards the door with a smile.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked anxiously. She had to know, but was already certain that he was about to confirm her worst fear.
‘Where do you think?’ he replied with irritation.
‘You can’t…’ Fiona began, but the grim look on Grant’s face silenced her.
‘Is there something I’ve missed?’ he asked, his tone heavy with sarcasm. ‘We are still married, aren’t we?’ he continued, his voice low and tightly controlled.
‘Yes, we are,’ she answered, unable to keep the bitterness from colouring her reply. ‘But that can soon be remedied.’ She faltered as his gaze narrowed sharply at her words, adding a sudden watchfulness to his expression.
‘Really?’ he drawled, sounding frighteningly soft yet dangerous. ‘Somehow I don’t think that will be necessary.’ His certainty provoked Fiona to her very limits.
‘What?’ she challenged, with a toss of her head, and blazing with defiance. ‘Surely you can’t expect…’ She stopped, unable to continue. It was too painful to mention his adultery and his plan to take over the company. He had failed to do the latter anyway, she thought suddenly, puzzled again by his sudden change of mind.
‘Of course I expect to return to our home. Why shouldn’t I?’ Grant’s eyes suddenly deepened to the bluest of blues and his face was set starkly.
‘I think the marriage is over, finished. It’s no good raking over old coals.’ Fiona tried to ignore the building emotion on Grant’s face and stiffening of his strong body at her words, but she trembled as he moved closer.
‘Over?’ he repeated. ‘It’s hardly even started!’ He studied her body with unconcealed hungry interest. Fiona tensed under this blatant scrutiny, but she was determined to make him understand she couldn’t allow him back into her home. She was all too aware of her vulnerability where he was concerned.
