скачать книгу бесплатно
But Ross was already on his feet, and he pressed her gently back into the chair. ‘Stay where you are. I’ll get it.’
He disappeared into the bathroom and returned after a moment with glass of water. ‘Say when.’
When there was about twice as much water as whisky, she said, ‘That should be fine, thank you.’
‘Try it and see.’
She tried a sip and, breathing a sigh of relief, told him, ‘Much better.’
Putting the rest of the water by the whisky bottle, he smiled at her.
His teeth gleamed white and even, and his mouth, with its intriguing hint of controlled passion, made her feel strange inside.
Becoming aware that she had been staring at him, she looked back into the glowing fire. But the cosy familiarity had gone, leaving an awareness, a rising excitement, a sexual tension.
Needing to break the silence and return to the more mundane, she swallowed and, her normally clear voice decidedly husky, asked, ‘Are you up here for Christmas, Mr Dalgowan?’
‘Yes, and New Year. But won’t you call me Ross? It seems ridiculous to stand on ceremony.’
‘Of course, if you call me Cathy.’
‘How long are you in Scotland for, Cathy?’
Reminded of just why she was in Scotland, and flustered by the innocent question, she answered, ‘I’m not quite sure… Christmas and New Year…’
‘Do you have anyone important in your life? A partner, perhaps?’
Unwilling to talk about her brief and disastrous marriage and the subsequent divorce, she answered briefly, ‘No.’
Though they had only just met, and he knew scarcely anything about her, Ross felt a rush of gladness that shook him with its strength and vehemence.
After Lena, he had taken care to avoid any emotional entanglements, keeping the occasional liaison light, casual, a simple, straightforward exchange of pleasure, with no looking back and no regrets when they parted.
Now he found himself doubting that that would be enough with this woman.
He sat quietly watching her, and holding her breath, aware that somehow the answer mattered, she seized the opportunity to ask, ‘How about you?’
‘No, no one.’
She was breathing a sigh of relief when he added, ‘I did have plans to marry earlier this year, but they didn’t work out. Though Lena was born in Scotland, and in fact our families lived quite close, she loved the bright lights of London and refused to live anywhere else. Whereas I wanted to live in the country.
‘When she couldn’t bring me round to her way of thinking, she left me for a wealthy businessman who lives in Park Lane and never leaves London…’
Cathy heard the underlying bitterness in his voice, and knew that his fiancée’s defection still hurt.
‘Now, if we happen to be in Scotland at the same time, she makes a point of calling to see me when she’s visiting her father.’
It smacked of turning the screw, and Cathy frowned, hardly able to believe that any woman could treat him that way.
Seeing her frown, and misinterpreting it, he apologized quickly, ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have got on to such a personal topic, but I wondered if you were perhaps travelling up to join someone?’
Instinctively sure that this man was special, she hesitated, momentarily tempted to try and explain about Carl and the deception she had reluctantly agreed to take part in.
Though, as Carl had frequently pointed out since he had first broached the scheme, it was an innocent enough deception and would do no one any harm. And it would only be necessary until he’d been able to prove his worth.
‘I have exactly the qualifications the Bowans are looking for,’ he had told her, ‘but they were adamant that they would only employ a married couple.’
Then with a sigh he had said, ‘Everything would have been fine if Katie hadn’t walked out on me and we’d got married as planned. But as it is I badly need your help. And honestly, Sis, it won’t be too bad. All we need to do is get on with our respective jobs and pretend to be husband and wife.’
However, intrinsically honest, Cathy was far from happy, and had it been anyone other than her beloved younger brother she would have refused point-blank to be a part of it.
As it was—with his life in ruins after the woman he loved had run off with his best friend—Cathy had found it impossible to deny him the chance to do what he’d always wanted to do.
But her heart sank at the thought of trying to explain all that to Ross Dalgowan…
And after promising Carl she wouldn’t breath a word to a soul, how could she?
Turning her back on temptation, she shook her head. ‘Not really.’
Her companion seemed satisfied, but, far from happy, she felt the colour rise in her cheeks and hoped he would put it down to the heat of the fire.
CHAPTER TWO
ROSS helped them both to more whisky, then, taking Cathy by surprise, observed, ‘You have the most beautiful and fascinating eyes.’
With a self-deprecating smile, he added, ‘But I’m afraid I’m telling you something you already know.’
Cathy had often wished that her eyes were the same deep blue as Carl’s, and her voice was a little unsteady as she admitted, ‘I’ve always considered that they were no particular colour, just nondescript.’
‘Far from it. Not only are they a lovely shape, but they seem to change colour with the light, as opals do. A moment ago they looked blue, now they look green and gold, like an April day.’
She might have thought he was merely chatting her up, but he spoke quietly, thoughtfully, as if he meant exactly what he said.
Watching her blush deepen, he said contritely, ‘But now I’ve embarrassed you.’ Then, smoothly changing tack, he asked, ‘Are you London born and bred?’
‘No, both my brother and I were born in Kent. We only moved to London when my parents—my father was a doctor and my mother a physiotherapist—got posts at one of the London hospitals.’
‘I see. Are either you or your brother in the medical profession?’
‘My brother trained as a physiotherapist, and I had hoped to be a doctor.’
Reaching to put a couple of fresh logs on the fire, he probed, ‘Hoped to be?’
‘I left school just before I was eighteen, when both my parents were killed in a plane crash.’
‘You and your brother weren’t involved in the crash?’
She shook her head. ‘No. To celebrate twenty years together they decided to go on a second honeymoon.’ Though she did her best to speak dispassionately, even after almost seven years the sense of loss still showed.
‘Is your brother older than you?’
She shook her head. ‘No, a year younger.’
‘That must have been tough,’ he said simply, but his face held compassion, as if he understood.
‘It was for a while, but we managed.’
Seeing that talking about it made her sad, he let the subject drop, asking instead, ‘Have you been to the Cairngorms before?’
‘No, but I’ve always wanted to. I love mountains.’
‘It’s a beautiful area,’ he agreed, ‘but, apart from on the fringes, relatively isolated. There are no roads in the heartland, I’m pleased to say, so it’s best seen on foot, on horseback or on skis…’
For a while he talked about Scotland, and his low, pleasant voice, combined with the meal she had just eaten, the warmth and the unaccustomed whisky, made her feel sleepy and contented.
She was just stifling a yawn when he asked, ‘Getting tired? If you want me to leave so you can go to bed…?’
Feeling bereft at the thought of him going, she denied, ‘No, no…I’m not really tired. It’s just the warmth of the fire…’
‘Well, when you do want me to go, don’t hesitate to say so.’
While the logs sparked and crackled and the blizzard raged outside, they talked idly, casually. But beneath the surface an unspoken, yet much deeper kind of communication was taking place.
Eventually, with evident reluctance, Ross rose to his feet, and remarked, ‘You’ve still got a fairly long drive tomorrow, so I really must go and let you get some sleep…’
Since her divorce, hurt and bitterly disillusioned, Cathy had steered clear of men, freezing off any that had shown the slightest desire to get too intimate.
But now the thought of Ross Dalgowan leaving made her heart sink, and she faced the fact that, though she knew virtually nothing about him, she wanted him to stay.
Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Oh, but I should feel guilty if you were uncomfortable when there’s more room here than I need.’
‘There’s absolutely no reason for you to feel guilty. Where I sleep really isn’t a problem. I’ve no objection to stretching out on one of the couches in the lounge.’
‘They’re much too short,’ she pointed out a shade breathlessly, ‘and you would have no privacy.’
Already he knew that this woman was different, special—not the kind he could lightly walk away from—and, remembering his decision to avoid emotional entanglements, he knew he should go. But very tempted to stay, to see what came of it, he hesitated.
Seeing that hesitation, she went on in a rush, ‘The bunk beds don’t look particularly inviting, but if you want stay in the suite—which you can do with pleasure—at least you’ll be able to shower and take off your clothes.’
‘The thought of not having to sleep in my clothes makes your offer practically irresistible,’ he told her with a grin.
‘Then stay.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ To leave no doubt in his mind, she added, ‘The bathroom’s yours when you want it.’
Shaking his head, he told her, ‘Ladies first.’
While Cathy found her toilet bag and night things, he resumed his seat by the fire.
When she had showered, wearing a plastic cap to keep her hair dry, she cleaned her teeth and put on her nightdress.
Looking in the mirror while she removed the pins from her thick coil of fair hair and brushed out the long silken mass, she saw that her cheeks were a little flushed and her eyes were bright, as though something wonderful had happened to her.
Warning herself that she mustn’t get carried away, she pulled on her robe, tied the belt and, picking up her pile of clothes, returned to the bedroom.
Just the sight of him made her heart leap.
He was sitting staring into the fire as though lost in thought, the ruddy glow turning his face into the mask of an Inca god.
Putting her clothes beside her bag, she took a deep breath and told him, ‘Your turn now.’
He rose, his glance running over her slender figure in the clinging ivory satin. She saw his grey eyes darken to charcoal, then saw the little lick of flame that had nothing to do with the firelight.
For a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes, before, turning on his heel abruptly, Ross made his way into the bathroom, and a moment or two later she heard the shower running.
Finding her knees were trembling, she sank down in the chair she had occupied previously, while her thoughts tumbled over one another in a joyous confusion as she went over the events of the evening spent with Ross.
Some kind of magic had taken place, as though they had both been caught in a spell. He felt it, too, she was certain.
Then, like a dark cloud, came the doubts. Perhaps she was wrong, mistaken. She had been mistaken about Neil, about his feelings. After that fiasco, could she—dared she—trust her own judgement?
But she was quite a few years older now, and much less naive. And Ross was nothing at all like Neil. Apart from the physical attraction she felt, there was so much about him that drew her—a warmth, a sensitivity, a quiet inner strength, a reliability.
She didn’t hear him return, but some sixth sense made her glance up to find he was standing only a few feet away quietly watching her.
He was freshly shaven, his corn-coloured hair was still slightly damp and trying to curl, and he was wearing one of the navy-blue towelling robes that had been hanging behind the bathroom door.
‘Are you sure you’re happy about a perfect stranger sharing your suite?’ he asked.
Looking up at him, she spoke the exact truth. ‘You don’t seem like a stranger. I know it sounds incredible, but I feel as if I’ve always known you.’
He took a step forward, and stooped to brush a strand of hair back from her cheek.
She caught her breath.
His hands closing lightly around her upper arms, he lifted her to her feet. Gazing down at her, he said softly, ‘Yes, I was sure you felt the same rapport, the same sense of closeness. It was there when I looked in your eyes.
‘But though I’m certain we have something special going for us, it’s early days yet, so if you want me to use one of bunk beds…?’
She didn’t. But, too shy to say so outright, she bent her head and mumbled, ‘What do you want?’
He lifted her chin and studied her face.
A couple of hours in her company had confirmed his first impression that she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.
There was no trace of hardness or worldliness about her; instead mingled with a faint aura of sadness was a certain innocence, a sweetness, a vulnerability that touched his heart.
