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
