style="font-size:15px;"> ‘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
