and a nearly sheer flight of steps.
By the time she’d staggered to the top, ducked the portcullis, found the bell pull and rung it with all her might, she was out of breath and ready for a nice sit down. Hopefully, the owner might take pity. Then again, considering the old-fashioned iron-pinned door she was facing, she half expected Igor to answer.
Instead, the barking of dogs chorused the arrival of the human inhabitant.
‘Toby! Horace!’ A male voice boomed over the patter of paws on the floor tiles. Kara blinked into the yellow light that shone out of the open door. ‘Good evening. Are you lost?’ A bare-chested man stood before her.
Kara gave a little croak. OK, Christopher was forgiven. Whatever she’d been expecting – crooked little old man – it wasn’t this.
Long blond hair fanned over the top of his shoulders and rested at the top of his tattooed biceps.
‘The causeway’s crossable now, though I’d recommend a torch,’ he remarked without even looking at her. He released one of the huge dogs, whom he had by the collar, in order to plunge his hand into a box of LED keychain lights. He offered one to Kara which she took automatically while warily fending off the freed hound, who danced about her trying to shove its head up her skirt. ‘Um, sorry.’ He dragged the dog off while the second oversized pooch tried to worm its way between his legs.
‘I’m not lost. I’m looking for Alaric Liddell. I’m supposed to pick up some keys,’ she said as she clicked the little purple light on and off. ‘Do you know where I can find him? I was told the fort.’
The hard lines of his face softened into a tentative smile. He had pale grey-blue eyes, which made a sudden appraising sweep of her body. ‘Mrs North? I was told the buyer was a man.’
‘Oh no, I’m not married,’ Kara hastily explained, not wanting him to think she was off limits, considering the rather pleasant sexual frisson that zapped between them as he took in her windblown appearance. ‘He’s gay. My brother, I mean. I’m here on his behalf because he’s gone abroad. I’m Kara North.’ She stuck out a hand, which he declined in favour of grabbing both dogs by the collars and heaving them inside.
‘I’m Ric Liddell. Come on in and I’ll find you those keys.’ He grinned at her showing a few too many lovely white teeth. ‘I think they’re in the study. Toby. Horace.’ He pushed the dogs out of the way to allow her to enter unhindered, then stepped back so that she could walk ahead of him into the hall.
‘Thanks.’ Kara stepped warily over the threshold. Stranger-danger warnings pushed to the back of her mind in favour of the upswing in her lustometer. Ric Liddell was far too hot to be mouldering away on a fleabitten rock. She prayed he wasn’t gay and that Chris hadn’t sent her to a heterosexual woman’s idea of purgatory.
‘Have you come far?’
‘Not really. Although it’s taken a couple of hours because I had to wait for the tide.’ Kara turned to face him again only to be blessed with a glimpse of his back as he bolted the door. Strong shoulders gave way to a trim waist. His black jeans rode low over his hips, held in place by a studded belt, while a huge tattoo of an ankh, entwined within a coil of roses, decorated the length of his spine and shoulder blades.
‘Wow!’
He turned his head to look at her, his eyebrows raised in question. Now in the light, with fewer shadows to mask his features, she realised he was slightly older than she’d first assumed, perhaps five or six years her senior. Not old, but no spring lamb either. Somehow that added to his appeal.
‘Your back … it’s – wow … It must have hurt.’
He shrugged as if to suggest it was no big deal, and then took the lead again, his bare feet making a soft patter on the tiles as he crossed the hall and opened the door on to what she assumed was a study. Two of the walls were lined with books, locked way in old-fashioned wood and glass cabinets. A couple of leather armchairs sat cosily before an open fireplace and a big 38mm camera lay on one of the seats. The two Dalmatians immediately pattered over to slouch before the blaze.
Kara dutifully trooped into the room, in awe of the money that had created this place. His family had probably owned it for generations and ruled over the local populace.
Ric headed over to a bureau on the far side of the fireplace. He rummaged through a few drawers but didn’t appear to turn up anything.
‘Can I help?’ Kara asked, though she was quite enjoying watching his bum wiggle inside those low-slung jeans. Her palms were near itching to cop a good feel of him.
She hadn’t thought herself repressed in any way, but the world seemed a whole lot more attractive since her split with Gavin. Maybe that’s what being single did to you. Turned you into a compulsive flirt and left you hankering after sex any way you could get it. She’d certainly become ridiculously horny over the last few days. That guy last night – damned if she could remember more about him than how good he felt – and now she was gawping at the arse of a man she’d only just met. Chris would no doubt tell her she was overcompensating for being dumped, only she hadn’t been. Quite the opposite: she’d been coddled until she couldn’t stand it any more. Although maybe there was something to the notion of her trying to prove that guys still found her attractive.
‘No – it’s fine. They’re around here somewhere.’ Ric lifted his head and looked straight at her. For a fleeting moment Kara remained pinned by his gaze while she imagined some indulgent scene of them colliding in a sexual frenzy rather than in any romantic way. His gaze swept over her and then he gave a disarming grin. ‘Actually, maybe I left them in the studio.’ He swooped past her back into the hall. ‘Come on up.’
‘Up’ was a tightly wound spiral staircase. Kara chased him to the top, where she emerged into a vast white space that she guessed lay over the entryway. Here, blank walls loomed over her, seeming disproportionately high in the absence of decoration. At floor level, all around the perimeter, picture frames leant against the wall in piles. An impressive array of photographic equipment occupied the centre space. Ric stood raking through the pockets of a leather coat that hung on the back of a folding metal chair.
‘You’re a photographer.’
‘Yeah.’
Good one, Kara. Why don’t you state the obvious?
‘Are you the Liddell family equivalent of Lord Lichfield?’ This was some serious set-up he had here, way beyond any kind of hobby studio.
‘Nah – I think the only thing I have in common with Patrick Lichfield is that we’ve both done Harpers covers. A-list celebs don’t really do it for me.’
So, he didn’t like skinny models and glitterati. Probably explained why he chose to live out here on this godforsaken rock of an island. ‘No – what do you like?’ Kara inched towards him.
‘Porn,’ he muttered, blowing away her expectation of coastal landscapes and wildlife photography. She stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled, thinking maybe she’d misheard. Mr blond and sexy couldn’t possibly have said anything so crude. Only he had. He most certainly had and, what’s more, he didn’t even look guilty about it. ‘Here, take a look.’ He picked up a nearby picture frame and swung it round.
Kara carefully averted her gaze, having no wish to gawp at a naked woman’s pussy. Only it was hard not to catch even a teensy glimpse considering
