muttered into his shirt-front. ‘He’s a doctor, gaining experience in the States to add BTA to his qualifications.’
‘BTA?’
‘Been to America.’
Ewen grinned, and raised her face to his. ‘Would he mind if he knew you were here like this? With me?’
‘He’d better,’ she snapped.
‘Then I might as well give him something to mind about.’ Ewen stifled her protest with an engulfing kiss, parting her lips with his marauding tongue. He made no move to caress her with his hands, but went on kissing her with unflagging relish, his arms locking her so close against him, their hearts thumped in unison. Rosanna had never been kissed like this, by someone taking so much pleasure in the process that the kisses in themselves were more erotic than anything experienced before. Even in the arms of Dr David Norton.
The thought struck Rosanna like a thunderbolt, and she wrenched herself away, clutching the newel-post. Ewen’s arms dropped and he stood back, his eyes slitted in his taut face, their uneven breathing the only sound to break the silence.
‘Time I went,’ he said gruffly at last.
‘Yes.’ She took in a deep, shaky breath.
But neither made any move. Rosanna knew she should speed Ewen Fraser on his way, in case he took her silence for acquiescence, some kind of tacit invitation to stay and take up where he had just left off. Which, she realised, was exactly what she wanted, deep down. Which was incredible. Even if there were no David she just wasn’t the type to fling herself into the arms of a man she’d known for one solitary day. Especially one who couldn’t separate Rosanna Carey of now from Rose Norman of then. If she were ever mad enough to let Ewen Fraser make love to her she would never be sure if he wanted her for herself or because she was the incarnation of Rose.
Rosanna pulled herself together and released her death grip on the newel-post. ‘Right,’ she said, in a voice intended to be brisk, but which came out so unlike her own she hardly recognised it. She cleared her throat and tried again, wishing Ewen would move, instead of looking at her as though committing her face to memory. ‘Goodnight, then, Ewen. Good luck with the book.’
‘And you,’ he said quietly. He turned to pick up his briefcase. ‘Goodnight, Rosanna. Thank you for the drink. I’ll return everything in due course.’ He reached into a pocket for his wallet and took out a card. ‘Here’s my number should you need to contact me.’
‘Thank you.’ Rosanna took it from him, privately vowing to have nothing at all to do with him again. Ever. ‘Ewen,’ she said impulsively as he went out, and he turned sharply in the porch.
‘Yes?’
‘I had the idea of writing about Rose before I’d even met you, or knew what you wanted. And I’m not using information that belongs to you, except for his photograph, and you can have that back if you want.’
‘I already have one very like it. You keep Harry. I’ll keep my beautiful Rose.’ He smiled crookedly, and she shook her dishevelled head.
‘You’re in love with a ghost, Ewen Fraser.’
His eyes glittered under the porch light. ‘If you mean that what happened between us just now is likely to haunt me, you’re right. But there’s no ghost involved, just the memory of you in my arms. You, Rosanna. Goodnight.’
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