at that portrait for weeks,’ said Ewen softly, his eyes locked with hers. ‘I thought I was seeing things when you opened the door to me.’
Rosanna swallowed. ‘I’m not Rose, and you’re not Harry.’ She dodged away, but Ewen caught her easily, and locked his arms round her.
‘True, Rosanna Carey,’ he said huskily, ‘yet it seems unbelievable that we’ve only just met. I’ve been living with that photograph, reading Rose’s letters, and then I find you, in the glowing, irresistible flesh. Rose reincarnated.’
‘I’m—not—Rose,’ she said through her teeth.
‘Better still. You’re warm flesh and blood—and alive,’ he said hoarsely, and brought his mouth down hard on hers. At the touch of his lips her breath left her body and the blood pounded in her ears as Ewen Fraser knocked her defences flat for the second time. Held fast against the tall, slim body which grew tense with demand, Rosanna took a regrettably long time to come to her senses at last and tear her mouth from his. Ewen raised his head a fraction to look down into her eyes, their ragged, uneven breathing mingling as she shook her head violently.
‘Why are you trembling?’ he panted. ‘Just as you said, it was only a kiss.’
She struggled to get free. ‘Let me go. Please!’
To her fury he suddenly chuckled, shaking his head as he held her closer. In command of himself again, he was so blatantly enjoying himself she wanted to scratch his laughing, slanted eyes out.
‘Oh, no!’ he retorted. ‘Do you think I’m a fool? I may never get the opportunity again. Don’t be afraid, Rosanna. I promise I wouldn’t harm Rose Norman’s granddaughter for the world.’
She ground her teeth in fury. ‘You won’t get the chance. When I allow someone to make love to me it’s because they want me, Rosanna Carey, not a ghost.’
‘So the men you know only make love to you when you allow it?’ said Ewen with interest. ‘Is that satisfactory?’
‘On my part yes. I don’t know about theirs.’ Her eyes flashed coldly. ‘Besides, we’re not talking in the plural. There’s only one.’
Ewen leaned against the newel-post without easing his hold on her in the slightest. To break free she’d have to make a fight of it. At which point Rosanna made a mortifying discovery. She didn’t want to fight. She actually enjoyed the sensation of being desired so much he wouldn’t let her go. And desire her he did. In such close physical contact it was a fact impossible to ignore.
‘I thought there must be,’ he said, sighing theatrically. ‘Who’s the lucky man? And where is he? Am I likely to see him hurtling through the door at any minute to wrest you from my arms?’
Rosanna would have given a lot to say yes. ‘No,’ she 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.’
CHAPTER THREE
ROSANNA rang her parents next morning, gave her mother a brief account of the meeting with Ewen Fraser, and told her Harry’s letters had been duly handed over.
‘He gave me Rose’s letters in return.’
‘How wonderful,’ said Henrietta Carey, the catch in her voice plainly audible down the line. ‘I can’t wait to read them. What did you think of Harry and his letters?’
‘Quite a man. Poor Rose. Poor Harry, too. Apparently he never married.’
‘How sad. Did you like Ewen Fraser, by the way?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosanna with perfect truth. ‘He’s—rather charming.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’
‘No, Mother.’
‘Have you heard from David lately?”
‘Yes, of course. He rang on Sunday, as usual. He’s working very hard.’
‘I’m sure he is, darling. Sam sends his love, by the way.’
‘Is he well?’
‘Fighting fit. He told you to come with us next time.’
After talking to her parents the house seemed empty to Rosanna. She’d slept very badly after Ewen’s departure the night before, burning with guilt over the disloyalty to David. But it was only a kiss, she told herself. David would understand. Not that she was going to tell 34 him, just in case he didn’t. News like that didn’t travel well.
In spite of her restless night she’d been awake at first light, and the day stretched