no rent rise versus anger at the insult to her home.
Powerless to argue, she confined herself to asking how he liked his tea, before placing it unceremoniously on the dresser beside him. She didn’t invite him to sit, and didn’t sit herself, instead taking a stance by the sink, as far from him as possible. Being a small kitchen, it wasn’t very far, and she felt overly conscious of him.
He stared back at her, without any attempt to pretend he was doing otherwise, and she dropped her eyes to the worn linoleum.
‘Does the boyfriend help?’ he suddenly asked.
‘What?’ She looked at him blankly.
He repeated, ‘The boyfriend. Does he help with the croft?’
She narrowed her eyes. How much did he know of her life?
‘Who says I have a boyfriend?’
‘It’s not a secret, is it?’
He smiled at her caginess. She frowned in response.
‘He’s in the Navy, isn’t he?’ he said, as if her memory might need jogging.
Of course she’d realised whom he meant. Fergus Ross. But who had told him? Surely not Dr Hamish?
‘So how serious is it?’ he asked, when she remained silent.
‘I...I...’ His directness was unbelievable. ‘Why do you want to know?’
He shrugged, before saying, ‘I guess I’m interested, after all.’
‘In what?’ Riona genuinely didn’t understand.
‘In you,’ the American replied simply.
He was joking. He had to be, Riona decided, as she gave him a disgruntled look and he flashed her a brilliant smile in return. He was just trying to disconcert her.
‘It’s against my better judgement, of course,’ he continued in the same vein. ‘I mean you’re really not my type. That’s not to say you aren’t beautiful. You are. Very.’
He paused to give her a look that made Riona wish she’d kept her coat on. ‘Do you expect me to be flattered?’
‘Hell, no,’ he said, clearly amused by the conversation, ‘I expect the boys have been queuing up to tell you you’re beautiful for a few years now.... I suppose all the practice has helped you perfect that put-down manner of yours.’
‘Why, you...’ Riona searched furiously for a suitable insult to trade, then remembered once more whom she was talking to.
He lifted a dark brow, prompting. ‘Yes?’
‘I...you...this isn’t fair!’ she finally protested.
‘Fair?’ he echoed.
‘You can stand there, saying what you want,’ Riona ran on, ‘and I have to stand here, taking it, because you’re laird, and I’m not.’
‘What?’ He’d obviously not thought of it from that angle, and, when he did, he laughed out loud. ‘How feudal. You think you can’t argue back, because I’m your landlord. What do you imagine I’m going to do? Throw you out on the street?’
Put like that, it did sound absurd, and Riona went on the defensive. ‘I don’t know. Your great-uncle wasn’t too keen on people disagreeing with him.’
‘So I’ve gathered—’ the American shrugged ‘—but I’m not Sir Hector. And, despite its attractions, I don’t believe in droit de seigneur.’
‘What?’ Riona had never heard the phrase.
‘Droit de seigneur?’ he repeated, and, at her clear ignorance, went on to explain, ‘In olden days, I believe the local lord in an area had the right to sleep with village maidens the night before they married. Unfortunately the custom’s been out of fashion for a few centuries. However, if you fancy reviving it...’ he suggested with a lascivious smile that definitely made a joke of it.
Riona felt she should be disgusted, but wasn’t. In fact, for a moment she actually pictured it, two figures entwined on a big four-poster in Invergair Hall. She blushed at the direction her imagination had taken her and looked away from those sharp blue eyes of his.
‘I don’t suppose you’re planning on marrying soon,’ he added with the same undercurrent of laughter.
‘No, I am not!’ Riona declared on an emphatic note.
‘Not serious, then,’ he concluded in reply.
‘About what?’ She was slow to catch up.
‘About Fergus Ross.’ He had brought them full circle back to the question he’d originally asked.
Riona had answered it, without realising, by denying any marriage plans. The smug look of satisfaction on his face was maddening.
It prompted her to claim, ‘You can be serious without wanting marriage. Maybe I don’t believe in it.’
‘That’s OK. Neither do I.’ He smiled as if they’d just come to some agreement, and straightened his length from the dresser.
He took a step in her direction and Riona found herself backed against the sink. She garbled out, ‘As a matter of fact, Fergus and I do have an understanding.’
‘Really.’ He sounded less than interested and took another slow, unhurried step towards her.
Riona told herself not to panic. She told herself he was playing some sort of game. It was just a pity she didn’t know the rules.
When he came to a halt before her, she resorted to an unoriginal, ‘It’s late. I think you should go now.’
‘Probably,’ he surprised her by agreeing, but made no move to leave. Instead he reached out a hand and touched her hair. ‘It’s a beautiful colour. Is it natural or out of a bottle?’
‘I...’ Riona was left gasping at the sheer cheek of the question.
He answered for himself, ‘Natural, I’d say,’ before his hand fell from her hair to her shoulder to lightly caress the skin left bare by her summer dress.
A breathless note crept into Riona’s voice. ‘I think you should—’
‘Go...yes, I know.’ His fingers spread to the base of her neck and felt her pulse beating a rapid tattoo. He frowned slightly. ‘You’re not frightened of me, are you?’
Rashly, Riona claimed, ‘No, of course not!’ too proud to say otherwise.
It put the smile back on the American’s face, as he suggested in return, ‘Then it must be love.’
‘I...don’t be absurd!’ Riona was more angry now than scared.
‘OK, sex, if you prefer.’ He gave a low, growling laugh as he caught her hand and pressed it to his chest. ‘Whichever, my heart’s racing to the beat of the same drum. Feel it.’
For a moment Riona could do nothing else. She felt his heart racing as he had said, and her own beat all the harder. She snatched her hand away, only for him to clasp her by the waist.
Her eyes flew to his, in appeal, in panic. He stared back at her, no longer smiling, intent.
Desire blurred his features. She shook her head. He took no notice. Small wonder.
The first kiss. His mouth lowered to hers, infinitely slowly. She could have escaped. She didn’t try. His lips on hers, a gentle caress at first, so light it was hardly felt. Oh, but enough. She betrayed herself. She opened her lips to him, opened her heart, her life.
He groaned his response, before his mouth covered hers, tasting her sweetness, desire turning to passion, demanding more, demanding all. She moaned, scared, excited. He drew her to him, close, closer, until it wasn’t enough any longer, and his hands slid to her hips, lifting her body