had the grace to cringe. ‘I’m sorry. Was I being patronising?’
‘Just a little.’
‘I was having a bad morning.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you won’t hold it against me.’
Heavens, when he smiled at her like that she would let him get away with almost anything, she thought. Frazer McClarran was gorgeous. The notion discomfited her. He wasn’t her type, she told herself firmly. He was off-limits. She had given men up.
‘So what are you doing here?’ he asked casually.
‘I want to book a couple of rooms for…some friends.’ She faltered slightly, wondering if she should say it was for her ex-husband, then decided forcefully that was her own business. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m organising a stag night here tomorrow night.’
‘Oh?’ Was he getting married? she wondered. Maybe Mrs Murray didn’t know everything.
‘Did you get your errant goat back under lock and key?’
‘Yes, your underwear is safe again.’ She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Molly is back where she belongs. But it took three of us this morning to catch her.’
He laughed. ‘Rosa will be pleased.’
‘Rosa?’
‘My housekeeper.’
They were interrupted by a woman coming out to the reception desk beside them. She was an attractive blonde in her early twenties. ‘Frazer, this is a nice surprise,’ she said cheerfully. ‘What brings you in here on a Friday afternoon?’
‘Mark’s stag night.’ Frazer turned with a smile. ‘How are you, Angela?’
It wasn’t his stag night, Emma noted. Not that it made a blind bit of difference to her whether this man was about to be married or not.
‘Bearing up, under the circumstances.’ Angela patted her stomach. She wore a black dress that did little to disguise the fact that she was heavily pregnant.
‘How long have you got to go now?’
‘Another month, would you believe?’
‘You’re looking well.’
Angela laughed, then looked curiously at Emma.
‘This is Emma Sinclair. Ethan Daniels’ niece.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
Emma wondered if she was imagining the momentary look of surprise on the woman’s face. It was as if she’d done a double take on her appearance.
‘We were very sorry to hear about your uncle’s death.’
‘Thank you,’ Emma said politely, then felt impelled to explain, ‘I didn’t really know him very well.’
‘Not a lot of people did. He withdrew into himself after his daughter’s death. Became a near recluse.’
There was a feeling of awkwardness for a moment. Then Angela said in a bright, businesslike tone, ‘Well, Frazer, what can I do for you?’
‘Better see to Mrs Sinclair first,’ Frazer replied. ‘She wants to book some rooms.’
‘No, it’s OK. You go ahead.’ Emma was happy to put off the moment. She was starting to think she should ring Jon and tell him there was no accommodation available. ‘I’m not in a hurry. I don’t particularly want to go back outside until it stops raining anyway.’
Frazer shrugged. ‘Fair enough. It’s just that Mark’s decided we should have the meal earlier, Angela, and there are a few extra guests now.’
As Emma listened idly her eyes moved over Frazer’s long, lean form. She wasn’t surprised to learn he was a member of the mountain rescue team. He was the epitome of the outdoor athletic type, ruggedly masculine, laden with sex appeal, yet so casually natural that he seemed totally unaware of it.
Emma’s attention wandered. Her eyes moved over the reception area—a red tartan carpet and walls panelled with dark wood. The building was obviously hundreds of years old; the floors seemed to be uneven and the doorways through to the bar were low, the ceiling beamed with black oak. Through the open door she could see there was only one old man in the bar lounge. He was sitting by a large inglenook fireplace which held the remaining glimmer of a dying fire, a pint in front of him. He looked as if he was asleep.
She wondered what Jon would think of this place. His world was cocooned in absolute luxury; he only stayed in top-class hotels. She pulled herself up sharply. She didn’t care what Jon thought. All she wanted was the opportunity to start her life afresh here.
‘How many rooms did you want to book, Mrs Sinclair?’ Angela finished dealing with Frazer and turned to her.
‘Two singles for tomorrow night.’ Emma was very conscious of the fact that even though Frazer’s business was concluded he continued to stand next to her.
Angela turned on a computer screen next to her. ‘Was it just for one night?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ She hoped so.
‘And what name is the booking to be made in?’
‘Lesley May and Jonathan Sinclair.’ Emma felt very uncomfortable now. The woman keyed in the names and smiled at her.
‘They’re flying up from London to Edinburgh in the morning, then driving here. They should arrive late in the afternoon.’
‘That’s fine,’ Angela said easily.
‘Thank you.’ Emma swallowed hard. There, she’d done it.
She’d face Jon tomorrow and pretend to herself that he was just a stranger.
She turned and looked up at Frazer. For a fleeting second he noticed the haunting sadness in her eyes. Then she smiled, and the shadows were banished, making him wonder if he had imagined them.
‘It’s still raining,’ he remarked, looking towards the doors. ‘I’m going to have a coffee in the lounge. Would you care to join me?’
Emma hesitated, then nodded. Company was just what she needed to take her mind off what she had just done. ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
‘I’ll get Sandra to bring them through for you,’ Angela said as they made their way into the other room.
She noticed how Frazer had to bend his head to get into the bar. The man by the fire looked up, then seemed to fall back to sleep again.
‘Lively place, isn’t it?’ Frazer remarked with a grin as he led the way up to the sofas in the window. Emma sat opposite to him.
There was a feeling of tension as she met his eyes. It was strange, but he made her very aware of herself as a woman. She wondered if her hair was a mess after that rain, and wished now she had excused herself and gone to the ladies’ before following him in here. The opportunity to refresh her lipstick and tidy her hair would have been most welcome. She moistened her lips nervously. His eyes rested for a moment on the softness of her mouth. There was something blatantly sensual about that look, something that made Emma’s pulses quicken.
She searched for something to say, something to break the bizarre intimacy of the moment. ‘When does your friend get married?’ It was the best subject she could come up with.
‘Saturday week.’
‘It’s to be hoped the weather picks up,’ she said idly, looking past him at the rain which pounded against the windows, obscuring the view of the harbour in a watery haze.
‘Yes, I hope so. Especially as they’ve hired a marquee for the occasion.’
‘Apparently they come with heating installed, and it doesn’t really matter if the weather isn’t good,’ she continued lightly.