that was clear enough to see the distant mainland shore.
She cleared her throat. This was always going to be awkward but she could cope. ‘Or you could eat in the dining room if you prefer.’ She gave a too bright smile and nodded towards an open door to her left.
It was a strange feeling to look around and think of his high-powered executive brother living here. Had he been content, happy? Had he regretted his decision to give up everything for love?
Ivo felt the flash of something that he refused to acknowledge, even to himself, was anything even vaguely related to envy as he looked around the place that had been his brother’s home.
‘Where would you prefer?’
At the sound of Flora’s voice the ghost images of his imagination faded.
From what he could see of the room she indicated it was less dining room and more alcove, but like the rest of the place it was tastefully and eclectically furnished, the walls lined with original local artwork that had adorned all the walls he’d seen. The note beneath the ones in his bedroom had bios of the artists, and sale prices.
‘Here will be fine.’
‘There might be a bit of noise.’
He glanced at the road. So far this morning he’d seen more sheep wandering along it than cars—at last count two and a tractor.
‘The sheep?’
Her lips tightened at the sarcasm. ‘Gregory is on the roof.’
His brows lifted. ‘Did he forget to take his meds or is this a quaint local custom?’
Distracted by the drift of clean male scent that tickled her nostrils, she failed to react to his attempt at humour.
‘Storm damage.’
Not the only sort of damage, he thought as he studied the extent of the violet shadows of exhaustion under her beautiful eyes. The sunlight exaggerated the pallor of her skin; by contrast it made her burnished hair shine like a beacon. The combination of fragility and heat shook some nameless feeling loose in his chest.
Nameless or not, it made him uneasy...in a different way from the unease, not to mention frustration, the blind primal lust he’d experienced last night had made him feel.
‘We lost a few slates last night, it seems,’ she explained.
She felt a tiny spurt of relief when her brief explanation drew his glance towards the window. In her book anywhere that wasn’t her face was good or at least an improvement; good would be when this disturbing guest had got into his top-of-the-range car and driven away.
It was really weird that when he looked at her with those dark eyes she felt naked... Or was that she thought about getting naked? asked the sardonic voice in her head.
Ivo took a step closer to the window. It overlooked the same view as the one he’d lifted the blinds to in his bedroom earlier, but from a slightly different angle.
This morning it was easier to see why this island was such a popular tourist destination. There was no doubt the scenery was stunning in an untamed way.
Hard to believe that this was even the same planet, let alone the same godforsaken spot on the map he had driven to the previous night through what had seemed like a barren moonscape of mist and rock.
The crashing waves had gone; the whirls of light mist that, with the curlew cries, had given the scene an eerie quality earlier had gone. Now the tranquil waters of the loch were totally still. The surface so mirror calm that the sentinel purple-tinged mountains to the west were reflected on the surface.
There was little to show that there ever had been a storm except for one of the branches and collective detritus along the middle of the narrow single-track road—presumably the meandering line marked the level the waters had eventually reached last night.
‘Do you ever flood here?’
He was looking at her again but Flora was ready and she gave a smile that was almost cool and collected. She was in charge of very little in her life at the moment but she was damned if she’d allow her renegade hormones to get the better of her.
‘Every ten years or so.’
His elevated brows suggested scepticism but Flora felt on safe ground. Bruno and Sami had needed a report on flooding risks before they’d got planning permission. They had also needed an archaeological survey, which had suggested that people had lived in this spot for centuries.
‘So is there much storm damage to the building?’
‘I haven’t looked yet but the place is pretty solid.’
‘You just took a passing tradesman’s word that you’re missing slates. Did you even get a quote for their work?’ His frown deepened as he considered her appalling naivety. Of course, that same flaw was going to make his task easier. Or maybe not, he thought as he watched her chin go up at a pugnacious angle.
‘He’s not a passing anything, he’s a neighbour and a friend. Not all people put a price on everything,’ she informed him scornfully. Gregory would be offended if she offered to pay him but he would take one of the jars of honey from their bees.
‘Boyfriend?’ he speculated.
The suggestion drew a gurgle of laughter from her throat. ‘Gregory is married,’ she retorted, more amused than huffy this time, and when she grinned the little cleft in her chin deepened in a way he found he quite liked. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d seen a woman with no make-up at all. He admired her soft creamy skin. He decided that the sheer novelty value alone would account for his fascination with the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
How far do those freckles go? he wondered as his eyes slid as though drawn by a magnet to the neckline of her top, to the striped sweater that clung to her soft curves.
‘Can I get you tea or coffee?’
His eye lifted, the thin stripes of colour banding his cheekbones hardly visible as his nostrils flared as he breathed in the aroma coming from the kitchen.
‘Coffee.’ He watched as she bustled away, enjoying her rear view but in a much less pure way than he had enjoyed the view from the window.
When the coffee came he was prepared for the worst but it was better than awful, which was a plus.
‘I need to talk to you.’
Flora froze in ‘deer in the headlights’ mode, only just biting back the Oh, God, no! ‘Last night was not...me...nothing...’
‘I do not wish to discuss what happened or, rather, didn’t happen last night.’
Flora knew this draw-a-line-in-it attitude should have been a relief, but instead she felt the mortified colour fly to her cheeks. Chances were he’d forgotten last night, not that there was anything to forget. Humiliated, she wished that the floor at her feet would open up to swallow her, or, failing that, that she could think of a flippant comeback line.
‘I wish to discuss why I am here.’
‘I thought that was a state secret, all very “need to know”.’ The irritable retort came out before she could stop it. ‘Sorry!’
‘Once more with feeling...?’ he suggested drily. ‘Has it occurred to you,’ he drawled, ‘that you’re not really cut out for this sort of work?’
‘It’s not the work, it’s—’ She stopped herself, but not soon enough to prevent his smug I-told-you-so retort.
‘Point proved, I’d say and, as they say, the customer is always right.’
‘Or a pain in the—’ She bit her lip and forced a stiff smile while continuing to dodge his eyes. ‘What can I do for you?’
Next time you feel the urge to insult paying guests, Flora, just think of