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The truth was he wanted her the same way as Fergus had, and afterwards he would walk away just as easily. The only difference was her feelings

for the American weren’t some pathetic mixture of gratitude and guilt. They were much more powerful and dangerous—and only a fool would ignore the

warning bel that rang in her head every time he was near.

Riona went back down the hil , determined to withstand the American’s considerable charm. She made lunch for him and Rob, then remained cool

and remote during the meal.

She kept this distance when they drove round the knitters’ cottages, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care. He used his charm on the older ladies as he discussed ideas for a knitwear label, and clearly left them al awed by his magnetic personality.

Riona didn’t blame them. He was hard to resist. She watched his mouth curve into a lazy smile and her heart literal y skipped a beat. She listened to his deep, drawling voice, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She sensed his genuine warmth towards the simple folk of Invergair, yet recognised his own sophistication. And, al the time, she had to remind herself that he wasn’t for her.

Was she already in love with him then? Later Riona felt that maybe she had been. But she went on denying it, went on being hard to get along with,

in the hope that it would save her.

Perhaps Cameron had understood that her resistance was al put on, for her coolness did not put him off. He dropped her back at the cottage,

without making any further arrangements to see her, then quite simply turned up next morning in the hired BMW with Rob.

Riona felt once more that surge of happiness that he had come back. It was absurd when she tried so hard to send him away.

‘I’ve arranged to see a salmon-farm near Gairloch,’ he said, when Rob disappeared towards the outbuildings. ‘I’m not sure of the way. I wondered

if you’d come as my guide.’

No. That was al she had to say. Then he’d get back in the Land Rover and drive off. But Riona didn’t want to say no. She wanted just one more

day, a day she wouldn’t spoil by being sul en, a day she could enjoy, before she final y put a break on any friendship with the American.

She nodded her head, then, indicating her cut-down jeans and granny-style T-shirt, said, ‘Should I change?’

‘No, you’re fine,’ he replied, his eyes on her face, not her clothes.

He himself was dressed in denims and a casual white shirt, but it wasn’t the same. His clothes whispered money, while hers betrayed a lack of it.

But he didn’t seem to care, taking her arm before she could change her mind, and instal ing her into the passenger seat of the BMW.

Having made a decision to give herself this day, Riona became a different girl. They drove with the windows down and a cooling breeze fanned their

faces as he talked of the fish-farms he planned and she forgot for a while that he was laird and she just tenant. She al owed herself to smile and laugh and betray a nature as bright and lovely as her looks.

They arrived at their destination late morning and, after a tour round a rather poorly run salmon-farm, began the journey home. Riona didn’t question the fact that he had asked no directions of her. Nor did she question his announcement that they would stop for lunch on the way home, until they pul ed off the road and parked above a sandy inlet on the shores of Loch Gair.

‘There’s no place to eat round here,’ she said, thinking he meant them to walk to the nearest hotel.

‘That’s al right. Mrs Mackenzie has prepared a picnic,’ he explained, then climbed out to take the hamper the housekeeper had packed from the

boot of the car.

He carried it down the slope and Riona trailed after him, slipping off her sandals as they reached the beach. It was a beautiful day, the noon sun high in the sky and reflecting off the crystal-clear waters of the loch. It was a perfect place for a picnic, seated on the soft sand, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of water on the shore.

Yet suddenly Riona felt as nervous as a kitten. Kneeling on the edge of the travel ing rug he’d brought, she watched him unpack the food and uncork the wine, then shook her head when he offered her a glass.

‘I don’t drink,’ she said quite truthful y.

‘What, never?’ He lifted what might have been a mocking brow.

She found herself reacting primly, saying, ‘My grandfather thought alcohol dul ed the mind, deadened the conscience and destroyed the soul.’

‘Real y!’ Cameron tried and failed to hide a smile at this rather extreme pronouncement. ‘I take it your grandfather was a religious man.’

‘Not at al ,’ Riona denied flatly. ‘He thought religion a crutch for the weak and an excuse for the righteous.’

An eyebrow rose again. ‘Your grandfather was certainly a man of strong opinions.’

There was no criticism in Cameron’s tone, but Riona stil felt defensive. She had loved her grandfather, even if others had thought him cantankerous and self-opinionated. He had cared for her in his own way, although affection had always been brief in expression and gesture, and he had taught her to be self-contained and strong. Given the choice of going to the Royal Col ege of Music in Edinburgh or staying to take care of her grandfather, she had had no doubts. She owed him everything—including her musical talent.

‘Maybe, but he respected other people’s opinions, too,’ she declared, her admiration of her grandfather un-dimmed by his passing.

‘Which, from al accounts, puts him one up on my great-uncle, Sir Hector,’ Cameron commented in response, then asked, ‘Did they ever meet, the

two of them?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She pul ed a face at the memory.

‘So who won?’ he asked astutely.

Riona smiled. ‘I’d say it was about a draw. Sir Hector had a house party of guests up from London one time, and he decided to hold a ceilidh in the Hal . He expected my grandfather, Roddy, and his friends to play at it for free. Wel , my grandfather told him he’d play organ at his funeral for free, but nowhere else, and Sir Hector almost had a fit, then and there.’

‘But did he pay?’ Cameron smiled back.

‘Oh, aye, sixty pounds. After al , he couldn’t do much else,’ Riona pointed out, ‘having promised al his friends a real Scottish night.’

‘That doesn’t sound like a draw, more like a total victory for your grandfather,’ Cameron judged admiringly.

Riona shook her head. ‘No, Sir Hector got his own back. You see, the next few years he sent the builders in for repairs to the estate houses;

somehow our cottage was missed out.’

‘That’s why it’s in such a state,’ Cameron concluded, frowning. ‘And is that why you resent me helping? Because I’m Sir Hector’s great-nephew?’

Riona shrugged. It wasn’t that simple, but she had no inclination to explain the mixed feelings she had towards him.

He didn’t press her, and instead turned to the picnic hamper. He handed her a plate and left her to help herself. With a good appetite, Riona took as much as she thought she’d eat.

He smiled in approval. ‘It makes a real change to be with a woman who isn’t watching her weight al the time.’

For a moment Riona felt ridiculously pleased at being regarded as a woman, then sobered as she wondered if his remark was actual y a veiled insult.

Perhaps he was suggesting she
should
be watching her weight?

‘I suppose most of your girlfriends are much slimmer—like fashion models you see in magazines,’ she final y responded.

But if he heard the disdain in her voice, he stil smiled, before saying, ‘Why do you assume I have girlfriends in the plural?’

‘I...’ Riona frowned at the question. He was right. She had assumed it. ‘I don’t know. I just imagined you would have, since you’re stil single.’

‘Safety in numbers?’ he joked, before confirming, ‘Yes, wel , I have to admit you’re right. As a thirty-five-year-old bachelor, I’ve inevitably dated a few women in my time. I guess you could describe me as a serial monogamist.’

‘A what?’ she echoed blankly.

‘A serial monogamist,’ he repeated. ‘That means I date one woman after the other, but only one at a time.’

‘Oh.’ Riona wasn’t sure how to take this, but a slanting smile told her he was enjoying disconcerting her.

She decided it was time to drop the subject of his love life and turned her attention back to the food on her plate. She’d helped herself to cold chicken and green salad and it was very tasty, but the heat made her throat dry and she longed for a drink.

He saw her looking enviously at the wine he was sipping and poured her a glass. ‘Here. This stuff can hardly be classified as alcohol.’

She took the wine offered and tentatively sniffed it before putting it to her lips. It smel ed neither sour like beer nor strong like whisky. Instead it sparkled like crystal and smel ed of sunshine and danced like bubbles on her tongue. It was Riona’s first glass of French champagne and it tasted absolutely delicious.

‘Like it?’ Cameron smiled at her expression.

She nodded. ‘It’s like lemonade for grown-ups,’ she said impulsively and made him laugh.

‘That’s exactly what it is,’ he agreed, pouring himself another glass.

Thirsty, Riona finished her own drink, and he topped up her glass, at the same time warning, ‘Only it isn’t, so I wouldn’t drink too quickly.’

‘But it’s not real y alcohol,’ Riona reminded him what he’d said, and he made a slight face.

‘Wel , yes and no,’ he said, retracting his earlier statement as he advised, ‘You could stil get mildly drunk on it.’

Riona pul ed a face in return. She didn’t feel drunk, not even mildly. She just felt good, and when she finished the second glass she felt better. She held out her glass for a refil .

He hesitated for a fraction, but, when she gave him a wide, happy smile, he emptied the bottle into her glass.

Riona talked a good bit after that. She asked him about his parents, and he told her that his mother—who had been Sir Hector’s niece—had died of

cancer when he was eight. His father had remarried when he was thirteen.

‘Did you like your stepmother?’ she asked with the point-blank curiosity of someone who was vaguely drunk but didn’t know it.

He raised a brow at the question, then shook his head. ‘Not so you’d notice. I cal ed her the dragon lady.’

‘Behind her back?’ she quizzed.

‘No, to her face,’ he admitted, and they both laughed together.

‘So, have you brothers or sisters?’ Riona continued her inquisition.

He shrugged. ‘A stepsister, Melissa.’

‘Younger or older?’

‘Younger by ten years.’

Riona wasn’t too drunk to calculate that Melissa was currently twenty-five. She was drunk enough, however, for il ogical remarks like, ‘I suppose

she has a model-girl figure.’

He looked surprised, then amused in conceding, ‘As a matter of fact, yes, Mel is pretty slim.’

‘I suppose she’s beautiful, too,’ Riona added, suddenly feeling very sorry for herself.

‘Sensational,’ he agreed, laughter in his voice. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No reason,’ Riona claimed, feeling quite an irrational dislike for a girl she’d never met. ‘Is she clever?’

‘A graduate of Vassar,’ Cameron stated, leaving Riona to guess that was real y something. ‘In fact, I have to admit it: she’s so damn near perfect, it’s been impossible for her to find a man to match up,’ he added, a smile reaching his eyes as he looked at Riona.

She took it the smile was for Miss Perfection, his stepsister, and found herself saying outright, ‘If she’s that perfect, it’s a wonder you don’t

volunteer for the part. After al , she isn’t your real sister, is she?’

‘No, she isn’t,’ he agreed, ‘and, yes, it has been suggested that Melissa and I would make an ideal couple.’

Suggested by whom? Riona wondered, but didn’t ask. She was already wishing she hadn’t been quite so nosy. She’d known there would be women

in his life. Did she real y need to know their names or hear how perfect they were?

She closed the subject herself with an abrupt, ‘Wel , I think I’l go for a walk,’ and got to her feet. She swayed slightly and was surprised by how light her head felt.

‘I think I’l go with you,’ Cameron announced with another smile, and fol owed her up.

Riona wanted to argue, but she couldn’t summon the energy necessary, and he was already taking her hand and leading the way along the beach.

With other men Riona was aware of her own size and height—five feet nine in bare feet. With Cameron Adams, she was aware of his. Her head

just reached his chin. Her hand disappeared in his. He made her feel very feminine and oddly vulnerable.

They walked in silence along the sand until the beach ended at a rock face, then turned to look at the water lapping their feet and the hil s rising from the opposite shore, ablaze with yel ow broom and purple heather.

‘Is there anywhere else so beautiful?’ Cameron wondered aloud, before switching his eyes from the view to her.

‘I don’t know,’ Riona admitted. ‘I’ve only ever lived in the Highlands.’

‘And you’ve never thought of leaving? For col ege or for work?’ he asked, frowning a little.

Riona supposed she could have told him about the Royal Col ege of Music, but she wasn’t sure if he’d believe her. He’d only ever heard her playing

Scottish reel music.

‘It wasn’t possible,’ she final y said, and unconsciously her face clouded over.

‘Because of your grandfather,’ Cameron concluded. ‘Dr Hamish said you’d nursed him to the last. It must have been hard.’

Riona shook her head, denying it. ‘I loved him,’ she said simply, and turned from him.

He caught her arm and gently pul ed her round again. He saw a suspicion of tears in her beautiful green eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘You haven’t,’ she claimed, even as a tear slid silently down her cheek.

He put out a long finger and stemmed it. She bowed her head and shut her eyes to prevent any more. She felt sil y. She didn’t normal y cry so easily, didn’t normal y cry at al .

He took her chin and tilted her face to his once more. She tried to look tough, but her bottom lip trembled at the compassion in his eyes. She tried to look away and his hand cupped her cheek.