Terms Of Engagement. Kathryn Ross

the guy was dangerous.

      She closed the door, unhooked the chain and swung it open again.

      Frazer McClarran’s appearance was quite a revelation. He was about her age, thirty-two, and very good-looking if you went for the dark swarthy, rugged type. Which she didn’t, she told herself firmly. She wasn’t interested in getting involved with any man again.

      He wore a crew-neck sweater. Its thick cream cable looked good against his dark skin. The black jeans hugged lithe hips and long legs.

      The flickering light from her lamp played over his features, highlighting the glitter of black eyes, the powerful line of his shoulders, the square, firm jawline. His hair had a slight curl to it, an unruly thickness that was very attractive.

      They stared at each other. For an instant she had the impression that he was as surprised by her as she was by him. Then she remembered why. The long dress she wore was hardly what you’d describe as casual attire. She must look as if she had just stepped out from a summer ball, not an old hall that was half falling down.

      His gaze moved over her in one comprehensive sweep of an appraisal, making her feel very self-conscious. Her long strawberry-blonde hair was in need of a taming brush to bring it under control, the dress showed every curve of her slender figure, and on her feet she wore the frivolous pair of silver high heels.

      His gaze returned to the lamp she held in her hand. ‘Have I interrupted a seance, or do you always walk about dressed like that with the lights off?’ he asked with some amusement.

      ‘A seance!’ Talk about being cut down to size. She had thought she looked attractive in the dress, like Claudia Schiffer, not an eccentric clairvoyant. ‘I’ve got a problem with the electricity,’ she answered stiffly. She couldn’t think of an excuse for her clothes, she didn’t know why she had put the dress on. It had been a moment’s whim, she supposed. A nostalgic backward glance at the way her life used to be. Anyway, it was none of his business.

      ‘Have you paid the bill?’

      ‘The bill?’

      ‘The electricity bill,’ he said patiently.

      ‘Of course I have.’ She glared at him.

      He grinned. ‘So what do you want to do about your other problem?’

      ‘What other problem?’ she asked, captivated by the darkness of his eyes. Were they really so olive-black, or was it just a trick of the light?

      ‘The problem of your goat.’ He waved a hand behind him. ‘I have the creature in the back of my Land Rover. It’s probably eaten its way through the seats by now.’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ She pulled herself together. ‘Step inside for a moment. I’ll just put a jumper on, then I’ll come and give you a hand.’

      His gaze flicked again to her shoes. His lips curved in wry amusement. ‘Sure,’ he drawled sceptically.

      She bit down on a terse reply. It was obvious that her neighbour thought she would be about as much help as a butterfly on a building site.

      He looked around as he stepped inside. ‘It’s years since I stepped over Ethan’s threshold,’ he remarked dryly. ‘I bet he’s turning in his grave.’

      ‘Why?’ She paused with her hand on the door to the study.

      He shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive gesture. ‘Are you going to be long? I’ve got work to get back to.’

      ‘No, I’ll be a minute.’ She opened the door into the study and put the lamp down on the sideboard. ‘It’s late to be going back to work, isn’t it?’ she asked, reaching for her sweater and pulling it over the silver dress.

      ‘Working on a farm isn’t like working in an office, you know,’ he drawled. ‘You can’t tell your animals that you’re clocking off at five-thirty.’ There was that amusement in his tone again.

      He watched as she pulled her hair out from beneath the sweater, then kicked off the high heels and stuck her feet into her boots. She probably made a curious spectacle—a long silver skirt with a woollen sweater and hiking boots—but she didn’t care. ‘Ready when you are,’ she said brightly as she finished lacing her boots and threw her hair out of her eyes.

      His gaze wandered around the room, taking in the cocktail dresses and smart suits that lay sprawled over the furniture. ‘What were you doing? Having a fashion show?’

      ‘I was unpacking.’

      He bent and picked up a shoe from beside him. It had delicate lacy straps and a high platform sole. ‘You’re planning on going for long walks over the moors, I take it?’ he grated sarcastically.

      She tried very hard not to blush. ‘Something like that.’ She grabbed the shoe away from him and refused to allow herself to explain that she had been in the process of getting rid of this stuff. ‘Shall we go?’

      ‘After you.’ He waved towards the door and watched as she struggled to take forceful strides in the tight skirt.

      It was cold outside. A full moon sailed majestically from behind silver-edged clouds, reflecting on the still waters of the loch.

      ‘Where are you parked?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t hear the car engine.’ She was struggling to keep up with his long stride.

      ‘I couldn’t drive up to the house because your gate was locked across the approach road.’

      ‘Sorry.’ Why was she apologising? she wondered. After all, she hadn’t known he was coming. She wished to heaven he’d slow down. He must be well aware that she was practically running to keep up with him.

      His Land Rover came into view as they rounded a corner, an old, rickety vehicle that looked as if it had been left over from World War II. It wasn’t until they reached the gate that Emma realised she would have to climb over it.

      Frazer hitched himself up over the five-bar gate with ease and swung his legs over to jump down the other side.

      If she had been wearing her jeans it would have been no problem.

      ‘Need a hand?’ Frazer asked, one dark eyebrow raised as he turned to watch her.

      ‘No, thanks. Just grab hold of the lamp.’ She passed it over to him. He promptly took it, blew the flame out and put it down on the grass. ‘We don’t need it,’ he said as she looked at him in some annoyance.

      True enough, the night was bright. The moon had a powerful glow. It shone over the darkness of his hair, highlighting him like a charcoal drawing. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, his lips set in that almost arrogant firm slant, as if she was some insect who amused him.

      She did the only thing she could do: hitched her dress up, giving a brazen glimpse of long shapely legs as she swung over to join him. She felt pleased that she had managed the manoeuvre with as much dignity as possible, then spoilt it by catching her foot awkwardly on the cattle-grid and stumbling.

      Frazer reached out a hand, catching her around the waist and steadying her.

      For a brief instant she was held very close to him, her body touching the long length of his. She could smell the aroma of soap from his jumper. It was fresh and clean and somehow warmly comforting.

      Flustered, she pulled herself hastily away. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘That’s OK.’ He sounded matter-of-fact. Obviously her closeness hadn’t had the same effect on him.

      ‘Don’t know how the goat got out.’ She forced herself to talk in an effort to cover her awkwardness. ‘There are cattle-grids on all the gates.’

      ‘There are umpteen gaps in your hedges, your stone walls need maintenance and your fences are all a disgrace,’ Frazer commented wryly. ‘An elephant could get out.’

      ‘Please feel free not to hold back on your criticism,’ Emma muttered with sarcasm, her moment of awkwardness forgotten.