Northern Sunset. PENNY JORDAN

the unmistakable features of the dark-haired man from the bar, minus his helmet but still wearing his air of casual arrogance. “I’m the one who should be asking you that,” he replied imperturbably. “How did you get in here, and just what the hell do you think you’re doing? If I want a woman I’m perfectly capable of finding myself one.”

      Dark colour surged over Catriona’s pale skin as she realised the import of what he was saying. He thought she was actually waiting for him!

      “Like I said,” he drawled in hard tones, “Alex is sleeping down the hall. I’ll give you two minutes to get out of my bed and into his, otherwise I call the manager.”

      Catriona’s mind whirled, her first stammered words wildly different from the cold snub she had intended to deliver, as she stammered anxiously:

      “I can’t… I’m not dressed…”

      The look in his eyes made her bite her lip in mortification. Of all the stupid things to say—but there was something about lying here completely naked beneath these sheets, with this sardonic brute of a man standing over her hurling all manner of unwarranted accusations at her, that made her feel decidedly at a disadvantage. What she ought to have done, she decided, simmering with anger, was to call his bluff and demand that he did call the manager. His room indeed! And where had he got the key?

      That was answered with his next words.

      “I suppose I ought to have been prepared for something like this when they couldn’t find my key and had to use the pass-key, but like I said, little lady, I do my own hunting. Now get dressed and get out of here!”

      He stood back from the bed, arms folded over a broad chest which tapered to lean hips and long, well muscled legs, his stance plainly that of a man determined to have his own way.

      “You get out!” Catriona demanded breathlessly, suddenly finding her voice, and ignoring the warning look in his eyes with a reckless disregard for danger. “This is my room,” she told him firmly, ignoring the sardonic expression with which he was studying her. “If you don’t believe me, go down and ask at reception. They were fully booked and said that they were going to ask someone to double up.”

      “Very plausible,” he scoffed. “How do I know that I can believe you? For all I know you could be some cheap little tart intent on making some easy money.”

      Catriona gasped and would have shot upright in protest, if she hadn’t remembered just in time how badly she needed the protection of the bedclothes.

      “How dare you!” she seethed. “You come in here, making vile accusations, demanding that I leave, threatening to call the manager. If anyone’s going to call him, it will be me—to have you thrown out!”

      “Be my guest,” her persecutor goaded, holding open the door. Catriona glanced wildly from the empty passage to her damp underclothes, well out of reach, and then glared angrily across the room.

      “Go away and let me get dressed and then I will.”

      “And let you escape scot free to go and play your tricks on someone else?” He shook his head sardonically. “I’ve told you already, you should have picked Alex. He would have been far more amenable.”

      Catriona took a deep, steadying breath. Alex presumably was the burly redhead. “And I’ve told you,” she announced through gritted teeth, “you’ve got it all wrong. This is my room. You’re the intruder.”

      Tears weren’t far away, and the green eyes narrowed suddenly, his expression changing. “Convince me. If you’re not just a local girl out for a good time, who are you? And what are you doing here?”

      “My name is Catriona Peterson. If you don’t believe me ask the owner of the hotel,” Catriona told him, enraged at being forced to undergo this inquisition. “And if it hadn’t been for this sea-mist I’d have been on my way back to Falla by now.”

      “Falla?” The sharp enquiry startled her. “You live there?”

      When Catriona nodded his expression seemed to change, but he made no further mention of the island, saying dryly instead, “Well, Catriona Peterson, always supposing you’re telling me the truth, how do you suggest we resolve our present dilemma, which is, as I see it, that the two of us are both laying claim to this one bed?”

      No apology for his earlier insults, Catriona seethed inwardly. Typical of his breed, though, the big tough guy who could never admit to being wrong.

      “No dilemma,” she assured him curtly. “I suggest you go downstairs and check with reception and they’ll tell you who you’re sharing with.”

      It was plain that he wasn’t used to being given orders. His eyes gleamed in the dark, and their expression made Catriona shrink back against the bed.

      “Oh no,” he said softly. “This is my room, booked in my name, and I don’t intend giving it up to share a bed with Alex.” He moved towards the door as he spoke, closing it firmly and turning the key before coming across to the bed and stripping off his leather jacket.

      Appalled, Catriona stared disbelievingly at him.

      “You’re not… You’re not sleeping here!” she managed to get out at last, furious with herself for making the words seem more of a question than a statement.

      “Why not?” came the cool response. “After all, it is my room, and if I’m going to have to share with one of you, I think I prefer you to Alex. You could, of course, always leave,” he taunted. His fingers were on the buttons of the checked plaid shirt he was wearing, and Catriona stared desperately at the door, bitterly regretting her fastidious refusal to sleep in her underwear. In that at least she would have been able to leave the bed and grab her clothes. Even sleeping downstairs in a chair would be preferable to sharing a bed with this man!

      “What’s the matter?” he jeered as she remained immobile.

      She wasn’t going to ask him to leave so that she could get dressed—he would probably refuse anyway and take delight in humiliating her by doing so. Her face burned as she dwelt on having to endure him watching her dress.

      “If you had the slightest scrap of decency you would leave this room right now,” she announced in freezing accents, trying to read his reaction to her words.

      It shocked her with its comprehensive grasp of her feelings. “But then men like me don’t have, do they?” he demanded softly. “At least not in your eyes. What is it with you?”

      Catriona moved slightly, the moonlight briefly touching her hair, turning it silver. His eyes followed the movement, widening slightly.

      “So it’s you…” he drawled in recognition. “I saw you in the bar….”

      “And I saw you,” Catriona whipped back. “And you’re quite right, I don’t like men like you. I detest them, and everything they stand for.” Her lip curled faintly as she forgot her fear. “You’re quite safe with me—I wouldn’t touch you for all the oil in the North Sea!”

      He was pulling off his shirt, and his hands stilled, his eyes like jade as they held hers, compelling them to witness the undeniable maleness of his hair toughened chest as the shirt was discarded.

      “Is that a fact?”

      “I can’t stay here with you,” Catriona protested, forgetting her earlier determination not to plead with him. “Just let me get dressed and….”

      “And get the manager, who’ll turf me out of my room, and no doubt accuse me of seducing you into the bargain. No way,” he told her curtly. “You’re staying right there. Unless of course you’re brave enough to get out of that bed and get the key?”

      He knew she couldn’t, Catriona admitted wrathfully as he turned his back on her and calmly turned on the basin tap. If only he had been going to have a bath, she could have left while he was gone. The suspicion that he was deliberately punishing her by remaining would not be denied. He could have as little desire