Riona muttered rebelliously, ‘Why? Am I going to need it?’ remembering how fast he drove.
He ignored the comment and repeated, ‘Put it on!’
Riona, who had simply forgotten the belt, took exception, not to it, but to his tone. She decided she would do up the belt in her own sweet time.
But it seemed Cameron Adams wasn’t prepared to wait that long, as he leaned over her to grasp the strap and, drawing it across her front, locked it into position. In doing so, the back of his hand brushed against her breast. While Riona felt almost panicked by the contact, he didn’t seem to notice, and calmly turned back to grip the wheel and set the car in motion.
Riona seethed in silence. She had never met anyone so arrogant. Who did he think he was?
She asked herself the question and answered it in the same breath. He was the laird—and what in heaven’s name was she doing arguing with him? Did she want to be thrown off her croft, after trying so hard to keep it going for the past two years?
She’d lived there almost her whole life. Her parents, both music teachers, had died in a car accident when she was two, and her grandparents had taken her home to live with them. She was ten when her granny had died, and then it had just been her and her grandpa. Later she’d had the chance of a place at music college in Edinburgh, but she’d chosen to stay with him instead. He’d been in his mid-seventies by then, and growing frail. She’d nursed him through a series of debilitating strokes until a final one had brought release for him. She had not considered it release for herself. Six months on, she still missed the old man who’d brought her up and cared for her in his own tough, uncompromising way.
‘So where was Jo tonight?’ The American’s drawl brought her back to the present.
‘Jo?’ She didn’t understand.
‘You know—the boyfriend,’ he helped her out.
That Jo, Riona groaned inwardly, recalling the lie she’d told.
‘Doesn’t he like dancing?’ the man pursued.
‘Eh—no,’ Riona could say with some vestige of truth. Collies didn’t tend to go in for dancing.
‘Two left feet, has he?’ the American drawled on. ‘Or should I say four?’
Four? It was a second before Riona caught on. He knew!
‘Who told you?’
‘Dr Macnab... After some confusion, not to mention amusement, on the doctor’s side, I realised Jo was more into rounding up sheep than dancing.’
‘Oh,’ Riona muttered faintly.
‘Oh?’ he echoed this rather inadequate explanation.
Remembering who he was, she felt obliged to add, ‘I suppose I should apologise.’
‘Not if it’s going to kill you,’ he said at her forced admission. ‘An explanation will do. Like why you let me believe you were shacked up with some guy.’
‘I didn’t!’ Riona protested, quickly forgetting who he was. ‘You asked if I lived alone. I mentioned Jo and your imagination filled in the rest.’
‘You could have told me differently,’ he pointed out.
‘Oh, yes. That would have been very clever. Telling a complete stranger I lived in a lonely crofthouse all on my own,’ she retorted angrily, then, seeing they’d come to her turn-off, snapped, ‘You can let me off here.’
‘I can, but I’m not going to,’ was his answer, as he turned up the hill track and drove right to the door of the croft.
The moment the car stopped, Riona scrambled out with a perfunctory, ‘Thanks for the lift.’
But he climbed out, too, coming round to her side of the car. ‘You’re right about it being lonely up here. I’ll see you inside, check you have no intruders.’
‘There’s no need.’ She wanted him gone. He made her more nervous than any potential intruder.
He sensed it, saying, ‘Relax, this isn’t move one in a grand seduction plan. Even assuming I like my women hard to get along with—which I don’t—you’re far too young for me.’
In theory Riona should have been relieved at this announcement. In practice, she was stung into replying, ‘Or maybe you’re just too old for me.’
But if she’d wanted to offend him, she didn’t succeed. He gave a short laugh before drawling, ‘Strike that “hard to get along with”; make it “damn nigh impossible”.’ Then he grabbed hold of her arm and steered her towards the door of her cottage.
He breathed down her neck while she unlocked the door and didn’t give her a chance to shut it on him. Resigned, she led the way through the small front hall to the living-room, switching on lights as she went.
She turned to find him surveying the room with an expression of disbelief on his face. Riona understood well enough. Poverty was reflected in the threadbare furniture and carpets, the shabbiness of her home, but she refused to be ashamed of it.
She tilted her head and dared him to comment.
Instead he said simply, ‘If you’d like to make us a cup of coffee, I promise not to take it as an invitation.’
‘To what?’ she asked rather foolishly.
He smiled at her naïveté. ‘To outstay my welcome, let’s say.’
Riona continued to frown. As far as she was concerned, he already had.
‘I only have tea,’ she said ungraciously.
‘That’ll do.’ He shrugged in reply.
Left with no choice, Riona went through to the kitchen at the back, where her grandfather’s collie greeted her with much tail-wagging before taking an alert stance as the American appeared behind her.
If he’d thought the living-room bad, Riona knew he’d find the kitchen worse. The linoleum was peeling, the table and chairs rickety, and the cooking range large, ugly and ancient.
He looked round with a critical eye, but again refrained from commenting, nodding towards the collie instead.
‘Jo, I presume.’ He bent to offer the collie a hand to sniff.
‘Yes, but he doesn’t much take to strangers,’ she responded, as the collie backed away to his basket in the corner.
‘Like dog, like mistress,’ the American drawled in an undertone intended to be heard.
Riona refused to justify herself. No, she didn’t like strangers. Not over-familiar ones, at any rate, she thought, as he leaned his considerable length against her granny’s old dresser.
‘Jo’s my grandfather’s dog, actually,’ she replied coolly.
‘Your grandfather,’ he echoed. ‘Yes, Dr Macnab said he’d died recently.’
Busy with the tea things, Riona gave a brief nod that discouraged further interest in her private life.
Or would have done, if Cameron Adams hadn’t been so thick-skinned. ‘It must be difficult, running this place on your own,’ he continued, oblivious.
‘I manage,’ she countered, wondering what he was getting at. Perhaps it wasn’t just casual conversation. ‘I won’t fall behind in my rent, Mr Adams, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘Cameron,’ he insisted, ‘and no, I wasn’t worrying about your rent. From what I’ve seen of the accounts, I doubt it’s worth worrying about,’ he added with a short laugh.
Riona did not laugh back. What did he mean? Did he consider the rents too low? She could barely pay the present amount.
Her face revealed