“I don’t feel pity for you, Crystal. And don’t even attempt to tell me what I can and can’t do!”

She blinked dazedly. “But I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. You—oh, to hell with it!” he exclaimed before he lowered his head and his mouth took fierce possession of hers.

Crys was so stunned by the unexpectedness of his actions that for a few brief moments she stood unmoved in the tight band of his arms, the slenderness of her body crushed against the hardness of his as he very thoroughly kissed her.

So thoroughly, in fact, that she felt a long-forgotten stirring of desire. Heat, like molten lava, moved slowly into her body, and it felt as if the ice in her heart was melting.

As, indeed, it probably was, she realized with a choked cry. All warmth, all desire, had died with James. But this man, an admitted enigma, couldn’t be the one to heal her battered emotions!

Anything can happen behind closed doors!

Do you dare find out…?

Welcome again to DO NOT DISTURB!

Meet Sam and Crys, a couple thrown together by circumstances into a whirlwind of unexpected attraction. Forced into each other’s company whether they like it or not, they’re soon in the grip of passion—and definitely don’t want to be disturbed!

Popular Presents® author Carole Mortimer explores this delicious fantasy in a tantalizing romance you simply won’t want to put down.

Will Crys become Sam’s mistress, or will she resist their all-consuming passion?

Turn the pages and find out!

An Enigmatic Man
Carole Mortimer

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

DRACULA’S castle!

No…on second thoughts, Crys decided, that was perhaps being a little unkind to Dracula!

She had been driving for hours, had stopped the car at the top of the driveway in the hopes of somehow getting her bearings in the rapidly deepening fog. But all such thoughts had fled as she saw the name of the house grooved into one of the stone pillars that flanked the broken-down gateway. Her startled gaze moved to the monstrosity of a house just visible at the end of the driveway. Victorian Gothic architecture—and every era since, if the numerous extensions were anything to go by.

The whole thing jarred on Crys’s heightened sense of line and design.

This couldn’t possibly be her destination—couldn’t be the Yorkshire home of the elder brother of her good friend Molly. Molly was slightly eccentric, yes—a little unorthodox, too—but that was no reason to suppose it ran in the family!

Crys frowned up at the pillar closest to her. Despite the covering of moss, the name ‘Falcon House’ was still readable. She picked up the letter she had received from Molly several days ago, quickly scanning its contents until she came to the directions for finding Sam Barton’s home. The name ‘Falcon House’ clearly stood out from Molly’s otherwise hurried scrawl.

But this place wasn’t really a house at all. It was a castle, with high turrets and towers, and even what looked like a defunct moat encircling the outer walls.

Perhaps Sam’s home was at the back of this monstrosity? Hadn’t Molly mentioned at some time that her brother was caretaking the place for an absent friend?

Having now seen Falcon House, Crys wasn’t at all surprised the owner was absent most of the time—it would give anyone nightmares to actually have to live in this dilapidated old pile.

Yes, she decided, that had to be the answer. If she drove down the driveway and over the rickety-looking drawbridge, there was sure to be a smaller—more comfortable!—house situated somewhere at the back.

Except, as Crys discovered a few minutes later, having driven slowly down the rutted and holed road and into the forecourt to a castle encircled by a moat—albeit an empty, smelly old moat full of indescribable rubbish—there was virtually nothing behind the building. Just a small piece of land that probably should have been a garden but was so overgrown with bushes and trees it resembled a jungle!

Crys parked her car, climbing out onto moss-covered gravel and stretching her tired limbs even as she gazed up and up at the tumbledown castle before her, taking in the pipes that hung loose on the walls, the several tiles that had slid off the roof to lie shattered on the ground below.

Even through the damp fog Crys could see that most of the lower windows were either boarded up completely or had curtains drawn against prying eyes. The windows on the upper floors, although virtually all intact, seemed to look blankly out on the rest of the world.

Not exactly welcoming, and the whole place had such a neglected air that Crys was sure no one could actually be living in it. It—

She had heard something!

It was an undistinguishable, muted sound, but nevertheless she had heard a noise of some sort. It seemed to be coming from the side of the house.

She swallowed hard, hesitating. Should she go and investigate, and risk goodness knows what? Or should she simply get back in her car and drive quickly away?

The second choice definitely had its own appeal. But hadn’t she spent the last year running away from one situation or another? Wasn’t it time to stand her ground and face whatever it was that needed facing? Wasn’t this exactly what her acceptance of Molly’s invitation to spend some days in Yorkshire with her at the home of her brother had all been about?

There again, was this really the right occasion for her to start facing up to the world once again?

Crys almost laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of the situation she found herself in. Almost…

It had been a big step for her to accept Molly’s invitation at all—to make the long and tiring journey from London to Yorkshire. Only to be confronted with—this.

But what was ‘this’, really? She’d turned into the drive of a dilapidated old castle, and the blinding fog was adding to its air of mystery and so increasing her unease, despite the fact that the property gave every indication of being uninhabited.

Except for a rhythmically grating sound coming from the side of the house…

Easily sorted, Crys told herself briskly. She would just have to go and investigate. If it was just the brisk wind blowing a branch against one of those sightless windows, fine. If the sound was a human being, she would simply ask for directions to Sam Barton’s home and be on her way.

But her resolve was shaken somewhat when she passed under the archway that led onto the forecourt and found herself face to face with the largest dog she had ever seen in her life!

Crys gasped, coming to an abrupt halt as the dog bared its teeth and growled low in its throat, huge shoulders bunched in readiness as it prepared to leap at her.

Her mouth felt suddenly dry, every bone and muscle in her body tense with the shock of confrontation, wide gaze held in the hypnotic effect of those steely canine eyes.

And all the time the gigantic beast kept up that low growl that closely resembled the threat of thunder.

‘What is it, Merlin?’ prompted a disembodied voice.

If Crys had been rigid with shock before, she suddenly felt icy tentacles of fear gliding down her back. She had always wondered what was meant by a ‘cold sweat’—now she knew!

Where had that voice come from? There was no one else here in this swirling fog but herself and this ferocious-looking dog, and yet she had definitely heard a voice. Male, she thought. Although it had been slightly muffled, so it was difficult to be sure.

What did it matter whether the voice had belonged to a male or female—as long as it had been a voice! At the moment she felt very much in need of the presence of another human being.

If it had been human…

Get a grip, Crys, she instantly instructed herself impatiently. Okay, so it was creepy here, with the swirling fog surrounding her and that towering monstrosity behind her, and the Hound of the Baskervilles standing in front of her, barring her way, but that was no reason to simply give in to the panic and turn and run!

Yes, it was!

Any minute now this huge beast might tire of just growling and launch itself at her, huge jaws slavering as it ripped and tore at the delicate skin of her throat. She—

‘I’m warning you now, Merlin, that if you follow any more rabbits down their holes I’m not coming after you and digging you out again.’ The disembodied voice came hollowly through the fog a second time.

It was a man! He was somewhere close at hand too, Crys was sure. Close enough to save her from this wild dog, she hoped.

‘Help!’

Wonderful—her lips were so numbed that the cry barely came out as a squeak! Although it was enough to turn that low rumbling growl into a full-throated warning of intent. The dog was clearly preparing to leap for her unprotected throat!

‘Help!’ Her second cry was louder. Loud enough to be heard, she prayed silently—because she really didn’t hold out much hope for the dog’s continued stillness!

‘Damn it, Merlin, I— What on earth—? Down, Merlin,’ the man called impatiently, and the dog’s snarl instantly changed to a muted growl.

Crys’s scream had cut across the man’s initial remark as a head suddenly appeared out of the ground about ten feet away from her: a dark, shaggy head, with a beard of several days’ growth covering the lower half of a face only alleviated by the fierceness of dark green eyes glittering brightly through the gloom of the fog.

But at least the dog had taken heed of his master, falling back on his haunches now, even its growling having come to a stop—although its gaze remained fixed on Crys’s slightest move. Waiting, no doubt, for his master to give the order to attack!

But she had no intention of moving. She hadn’t been able to do more than stare since that body had appeared out of the ground!

Maybe this was Dracula’s castle, after all. Maybe—

Her eyes widened apprehensively as the man used a spade to lever himself easily out of what appeared to be a hole in the ground. A hole about six feet long, three feet wide, and she had no idea how deep…!

Her vision moved to the man’s feet as he straightened, then travelled up the long length of his legs, in what appeared to be black denims, and over a broad chest and muscular arms in a thick black jumper. He had darkly waving hair growing long onto his shoulders, and of course the dark growth of beard that concealed his face. Except for those piercing green eyes.

The man seemed huge, several inches over six feet, the powerful force of his muscled body as tensed for action as his dog’s had been seconds ago.

In fact, now that Crys could clearly see him, she wasn’t sure if the dog wasn’t a safer bet!

She moistened dry lips, willing herself to remain calm. ‘Hello,’ she managed huskily.

The hard mouth tilted sideways, hinting at the scorn with which the man welcomed her greeting. “‘Hello”?’ he returned scathingly.

Crys was still badly shaken, first from the encounter with the dog, and then the sudden appearance of this man almost as if from nowhere. But that didn’t mean she was a complete quivering wreck!

‘What were you doing in there?’ She indicated the hole. It was January, so too late for digging the garden over, and also too early for planting out. Besides, from the size and depth of the hole…!

Dark brows rose over his glittering green eyes. ‘What do you think I was doing?’

Despite his dishevelled state, the untidiness of his hair and growth of beard, the man had an educated voice. In fact under other circumstances it might have been quite a pleasant voice.

Under other circumstances…

Crys gave a slight shiver as she glanced over at the hole he appeared to have been digging. ‘I have no idea,’ she answered guardedly.

The man didn’t actually appear to have moved, and yet somehow he suddenly looked tenser than ever, the spade in his hand slightly threatening. ‘Take a guess,’ he challenged hardly.

Crys swallowed hard. This was ridiculous. She simply wanted directions to Sam Barton’s house, not to indulge in verbal games with a complete stranger. A dangerous-looking one, at that.

‘Look, I’m really sorry to have bothered you—’

‘You bother Merlin more than you do me,’ the man dismissed coldly.

‘Merlin…? Oh, you mean the dog,’ she realised belatedly. The huge beast was sitting at its master’s feet now, but still watching her every move. At the mention of his name he began that low growling once again…

The man gave a humourless smile. ‘He isn’t too keen on being called that.’

Crys blinked. ‘But I thought you said Merlin was his name?’ She frowned her puzzlement.

‘It is.’ The man nodded tersely. ‘I was referring to your reference to his species.’

‘But—’

‘You and I both know what he is,’ the man cut in impatiently. ‘Merlin is the one who has doubts, and I think it better if we humour him—don’t you?’

Crys glanced down at the slavering animal. ‘Exactly what sort of…what breed is he?’ she amended, opting on the side of caution. After all, Merlin had only just stopped growling again.

‘Irish Wolfhound,’ the man supplied. ‘Now, I’m sure it’s been very pleasant passing the time of day with you—’ his tone implied otherwise ‘—but, as you can no doubt see, I have a grave to finish digging. So if you wouldn’t mind—’

‘It really is a grave?’ she gasped, her grey gaze once again wide with apprehension. The damp of the fog seemed to have seeped into her very bones and she gave a slight shiver.

Good heavens, perhaps she really had stumbled on Dracula’s castle, after all? Although she’d thought vampires only came out at night. Well, the heaviness of the damp fog hardly made it daylight, did it? She had been driving with her headlights on for the last two hours!

‘Who—er, I mean, what—?’ Crys began to take small steps backwards even as she formulated the question, positive that if she attempted to run the dog would have her down on the ground in seconds. The hound was obviously completely obedient to his master. A master who seemed more menacing by the second…

Not that he had looked particularly inviting in the first place. How to make a dignified exit? That was the problem.

Forget dignified—she just wanted out of here!

‘You’re right, Mr—er—I have taken up enough of your time.’ She tried to smile as she spoke, but her cheeks refused to comply with the instruction, her lips twisting into a grimace rather than a smile. ‘I’ll just be on my way—’

‘Where?’

She blinked at the abruptness of his question. ‘I’m sorry…?’

The man scowled darkly. ‘Not too many people come down this lane, let alone down the driveway; I asked where you were going,’ he snapped.

Were going…!

This was obviously the cue for Crys to ask for directions to Sam Barton’s house and be on her way. But now that it had come to the crunch she found she didn’t want to tell this man exactly where she was going. Or why. But she had to say something!

She shrugged, shivering again as the damp fog penetrated her woollen jacket. ‘I’m on my way to stay with friends.’

That was it; make sure that he knew she was expected somewhere, that someone would notice and call the police when she didn’t arrive at her destination. Not that she was altogether sure Molly would go to that extreme; her friend would probably just assume Crys had changed her mind about coming to Yorkshire, after all. But this man didn’t have to know that!

‘I must have just taken a wrong turning in the fog,’ she tried to dismiss lightly. ‘I won’t trouble you any further—’

‘As I’ve already pointed out, Merlin is more troubled by your presence than I am,’ the man drawled.

‘He seems—calm enough now,’ Crys attempted pleasantly. She remembered reading somewhere—she had no idea where!—that it was harder for someone to harm you if you established some sort of rapport with them, that an attacker was caught off-guard if the victim—

She was not a victim, damn it! She was merely a lost traveller who had stumbled upon—well, she wasn’t sure what she had stumbled upon. But it was unnerving enough for her to know she wanted to leave. Now.

‘Looks can be deceptive,’ the man told her. ‘Irish Wolfhounds, as a breed, are born hunters,’ he continued almost conversationally. ‘Instinctively trained to—’

‘Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?’ From somewhere—probably that same article that had advised building up a rapport!—she recalled that it was always better to attack rather than let oneself be attacked.

The man’s mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. ‘Do I need to try?’ he taunted.

Her cheeks coloured fiery-red at his obvious mockery. ‘I’m not scared of you—’

‘Aren’t you?’ He grimaced. ‘Then you’re giving a very good imitation of it!’

She gasped at the deliberate cruelty of his jibe. ‘I am not—’

‘There’s a vein pulsing erratically at your left temple,’ he cut in. ‘Your pupils are dilated, the muscles in your face refuse to obey your commands, your body is tensed to rigidity, your hands are clenched so tightly into fists that you’ve probably made puncture marks in your palms with those nicely painted nails—’ his gaze returned to her face ‘—and, unless I’m mistaken, despite the fact that you’re obviously shivering with the cold, there’s a very unbecoming bead of perspiration on your top lip.’

Everything he had said was true, Crys knew. But the fact that he was so aware of them too only served to make her angry at his unnecessary taunting.

‘Women don’t perspire—they glow!’ she bit back, two bright wings of colour in her cheeks now, annoyed that, despite all her efforts, he seemed to have so easily gauged her emotions. ‘This place is like something out of a Gothic horror story, guarded by the Hound of the Baskervilles. You step out of a grave to greet me, looking every inch as wild and savage as your—your hound—’ she amended her words in an effort to stop the dog from growling once again ‘—and you expect me to look calm and collected!’ She was breathing hard in her agitation, her fists clenched in frustrated anger now.

The man shrugged, apparently completely unperturbed by her outburst. ‘I don’t expect you to be anything,’ he replied scathingly. ‘I didn’t invite you here. I have no idea who you are. Nor do I have any interest in knowing,’ he finished insultingly.

‘And you have a grave to finish digging!’ Crys inserted disgustedly.

‘For a relation of Merlin’s,’ he explained. ‘An Alsatian. We found him in the woods this morning.’ He nodded tersely in the direction of a tarpaulin that lay on the ground several feet away, unnoticed by Crys until that moment.

A tarpaulin that obviously covered the body of a dead dog…

She swallowed hard. ‘Doesn’t he, or she, have an owner? Someone who—who needs to know about—? They might want to bury their pet themselves.’ She couldn’t take her gaze off the tarpaulin, her knees shaking in reaction, that shaking moving up the whole of her body as she spoke, even her voice beginning to quiver over the last few words.

‘It probably did have an owner at one stage, but to my knowledge it’s been living wild in the woods the last few months. The local farmers have been trying to capture it for weeks, because its been bothering sheep that are in lamb.’ His mouth thinned. ‘I guess one of them must have caught up with it.’

Crys’s startled eyes searched the hardness of that partly obscured face. ‘You mean—is that legal?’ she choked as the full realisation of the dog’s death began to hit her.

‘Probably not. But proving it would be a problem,’ he replied grimly.

Crys knew she had gone very pale—could feel the blood draining from her cheeks even as her fascinated gaze returned to the tarpaulin. ‘I—do you think it was—quick?’

The man frowned his irritation. ‘How should I know? Although, I doubt it. Poison is usually slow and insidious.’

‘Poison?’ Crys echoed faintly, eyes now huge in the paleness of her face, the band of freckles across the bridge of her nose standing out in stark relief.

He nodded abruptly. ‘There are no wounds, no sign of any injury, in fact; poison is as good a guess as any for the cause of death.’

Death, death, and more death. Everywhere she looked—everywhere she went!—there was death!

It was Crys’s last agonising thought before blackness engulfed her and she crumpled down onto the damp earth…

CHAPTER TWO

CRYS came back to consciousness feeling something rough against the side of her face and a rocking sensation which, since her head was already light and disorientated, threatened to bring on a bout of motion sickness.

She opened her eyes to find herself elevated off the ground, obviously being carried, her gaze widening with horror as she found herself looking up into the fiercely grim face of the man she now remembered owned an equally savage-looking dog. A dog that padded along at its master’s side.

Crys opened her mouth—

‘Don’t you dare scream!’ the man muttered between clenched teeth.

Crys closed her mouth as abruptly as she had opened it, totally startled by the fact that, even though he wasn’t looking at her but grimly ahead, the man had realised she was once again fully conscious.

‘If you scream I’m simply going to drop you where I stand,’ the man added almost pleasantly.

As long as he—and his dog!—kept on walking, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing! It might at least give Crys a chance to run back to her car and get away from here.

‘I’ve had one hell of a day already,’ the man continued harshly. ‘Finding that dog this morning was far from a pleasant way to start the day—quiet, Merlin!’ he bit out sharply as the dog began to growl at the unacceptable term. Merlin was instantly silenced.

Which only confirmed for Crys that of the two, and despite the animal’s obvious size—and fierceness!—the man was the one to fear the most.

‘I found the dead—canine this morning,’ the man corrected, in deference to Merlin’s sensitive feelings. ‘I was trying to at least give it a decent burial by digging a grave in ground that hasn’t thawed since November.’ He flexed tired shoulder muscles. ‘And then, finally to make my day, my privacy is invaded by a female with an overactive imagination who seems to consider that my only companion resembles a hound from hell—and that I’m right down there with him!’ He viciously kicked a door open before striding forcefully into the house and into its kitchen. ‘With hindsight, I should have just left you where you fell!’ He dumped Crys down unceremoniously onto a chair before straightening and striding impatiently from the room.

Thankfully, the dog followed him!

Crys blinked dazedly, glad of the respite—no matter how brief!—from the man’s overbearing personality. And his dog.

As her head finally began to clear it took her all of two seconds to realise that here was her chance to escape. Perhaps her only chance. She doubted—

She couldn’t believe this kitchen!

The man had dumped her so ungraciously in a kitchen Crys could never have imagined in her wildest dreams. Never have imagined in this outwardly derelict castle, that was…

It was a beautiful room, with gorgeous mellow oak cupboards and a dark green Aga throwing out the heat that made the room deliciously warm after the cold January weather outside. A large oak work-table stood in the middle of the kitchen, and every implement a cook might need to work with hung from a rack overhead, with saucepans that gleamed with copper brightness. There was a stone-flagged floor beneath Crys’s feet, in warm browns and creams, and the chair she sat on was one of the kitchen dining set of mellow oak.

After the lack of care and the decay on the outside, this kitchen was—incredible.

‘Not what you were expecting, is it?’

Because of her utter surprise at these unexpected surroundings she had just lost her opportunity for escape, Crys realised.

She turned frowningly to look at her reluctant host. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, watching her from beneath hooded lids.

She took in his changed appearance—the overlong dark hair brushed into some semblance of order, the heavy black sweater removed in favour of a jumper of soft dark green cashmere. If the interior of the house was a surprise, then this man’s changed appearance was equally so. But, to Crys’s eyes, that didn’t make him any more approachable.

Her expression showed her puzzlement. ‘Why do you deliberately give the impression on the outside that the house is unlived-in?’ She was pretty sure it was deliberate…

He raised dark brows, moving forward to place a copper kettle on top of the Aga before turning back to face her. ‘Why do you think?’ he drawled scathingly.

He looked younger now he wasn’t looming out of the fog, and, without the bulky jumper, taller and leaner too. The face beneath the growth of beard appeared unlined. Crys put his age somewhere in his thirties. In fact, now that she could see him more clearly, there was something vaguely familiar about him…

Although no amount of feelings of familiarity could dispel the hard mockery in that dark green gaze!

Crys grimaced. ‘To keep at bay females with overactive imaginations…?’

Very white teeth showed briefly in the semblance of a grin. ‘In one,’ he confirmed with satisfaction, turning to remove the boiling kettle from the Aga. ‘Tea or coffee?’

After her terrifying thoughts of a few minutes ago—evoked by such an overactive imagination?—this man’s polite offer of a hot drink seemed slightly ludicrous. Or maybe she was the one who was ludicrous…?

‘Coffee. Thanks,’ she accepted distractedly as he took a tin and cups out of one of the cupboards, his back towards her. She reached up to remove her hat and unwind the scarf at her throat, now she was warmed by the heat of the room. ‘Er—where’s Merlin?’ she added somewhat nervously; the hound hadn’t returned with his master.

‘Off chasing rabbits, I expect,’ his owner dismissed unconcernedly. ‘I let him out of the front door a few minutes—’ he broke off abruptly.

Crys was so distracted by the comfort of her surroundings, the welcome warmth after hours of driving through cold damp fog, that for a few seconds she didn’t even realise he had stopped talking. She sat back in her chair, her eyes closed, as she began to thaw out. But she slowly became aware of a charged silence, the very air about her seeming to crackle with electricity.

She turned back to her host, colour warming her cheeks as she saw the way he stared gloweringly across the room at her. She knew what he would see, of course; long silver-blonde hair cascading silkily down her back, its colour even more startling against the black of her coat, eyes of clear grey, a light dusting of freckles over the bridge of her uptilted nose, her mouth wide and pouting, even if unsmiling at the moment.

Perhaps she had been a little precipitate in relaxing her guard enough to remove her scarf and hat…

She waited for his startled expression to change to one of recognition, steeling herself for what he would say next, her tension rising as he said nothing.

She swallowed hard, pointed chin raised challengingly. ‘Not what you were expecting either?’ She deliberately put a taunting lilt in her voice. Perhaps he hadn’t recognised her after all…?

Green eyes narrowed icily. ‘I wasn’t expecting you at all!’ he responded.

He really hadn’t recognised her!

But even if he wasn’t expecting her, someone else was, and the sooner she made her excuses and went on her way the better she would like it.

She stood up. ‘Perhaps I won’t bother with the coffee, after all—’

‘It’s made now.’ He put the mug of coffee down heavily on the table in front of her, consequently standing much closer to her than was comfortable. ‘You look cold. Drink it,’ he urged as she would have protested.

Crys wasn’t at all happy with his dictatorial tone. But in the circumstances, still uncertain of the man—and his mood!—she was hardly in a position to object.

He sat down opposite her at the table, looking at her expectantly as he cradled his own mug of warming coffee in large, well-kept hands.

Crys slowly sat down again, the smell of the rich coffee tantalising to her senses, she had to inwardly admit. It had been some time since her last rest stop; the coffee at the service station had been tepid and weak to say the least. Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to drink this mug of coffee before going on her way.

Besides, the unfriendly Merlin was outside somewhere, making it impossible for her to leave without this man’s protection. She frowned as another thought occurred to her. Perhaps that was the reason this man had put Merlin back outside…

‘An overactive imagination and a suspicious mind,’ the man pronounced, without even glancing across at her. ‘What a combination!’ He gave a disgusted shake of his head before sipping his black unsweetened coffee. ‘What comes next, I wonder…?’ he mused, glancing over at her, one dark brow raised sceptically. ‘Drugs in your drink? So that you don’t put up a fight when I carry you upstairs with the intention of having my wicked way with you?’

Crys’s cheeks coloured fiery-red at the laughter that could clearly be heard in his voice, but at the same time she glanced worriedly at the mug in front of her.

‘Tell me,’ the man continued in that deceptively pleasant voice, ‘do you watch a lot of television?’

His implication was more than obvious! But, as she had already pointed out to him, the last half an hour or so had been far from pleasant for her, either. She was the one who had found herself face to face with that growling monster of a dog and had then been confronted by a wild-looking man digging a grave—who had given every appearance of being more fierce than his dog.

Overactive imagination, indeed!

She gave him a humourless smile. ‘As it happens, I don’t even own a television!’

He grimaced. ‘Then perhaps you should.’

She didn’t seem able to win where this man was concerned! ‘I read a lot. Agatha Christie, mostly.’ She answered the question defensively before he could even ask it.

He relaxed back in his chair, watching her with dark, unfathomable eyes. ‘Then this must seem like the perfect setting for a murder to you,’ he accepted. ‘A derelict, apparently empty castle. Guarded by a fierce hound. Inhabited by a darkly unwelcoming man.’

On the surface, all of that was true, and it was what she had initially thought. But in this warmly comfortable setting, with a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, this man no longer seemed quite so formidable. She’d already deduced by his voice that he was a well-educated man, and the removal of that bulky black jumper had revealed that he wore clothes Crys was pretty sure carried exclusive labels.

As for the dog… Well, for the moment he was safely outside.

And the castle itself… Crys was sure this man’s earlier answer, concerning the obvious dereliction outside, so in contrast to its comfortable interior, had been deliberately over-simplified—had merely been an avoidance of the true answer.

This man, she was sure, was playing with her. But not in the way of an attacker with his proposed victim, more as a way of self-defence. Which begged the question—what did he have to hide?

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Mr—I don’t believe I caught your name…?’ She raised blonde brows questioningly.

He met her gaze unblinkingly. ‘I don’t believe I gave it,’ he replied hardly.

She was well aware of that, damn him. But she had thought that good manners would— Good manners! What was she thinking of? This man had no reason to be in the least polite to her, let alone introduce himself.

A fact he was all too well aware of, if the knowing smile that now curved his lips was anything to go by!

‘Or that you told me yours,’ he added pointedly.

He was right, Crys decided stubbornly, there was absolutely no need for the two of them to be in the least polite to each other. Besides, she felt a reluctance to tell this man anything more about herself than he already knew.

She stood up, wrapping her scarf back about her throat. ‘It’s getting late.’ She looked pointedly out of the window at the increasing darkness through the foggy haze. ‘I have somewhere else to go.’

Her chances of finding Sam Barton’s home before it became too dark to see anything were pretty slim now, she realised, but she would probably be able to find a hotel somewhere, and could give Molly a ring from there.

‘If you wouldn’t mind seeing me safely to my car,’ she prompted, as the man made no effort to stand up. ‘Merlin may not take too kindly to my going outside alone.’ In fact she was sure, without this man’s presence, that she wouldn’t get any further than the door before Merlin showed his displeasure!

‘Probably not,’ her reluctant host acknowledged dryly.

Crys held her breath as she waited for his next move. If he stood up to see her safely to her car, then all the misgivings she had had where he was concerned were simply her overactive imagination, but if he made no move—

She gave a nervous start as the telephone on the wall began to ring shrilly in the silence of the kitchen, her hat falling to the floor in her agitation.

‘It’s only the telephone,’ the man drawled derisively as he stood up, green eyes glittering with laughter now.

At her expense, Crys knew. But driving in the fog for several hours had already strung her nerves out to breaking point. This unexpected encounter with this man and his gigantic dog had done nothing at all to ease her tension!

‘I know what it is,’ she snapped, before bending impatiently to pick up her hat, her face slightly red from the exertion as she straightened to find him still watching her. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ She frowned as he continued to let the telephone ring. ‘It could be important.’

He shrugged unconcernedly. ‘It could be.’

The monotonous ring of the telephone began to grate on her already frazzled nerves. ‘Well?’ she said sharply.

He tilted his head, listening, finally giving a terse nod of his head as the telephone was abruptly silenced.

‘There now,’ Crys said with satisfaction.

‘Twelve rings before ringing off.’ He nodded.

‘Twelve…? But—’ She broke off as the telephone began to ring again.

‘Twelve rings, ring off, then ring again, and it’s family,’ the man told her moving to pick up the receiver.

Crys frowned at this explanation. She couldn’t have said how many times the telephone had rung before it had stopped, hadn’t been aware that this man was counting them, either.

‘And if it’s not twelve rings before ringing off?’ she found herself asking dazedly.

He put one large hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone, his expression grim. ‘Then it doesn’t get answered,’ he replied economically.

What a strange, strange man, Crys decided with a barely perceptible shake of her head. He lived in this crumbling castle in what appeared to be complete solitude, except for a dog half the size of a horse, chose to answer his telephone only when he was sure the call was from a member of his family, obviously finding any other contact from outside his solitary world a complete intrusion—and yet at the same time he felt enough compassion at the death of a wild dog to dig it a grave in ground that had been frozen for weeks.

Enigmatic hardly began to describe such behavior. He was completely beyond Crys’s comprehension—

‘Is it okay if I answer this now?’ He held up the receiver with his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Or do you have any other questions that need answering before I do?’ He quirked mocking brows.

Once again Crys felt that flush in her cheeks. ‘Go ahead,’ she invited dryly, turning away from the mockery in his gaze to move listlessly about the kitchen.

She would have liked to be able to leave altogether while he took the call, but she was still too all aware of the slavering Merlin patrolling outside. Besides—

Crys came to an abrupt halt in her aimless meandering, suddenly arrested by something this man had said on the one side of the conversation she could hear.

‘Just cut out the excuses, Molly, and tell me exactly when you do expect to get here?’ he barked impatiently. ‘The day after tomorrow?’ He obviously repeated the answer he received. ‘And exactly what am I expected to do with your guest until you do decide to put in an appearance?’ he added exasperatedly.

Crys was staring at him now, eyes wide with disbelief. Molly. He had named his caller as Molly!

‘Very funny,’ he retorted scathingly at the reply he received, shooting Crys an irritated look as he realised she was openly listening to the conversation. ‘Look, Molly, this was not part of the deal. I agreed to letting you bring this Chris here for a few days on condition you kept the parents off my back over Christmas—yes, I know you did that by inviting them to New York to stay with you. But that doesn’t alter the fact that you can’t just expect to dump this man on me while you— What did you just say?’ He became suddenly still, appearing all the more menacing because of that stillness.

Crys gave a wince, well able to imagine what Molly had only just informed him.

He had named his caller as Molly. And she lived in New York… It was too much of a coincidence for Crys to be wrong in the conclusion she had come to.

This man—unbelievable as it might seem!—had to be Sam Barton. Molly’s brother. And until a few seconds ago Sam had thought Molly was bringing a man called Chris to stay with him for a few days. She was sure he was no longer under that particular misapprehension!

She sensed Sam’s emerald gaze on her now, as an unpalatable thought obviously occurred to him, so she deliberately kept her own eyes averted from what she knew would now be his hard, accusing ones.

This was awful! Worse than anything she could ever have imagined!

This man was the older brother Molly so adored!

Crys had agreed, very reluctantly, after Molly’s constant badgering of her, to spend a few days with her at the Yorkshire home of her older brother. But Molly was warm and bubbly, extremely caring—was probably the best friend Crys had ever had—whereas this man—Molly’s brother, Sam!—on their short acquaintance, appeared to have none of those attributes!

‘No, Molly.’ Sam was talking dryly to his sister now. ‘I will not frighten your friend away by doing my Heathcliff impression. Yes, I’ll tell her how sorry you are not to be here when she arrives. Yes, I’ll make her welcome.’ Impatience entered his voice now. “‘Be kind to her”…?’ he repeated slowly, green gaze openly taunting at the colour that had entered Crys’s heated cheeks. ‘What do you think, Molly?’ he derided.

Crys inwardly panicked. It wasn’t a question of what her friend thought; she already knew for herself that kindness was not necessarily a natural part of this man’s nature.

‘I’ll do my best.’ Sam suddenly chuckled, a pleasantly husky sound.

Although not particularly so to Crys. This man had terrified the life out of her the first time she saw him, had been alternately caustic and mocking since that time; there was no way she could agree to stay here alone with him for a couple of days while she waited for Molly’s belated arrival!

She stepped forward. ‘Could I—?’

‘Yes, Molly, I will remember to tell Chris how sorry you are. Talk to you later,’ Sam firmly finished, before replacing the receiver, his gaze challenging as he turned back to Crys.

Crys stared back at him with widely apprehensive eyes. Knowing he was Molly’s brother, after all, had done nothing to alleviate her apprehension…!

CHAPTER THREE

CRYS mentally shook herself. ‘That was Molly on the telephone, wasn’t it?’ she said heavily.

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Very astute of you—considering I called her by her name several times!’

Crys decided to ignore Sam Barton’s obvious sarcasm—it simply wouldn’t help the situation if she lost her temper with him. Although…she wasn’t sure anything could improve the immediate situation!

‘And you’re her brother, Sam,’ she said evenly.

Although two people more unalike Crys couldn’t imagine! Molly was small and red-haired, with warm brown eyes, a gamine and beautiful face, and one of the friendliest natures Crys had ever known. Sam Barton was none of those things!

‘A regular Einstein, in fact,’ he drawled.

Despite her earlier resolve, Crys felt her anger towards this man rising, her cheeks hot with the emotion. This situation was already bad enough, without his unwarranted sarcasm!

‘Mr Barton—’

‘Sam will do,’ he cut in. ‘I take it you’re Chris? Short for?’ he prompted at her nod of confirmation.

‘Crystal,’ she supplied reluctantly, considering the question quite inappropriate in the circumstances.

That hard green gaze raked over her mercilessly, from her tiny feet, her obvious slenderness, to the tip of her silver-blonde head.

‘It figures,’ he finally drawled insultingly.

‘Why does it?’ she came back sharply.

He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘You look as if the slightest thing might snap you in half.’

‘Looks can be deceptive,’ she returned, with pointed reference to his remark earlier concerning Merlin’s docility.

‘Touché.’ His mouth twisted into a humourless smile, that hard gaze once again raking over her with complete disregard for the fact that he was being extremely rude.

Crys was well aware of the fact that she had lost a considerable amount of weight due to the strain of the last year. Her small frame, along with her diminutive height—only a little over five feet—gave her an air of fragility that might otherwise not have been there. Her face was thin, cheekbones prominent beneath haunted grey eyes, jawline finely visible. Only the fullness of her mouth remained the same.

She had hoped that this few days in Yorkshire with Molly might help to alleviate some of that strain—but only a few minutes’ acquaintance with Molly’s older brother had shown Crys that wasn’t going to happen!

‘Well, Crys, it looks as if you don’t have somewhere else to go, after all,’ Sam taunted.

That was what he thought! ‘I take it, from what was said, that Molly isn’t going to be here for a couple more days?’

Even that humourless smile disappeared now. ‘You take it correctly,’ he confirmed grimly. ‘The rehearsals for the film she starts shooting next month have run over schedule,’ he explained briefly, before picking up his empty mug and moving to pour a refill. ‘Want one?’ he offered belatedly.

‘No, thank you,’ she returned primly, aware that his lack of manners in not offering her more coffee before was probably due to the fact that he spent most of his time here alone—that he wasn’t used to catering to the needs of a guest. It wasn’t a feeling she, personally, intended altering for him, either! She was also aware that, as an actress, Molly had a schedule often disturbed in this way. It was one of the reasons they had decided to drive up separately to Yorkshire. ‘As Molly can’t make it for a while, I think it would be better—’ for all of them! ‘—if I—’

‘I hope you aren’t going to suggest booking into a hotel,’ Sam rasped, shaking his head. ‘Molly would never forgive me if I allowed you to do that.’

Now it was Crys’s turn to give a humourless smile. ‘And I’m sure that would bother you!’

‘As a matter of fact—yes, it would,’ he replied firmly. ‘Molly is very dear to me.’ His voice was husky now. ‘She’s—special. And any friend of hers is welcome here,’ he added with finality.

Crys silently agreed with him about Molly being special. The two girls had met at boarding-school ten years ago, when Molly had joined the lower sixth in preparation for taking her ‘A’ Levels. For anyone else, a change of school at such a delicate time might have resulted in feeling lost and out of place, but Molly’s nature was such that she quickly made herself at home wherever she was. The two girls had quickly become fast friends, spending most of their time together during school term.

Curiously enough, though, they had never visited each other at home during the holidays… If they had, Crys would already have known that she felt most uncomfortable in the presence of Molly’s brother who was twelve years older!

‘Unless I’m mistaken, you were under the impression that Molly’s friend Crys was a man?’ she asked.

‘Molly was most insistent that I be nice to this particular friend. It was important to her that this Chris should feel welcome. It was a natural assumption to have made, in the circumstances.’

Crys felt a glow of warmth at her friend’s obvious care for her comfort. Although that didn’t change the fact that Sam Barton had now been presented with a female friend rather than the male he had been expecting, or that Molly’s arrival had been delayed for a couple of days…

‘That was kind of Molly,’ she accepted. ‘Although her unexpected absence does change things rather—’

‘Because you’re a woman and not the man I was expecting?’ He frowned darkly. ‘Why does that change anything?’

Surely that was more than obvious, even to a man who chose to live as out of touch with the world as this one did? Oh, not that Crys felt in the least prudish about the fact that they would be a man and woman staying alone here for a few days. Despite her earlier imaginings, this man hadn’t given the least indication that he found her in the least attractive, let alone anything else. It was just that he was so obviously somebody who preferred his own company—possibly with the exception of Molly’s—that having a complete stranger foisted on him for a couple of days simply wasn’t on.

Besides, though Molly had always talked about her older brother in glowing terms, there was something decidedly odd about a thirty-eight-year-old man living reclusively in the wilds of Yorkshire in a castle that was deliberately made to look derelict on the outside but was the height of luxury inside!

Added to which, Crys didn’t feel in the least comfortable with him—would find it absolute purgatory to have to spend days alone here with him.

‘It really is very kind of you to make such an offer, Mr Barton—’

‘The name is Sam,’ he rasped. ‘And I’m sure, even on such brief acquaintance—’ his mouth twisted derisively ‘—that you are well aware that kindness is not a predominant part of my nature!’

Oh, yes, she was aware, all right, had believed him earlier when he’d threatened to drop her if she screamed.

She shook her head. ‘Nevertheless—’

‘Look, as you pointed out earlier, it’s getting late, and the light’s fading fast,’ he cut in briskly. ‘I need to go outside for a while and—and finish what I started. Why don’t you make yourself at home here for an hour or so and we’ll talk about this again when I come back?’

Yes, he would have dropped her earlier, Crys had no doubt, but she reminded herself that he also had enough compassion in him to give a decent burial to a stray dog he had found dead this morning…

‘Pour yourself another coffee,’ he invited lightly, ‘warm yourself next to the Aga. And we’ll see how you feel about things later. Okay?’

The cup of coffee and the Aga sounded inviting, but Crys was already sure how she would feel about things later; she simply couldn’t stay here with this man. He might be Molly’s brother, and Molly obviously adored him, but Crys wasn’t sure she even liked him!

She looked up to find his green gaze still regarding her searchingly, although the blandness of his expression gave away none of what he was thinking.

Crys looked at him now with the knowledge that he was Molly’s beloved brother, desperately trying to see the man her friend talked about with such love and pride. He was a writer, she knew that much about him, although she had no idea what sort of books he wrote. It did perhaps explain why he chose to live in this remote place—but not the reason for the deliberately deceptive dereliction outside!

No, there was something not quite right about this situation—and with all the other upsets she had had in her life this last year she did not want to become a part of it.

‘Molly is going to be very disappointed if she rings back and I tell her you’ve chosen to stay at a hotel until she arrives,’ he said suddenly.

Were her thoughts so transparent? Crys wondered with dismay—because that was exactly what she had been about to tell him!

But he was right about Molly’s disappointment. Her friend simply wouldn’t understand if she went to a hotel instead of waiting for her here.

Crys shook her head. ‘You can’t really want me to stay here.’ She grimaced, sure that company—her company especially!—was the last thing this man wanted. After all, he had made his opinion of her only too obvious earlier.

‘No,’ he confirmed bluntly. ‘But for Molly’s sake I’m willing to put up with it.’

And, his unspoken words implied, so should you be!

He was right, of course. Molly was one of the most kind-hearted people on earth—had invited Crys here because she wanted to help her come to terms with the last year. To choose not to stay here after all, simply because Molly had been delayed a few days, was ungrateful in the extreme. Not that Molly would ever say so, but she would be hurt, nonetheless.

‘As I said, think about it,’ Sam advised harshly, before striding forcefully from the room. The front door slammed a few seconds later as he left the house, instantly greeted by the sound of Merlin’s joyful barking.

Crys’s breath left her in a sigh as soon as Sam was out of the room. She sank down gratefully onto one of the kitchen chairs as she tried to collect her thoughts.

Think about Molly, Sam had meant by that last remark. He was right, of course. But, even so, Crys was loath to agree to stay here with Sam while she waited for Molly to arrive. What would the two of them talk about, for one thing? He certainly didn’t appear to be a man blessed with any of the social graces, so small talk was probably out!

What a mess!

Her first social venture out in a very long time, and she found herself cosily ensconced with the most unwelcoming man she had ever met in her life, miles from civilisation—or at least so it seemed—with the fog seeming to cocoon them in eerie solitude.

The fog!

A brief glance out of the kitchen window showed Crys that, instead of lifting, as she had hoped it might, the fog had in fact thickened. So much so that she could see absolutely nothing now except that silvery blanket.

Great. Even the weather seemed to be conspiring against her!

She was going to look more than a little churlish if she insisted on leaving in weather like this—she was going to look as if she were running away. From Sam Barton!

But wasn’t she? Didn’t the man unnerve her to the point of giving her the jitters? He—

She looked up as the front door opened and then once more closed with a resounding slam, her gaze apprehensive as Merlin preceded his master into the kitchen. The dog really was as enormous as he had appeared outside, filling half the doorway as he came to an abrupt halt, hackles once again rising at her presence there, looking at her with pale canine eyes.

‘She’s a friend, Merlin,’ Sam told the dog impatiently as he shifted the animal out of the way so that he could come into the kitchen as well, bringing a draught of cold air with him as he moved to warm his hands on the Aga. ‘I’m afraid that particular job is going to have to wait until the morning, when hopefully I’ll be able to see what I’m doing.’

‘The fog is worse, isn’t it?’ Crys said unnecessarily, hoping this gigantic dog understood the meaning of the word ‘friend’—although, in all truth, she hardly came into that category!

Sam’s grin was as wolfish as his dog’s growl had been earlier. ‘I wouldn’t even send Merlin out on a night like this!’

His meaning wasn’t lost on Crys and she shot him an impatient look. ‘In that case, I accept your kind offer of hospitality. For tonight, at least,’ she added quickly when Sam gave a grimace of satisfaction at her capitulation.

He nodded abruptly as he straightened. ‘At least you’ve chosen not to add foolhardy to your other more obvious…character traits,’ he drawled mockingly.

Faults, he meant, Crys easily realised. Maybe he should take a look at himself some time!

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Perhaps if you could tell me where I’m to sleep? Then I can go and get my case from the car and indulge myself with a hot bath.’ Her shoulders and neck ached from the hours of driving, and with her recent loss of weight the cold seemed to have penetrated to her bones. ‘If that’s convenient, of course,’ she added belatedly; after all, just because this room was cosily warm and modern did not mean that upstairs there was the luxury of a bathroom and hot running water.

‘Of course,’ Sam echoed dryly. ‘I forgot to ask earlier—can you cook?’

Crys frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that I live alone here? I manage for myself the majority of the time—stews, things like that—but it can get slightly monotonous; Molly usually cooks for me when she comes to stay.’ He quirked expectant brows in Crys’s direction.

In other words, she was going to have to cook for her supper—and his, apparently!

‘Yes, Mr—Sam,’ she amended as he grimaced, ‘I can cook,’ she assured him dryly. ‘Did you have anything particular in mind?’ she added ruefully.

‘Molly’s speciality is stuffed rainbow trout for starters, followed by roast fillet of beef with all the trimmings,’ he came back instantly.

‘I see.’ Crys held back her smile with effort—after all, she really had little to smile about! ‘Do I take it you have the ingredients for that particular meal?’ Of course he did—he would hardly have mentioned it otherwise!

‘In the fridge,’ he confirmed unnecessarily.

As she had thought. Oh, well, perhaps cooking dinner was the least she could do in return for the comfort of having a roof over her head when the elements were so unwelcoming outside.

Except the elements inside—namely Molly’s brother Sam!—weren’t too welcoming either!

But cooking dinner might infuse some sort of normality into this otherwise strange situation.

‘If you’ve finished your coffee, I’ll take you upstairs.’ Sam threw his coat over one of the kitchen chairs before turning decisively towards the door.

In other words, she had finished her coffee. At least, as far as Sam was concerned.

She picked up her hat and scarf before following him out of the room, curious now to see the rest of the interior, sure that it was going to be—

Crys came to a halt in the spacious hallway; a huge oak table stood in its centre and the most magnificent oak staircase led to the wide gallery above. But it was the dome in the ceiling above them, and the long crystal chandelier that was suspended from it, that held her spellbound. Not just the gold filigree work in the dome itself, but also the telling artwork on one of the panels.

‘James…’ she breathed dazedly, unable to tear her gaze away from that telltale trademark.

‘What did you say?’ Sam asked impatiently, having come to a halt partway up the wide staircase as he realised she was no longer following him.

Crys blinked, frowning as she turned towards the sound of his voice, taking several seconds to return to reality.

She moistened dry lips. ‘I was—I—James Webber was your interior designer,’ she finally managed to murmur.

James had been here. Had worked in this house. He’d probably stood exactly where she was standing now as he’d critically appraised his own work.

Sam gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘He was,’ he confirmed. ‘But how did you know that?’ he demanded.

For the second time today Crys was feeling slightly faint, knew also that her face had paled dramatically. But she didn’t dare pass out again in this man’s company; he would wonder what on earth he had been landed with if she did!

It was just the shock of seeing James’s work so suddenly—of knowing that he had been here, that perhaps he’d stood on this very spot…

‘When did he do this?’ She couldn’t stop herself asking. James had never mentioned visiting Molly’s brother in a castle in Yorkshire to her.

‘About three years ago now.’ Sam walked back down the six stairs he had already ascended, his gaze narrowed to green slits as he eyed her warily. ‘I asked how you knew it was Webber’s work?’ he demanded again as he came to stand in front of her.

Crys gave a poignant smile as she looked around her. ‘It’s very distinctive, don’t you think?’ she murmured wistfully. The hallway was decorated in a mixture of warm reds and golds, the carpet up the stairs was a glorious scarlet, and then there was that telltale dome, with its yellow artwork.

‘Very,’ Sam snapped. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question.’

Her gaze returned reluctantly to the grimness of Sam’s face, and she was jolted by the hard look of suspicion she could easily see there. ‘Don’t look so worried, Mr—Sam,’ she said softly. ‘You see the tiny yellow rose up in the dome? On the left side panel?’ She pointed it out as Sam looked up. ‘James always sneaked a yellow rose in somewhere. It was his trademark.’

‘Was?’ Sam echoed sharply.

‘He died,’ Crys said abruptly, swallowing hard, forcing herself to remain calm. After all, she was only stating what was an indisputable fact. ‘A year ago. He had cancer.’

A disease as insidious as the poison Sam had mentioned earlier. A disease that struck indiscriminately, both at the young and the old, the talented, the weak and the strong.

‘I didn’t know…’ Sam replied slowly. ‘Molly introduced him to me. He was a friend of hers from university days.’ He shook his head. ‘She didn’t mention that he had died.’

No, Molly probably wouldn’t have talked of James’s death. She had been almost as shocked as Crys when it had happened. And the two of them had never talked of it since, either…

‘I suppose that’s how you knew him too,’ Sam murmured thoughtfully. ‘Molly must have introduced the two of you,’ he elaborated at Crys’s puzzled expression.

Yes, Molly had introduced Crys and James to each other, eighteen months ago. An introduction that had been love at first sight for both of them.

But there was something Crys wasn’t revealing to Sam about James. Something that was still so painful there was no way she could tell this strange, reclusive man about it.

James Webber had been her husband…

CHAPTER FOUR

‘DO YOU have everything you need?’

Crys turned from placing the beef joint in the Aga, her eyes wide as she slowly straightened to look across the kitchen at Sam as he stood in the doorway. If she had thought his change of clothes earlier had made a vast difference to his disreputable appearance, then the shaving off of several days’ growth of beard had brought about a complete transformation. Underneath all that he was actually a very attractive man, she realised with an unpleasant jolt.

His face was tanned—probably from hours spent outside during the summer months—his eyes deeply green against the darkness of his skin. His nose was long and straight, he had a chiselled mouth, a lower lip that was sensuously full and his jaw was square and firm. The darkness of his hair showed it was still damp from the shower he had obviously just taken. The dark green shirt and black tailored trousers he wore were also an improvement on what he had been sporting earlier.

Crys was once again assailed with a feeling of familiarity—which was ridiculous; if she had ever met this man before she would have remembered it!

As if aware of at least part of the reason for her surprise, he ran a hand ruefully over the smoothness of his shaven chin. ‘I get a little lazy being here on my own so much,’ he acknowledged dryly. ‘Molly would have insisted I smarten myself up when she arrived,’ he added derisively.

Crys gave a smile. ‘That’s what younger sisters are for, I believe.’

Sam strode confidently into the kitchen. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ he asked interestedly.

Her smile instantly faded. ‘No,’ she answered quietly. ‘And, to answer your earlier question, yes, I have everything here that I need to make the meal.’

The bedroom Sam had shown her into a little over an hour ago, with its turquoise and cream décor, had proved as pleasing as the rest of the interior of the house. Although, given the misapprehension Sam had been under concerning the gender of the guest Molly was bringing with her, Crys had wisely not mentioned the fact that there was a double bed in the room!

The adjoining turquoise and cream bathroom had proved just as opulent once Sam had left her alone to unpack, and she had spent an hour in the sunken bath, just luxuriating in hot scented water.

That hour of unadulterated indulgence had gone a long way to settling her earlier agitation at having to stay here alone with Sam. Although she accepted that another reason for her feeling of calm was the fact she could now feel James’s presence in the house, knew that he had been here, that he had been the one to decorate the interior so lovingly. Albeit under Sam’s instructions.

‘Anything I can do?’ Sam offered now. ‘I feel a little guilty now at asking you to cook the meal,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Spending so much time alone, my manners aren’t always what they should be, either,’ he acknowledged.

Crys looked at him consideringly, realising that this was as close to an apology for his earlier behaviour as she was likely to get. She had no doubts that it was probably only being made at all because she was a friend of his sister’s; despite his attempt to appear affable, Sam didn’t give the impression that he particularly cared what anyone thought of his manners, good or otherwise!

‘A glass of wine might be rather nice. White, to go with the trout, if that’s okay?’ She smiled, warm and comfortable in a pale blue jumper and blue denims that she’d changed into after her bath. ‘Did Molly tell you anything about me?’ she prompted as he moved to choose a bottle of wine from the wine cooler Crys had already found in one of the cupboards.

‘Obviously not,’ he replied as he opened the bottle. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have been expecting a man!’

‘Hmm,’ she murmured softly, accepting one of the two glasses of wine he had poured and sipping it appreciatively. He might be the most anti-social person she had ever met, but he certainly knew how to choose a good wine! ‘We were at school together—’