Terms Of Engagement

By Kathryn Ross

Frazer McClarran had barely blinked when, in order to avoid reconciliation with her ex–husband, Emma had nonchalantly introduced him as her fiance. But he had his own terms: that news of their "engagement" was otherwise kept secret and that they kept their distance as much as possible. But, almost immediately, emotions and passions intervened, as time and again they were forced to play the loving couple. Eventually the game culminated in each other's arms.

Emma secretly wanted to stay there, but she could not get involved with Frazer McClarran – ever – because eventually he would discover that she could never give him what he really wanted....

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460838556

Kathryn Ross

Kathryn Ross is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. At thirteen she was editor of her school magazine and wrote a play for a competition, and won. Ten years later she was accepted by Mills & Boon, who were the only publishers she ever approached with her work. Kathryn lives in Lancashire, is married and has inherited two delightful stepsons. She has written over twenty novels now and is still as much in love with writing as ever and never plans to stop.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

EMMA’S eyes widened at the breathtaking absurdity of her friend’s suggestion. ‘Jonathan and I had a civilised divorce, Tori, but it would still have to be a freezing day in hell before I’d ask him for help.’

‘Well, it’s nearly winter, and I believe it snows a lot in Scotland; you might not have long to wait,’ Tori said brightly. ‘Personally, I’d sell that place and get back down to London and civilisation quickly.’

‘I don’t want to come back to London. Of course I miss you, and my other friends, but the peace and tranquillity here are just what I needed.’

As if to prove the point to herself, Emma transferred the phone to her other hand and pulled back the curtain on the window next to her chair.

The sun was starting to go down. Golden light reflected on the smooth waters of the loch and bathed the mountains in a mellow, misty glow, highlighting the September colours of red and gold in the patchwork of fields. Swallows were flying low over the loch, wheeling and skimming after invisible prey. Soon they would leave for the winter, but she would stay, she vowed silently.

‘So how is Jonathan?’ she breathed in a soft undertone, dropping the curtain back into place.

‘The same as ever, as far as I could tell. Mind you, I didn’t stay at the party for very long. Jonathan was the guest of honour, and as you can imagine it was hard to get to speak to him. Word had just got out that he was about to start casting for his next big movie. Apparently it’s a historical epic. People were all over him.’

Emma could just imagine. Jonathan liked to be the centre of attention. He was a very successful film producer and he usually attracted a sycophantic crowd wherever he went.

‘Anyway, we spoke briefly. He asked if I’d like a small part in his new movie and I told him I’d just landed the lead role in Tom Hubert’s new film. That took the wind out of his arrogant sails.’ Tori’s laugh was the tinkling, attractive sound of pure pleasure.

‘He’s got good intentions, Tori,’ Emma said, impulsively defending her ex-husband. ‘Jonathan isn’t all bad.’

‘You know your problem, Emma? You’re too nice. Jonathan walked out on you. In my eyes that makes him a rat of the first order,’ Tori replied.

‘It was a mutual decision. We both agreed it was best to go our separate ways,’ Emma insisted firmly, then quickly moved on. ‘So, what else did he say?’ She didn’t want to talk about her marriage break-up; even after two years it was still a raw subject.

‘Just that he was looking for some wild and moody location for his film. Somewhere—and I quote—atmospheric. A moor, a loch and an old baronial hall haunted with atmosphere.’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘That’s exactly how I described this place to you when we spoke on the phone last time.’

‘I know. It was as if destiny had just intervened in your life.’

Emma smiled. Tori could be very dramatic, but then she was an actress.

‘So I couldn’t resist, Emma. I had to tell him all about your mysterious uncle who died and left you his estate in Scotland.’

‘You didn’t tell him he’d left me his debts and that the place was practically falling down around me, did you?’

‘No, of course not. I told him his description matched the one you had given me of your property. That you had been living up there for a month and that you were in love with the place. I gushed positively over everything in your life, darling, I really did. You’d have loved it.’

Emma wasn’t so sure about that. ‘What was his reaction?’ she asked cautiously.

‘He’d already heard a rumour that you’d left London…’ Tori hesitated. ‘Actually he said, I give her a month before she’s running back to the city. She’s the type to get withdrawal symptoms when she leaves the five-mile radius of the beauty counters at Knightsbridge.’

Emma’s hands balled into tight fists at her side. How dared he say something so condescending? It just went to prove he had never really known her at all. She’d show him, she vowed silently.

‘But he did also go on to say that he would be very interested to take a look at your estate. That it sounds a promising location for his purposes.’

‘He can go to hell. He’s not coming here.’

‘Don’t be hasty, Em. Do you know how much money they pay out for the right film location? It’s not peanuts, I can assure you.’

‘I know.’

‘You did tell me you would do anything to be able to stay up there? But that the level of debt outstanding against the property is too much, not to mention the work that needs doing to the place?’

‘Yes.’ Emma’s voice was flat.

‘So this could be your chance to put things right. He’s at the Hilton in London for two more nights, and he gave me his number. All you have to do is telephone him and tell him you’re interested and he’ll add your address to the list of properties his location manager will visit next week.’

Emma hesitated. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Good. I’ve got to go, Emma. Speak to you soon.’

The silence in the room seemed overwhelming after the conversation.

Before the phone call she had been happily unpacking a trunk full of her clothing and footwear. The cocktail dresses and smart business suits she had once needed for her job as PA to a high-flying television executive were spread incongruously about the small study. She needn’t have bothered bringing them, because there was no way she would be wearing them again.

She glanced around the study. The faded heavy chintz curtains and the mismatched assortment of chairs had all seen better days. Yet there was an elegance to the room. It had dark panelled walls and a large inglenook fireplace which spoke of the grandeur of bygone days. Only a few rooms in the house were habitable. The floor in the east wing was rotted through with woodworm. Some of the upstairs bedrooms let in the rain because the roof leaked.

Just thinking about these problems brought a rush of panic about whether or not she had done the right thing, rushing up here from London. She had given up a perfectly good job. All right, she hadn’t been earning fortunes, but at least she had been able to afford to run her flat. This estate was well out of her league.

Maybe ringing Jon was a good idea. Tori was right; they did pay big money for film locations—money she could use to transform this place.

If it was anyone else but her ex-husband she would be picking up the phone right now. But the thought of speaking to him, maybe seeing him again, made her blood pump through her veins like molten lava. It wasn’t that she held any romantic ideas that she might still have feelings for him. Her love for Jon had died the day he’d walked out. She was more afraid of the fact that seeing him again would probably stir up painful memories, and she couldn’t face that. She’d rather manage on her own.

Emma returned her attention to her clothes. Lifting up a black plastic bag, she started to throw some of the things in. Maybe she should ask Tori to sell them for her in London. It was all designer gear and would fetch a good price.

Her hand paused over a pair of silver stilettos. Jon had bought them for her to attend the première of one of his films. There was a long silver dress that went with them.

She rooted through the clothes on the chair and found the dress, to hold it up against her slender figure. Then, on some wild impulse, she found herself kicking off her sturdy boots, jeans and jumper and slipping into the slinky dress. She stepped into the stilettos and walked across to the mirror on the wall.

Her reflection was a ghostly shimmer in the fading evening light. The dress was exquisite. It clung to her womanly curves, highlighting the firm swell of her breasts, the narrow waist. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair was wild about the pallor of her small face. She lifted it up, twisting it and tucking it into the sophisticated style she had worn that evening long ago, with Jon on her arm.

They had been a happy couple that night. But then that had been before they had started trying for a family, before they had found out that she could never bear him a child. When that knowledge had entered their relationship Jon’s love for her had started to wither and die.

The light was fading fast, and she reached to switch on the lamp beside her. Golden light cheered the room for just a second, then went out. Frowning, she tried the overhead light. She flicked the switch several times but no light came on.

‘Damn!’ Her voice was unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. She would have to find some candles and go down and check out the fuse-box in the cellar. The thought made a shiver of unease rush through her.

Although she loved the solitude here during the day, at night the isolation was a bit intimidating. She certainly didn’t want to be without electric light.

Emma went across to the bureau by the window and rifled through the drawers until she found some matches. As she straightened a loud banging noise resounded through the house.

Emma dropped the box of matches on the floor in shock. It took her a moment to realise it was someone knocking forcefully against the front door.

Who on earth could that be? she wondered nervously. She was out in the middle of nowhere and she hadn’t heard a car engine.

Retrieving the matches from the floor, she then tried to peek cautiously out of the window towards the door.

It was impossible to see who was standing there because of the awkward angle, and with the onset of darkness a mist was rolling in over the loch. It hung in heavy, damp swathes over the front gardens. There was an eeriness about the scene. She decided that she wouldn’t answer the door. Again someone struck the knocker against the door. Whoever it was, they were very impatient.

She moved quietly out to the hallway, wondering if she could see whoever it was from the window there.

The letterbox rattled as someone lifted it. It made Emma’s heart pound with apprehension.

‘Mrs Sinclair?’ a deep voice with a rolling Scottish accent asked. ‘Mrs Sinclair, I’m Frazer McClarran, your next-door neighbour.’

The name was familiar. Her late uncle’s solicitor had mentioned a Frazer McClarran. She racked her brain to remember what he had told her. It had been something to do with the fact that her uncle Ethan had had a long-running feud going with the man. She had no idea what it was about, but the memory was not reassuring.

‘What do you want?’ she called out cautiously, unwilling to open up the door to a total stranger.

‘A member of your livestock has escaped, causing considerable damage on my property.’ The voice held barely concealed impatience.

‘How do you know it belongs to me?’

‘Because there is a big red E branded on the creature’s butt,’ the voice grated. ‘And if talk around the village is correct, that means it now belongs to you.’

Emma hesitated.

‘Mrs Sinclair, are you going to open the door? Or should I just unload the animal onto your front porch? I can’t hang around here all night; I’ve got things to be doing.’

‘Hold on a moment.’ There was an old oil lamp on the hall table. It took her a few moments to light it with the matches, and the glow did little to illuminate the vast hallway, but it was better than nothing. She put the chain on the front door and swung it open a crack.

‘Can you come a bit closer, please, so that I can see you?’ she asked crisply.

‘What are you doing? Checking I’m not an alien?’ The voice held a hint of amusement now. It was an attractive voice—husky, sexy.

‘How do I know that you are who you say you are?’ she asked.

‘Well, I haven’t got a password, but I do have your damn goat in the back of my Land Rover.’ He hesitated, then his voice softened. ‘Look. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll tie the animal up out here and you can deal with it yourself when I’m gone.’

The gentle concern in the Celtic voice brought her senses rushing back. So, OK, her uncle had had a disagreement with his neighbour, but that didn’t mean 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