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The tower house was not as large as it had looked from the air and many of the rooms were rather pokey or awkwardly shaped. But Tawny adored the atmosphere created by the ancient stone walls and fireplaces and she looked at Catrina in surprise when she complained about the difficulty of heating the rooms and the remote location while her husband talked with single-minded enthusiasm about the outdoor pursuits available on the estate. The Victorian extension to the rear of the castle had been recently restored and contained a fabulous ballroom used for parties, modern utilities and staff quarters.
‘You haven’t been with Navarre long, have you?’ Catrina remarked while the men were talking business over by the tall windows. The sun was going down for the day over the views of rolling heathland banded by distant mountains that had a purple hue in the fast-fading light.
Tawny smiled. ‘I suppose it shows.’
Catrina sat down beside her. ‘It does rather. He’s obsessed with his work.’
‘Successful men tend to be,’ Tawny answered lightly, recalling that her half-sisters often complained about how preoccupied their husbands were with their business interests.
‘Navarre will always be more excited about his latest deal than about you,’ Catrina opined cattily.
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Quite deliberately, Tawny flexed the fingers of the hand that bore the opulent diamond ring and glanced across the room at Navarre, admiring that bold bronzed masculine profile silhouetted against the window. As she turned back to Catrina she caught the other woman treating Navarre to a voracious look of longing. Navarre, she registered belatedly, had lit a fire in the other woman that even her marriage had yet to put out.
‘Navarre won’t change,’ the beautiful brunette forecast thinly. ‘He gets bored very easily. No woman ever lasts more than a few weeks in his bed.’
Tawny dealt her companion a calm appraisal. ‘I don’t begrudge Navarre his years of freedom. Most men eventually settle down with one woman just as he has,’ she murmured sweetly. ‘What we have together is special.’
‘In what way?’ Catrina enquired baldly and then she laughed and raised her voice, ‘Navarre … what do you find most special about Tawny?’
Sam Coulter frowned, not best pleased to have his discussion interrupted by his wife’s facetious question.
‘Tawny’s joie de vivre is without compare, and her face?’ Navarre moved his shapely hands with an elegant eloquence that was unmistakeably French. ‘Ca suffit … enough said. How can one quantify such an elusive quality?’
Unexpectedly, Sam gave his wife a fond smile that softened his craggy features. ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself. The secret of attraction is that it’s impossible to put into words.’
Tawny was har
dened to her hostess’s little gibes by the end of the evening and grateful that other people would be joining them the following day. Catrina might have been married to Sam Coulter for two years but the brunette was very dissatisfied with her life.
Clad in a silk nightdress rather than her usual pjs, for she was making an effort to stay in her role, Tawny climbed into the wide four-poster bed. ‘I used to dream of having a bed like this when I was a child,’ she said to combat her discomfiture at Navarre’s emergence from the bathroom, his tall, well-built physique bare but for a pair of trendy cotton pyjama bottoms.
He looked absolutely spectacular with his black hair spiky with dampness and a faint shadow of stubble highlighting his carved cheekbones and wide, mobile mouth. He also had an amazing set of pecs and obviously worked out regularly. Her attention skimmed over the cluster of dark curls on his torso and the arrowing line of hair bisecting the flat corrugated muscle of his stomach to disappear below his waistband, and her tummy flipped.
‘Full marks for all the questions you asked Sam about the history of Strathmore,’ Navarre remarked with stunning cynicism. ‘He was charmed by your interest.’
Tawny stiffened. ‘I wasn’t putting on an act. History was my favourite subject next to art and I’ve always been fascinated by old buildings. Are you always this distrustful of women?’
Brilliant eyes veiled, Navarre shrugged and got into the other side of the bed. ‘Let’s say that experience has made me wary.’
‘Catrina’s still keen on you, isn’t she? Is that why you wanted a fake fiancée to bring with you?’ she asked abruptly.
‘One of the reasons,’ Navarre conceded evenly. ‘And your presence does at least preclude her from making indiscreet remarks.’
Tawny was suffering from an indisputable need to keep on talking to lessen her discomfiture. ‘I have to make a phone call some time tomorrow—’
‘No,’ Navarre responded immediately.
‘I’ll go behind your back to make the call if you try to prevent me. It’s to my grandmother. I always ring her on Saturdays and she’ll worry if she doesn’t hear from me,’ Tawny told him with spirit. ‘You can listen to our conversation if you like.’
Navarre punched a pillow and rested his dark head down. ‘I’ll consider it.’
Tawny flipped round and leant over him. ‘See that you do,’ she warned combatively.
Navarre reached out and entwined his long brown fingers into the curling spirals of red hair that were brushing his chest. For a timeless moment his eyes held her as fast as manacles. ‘Don’t tease—’
Her bosom swelled as her temper surged over the rebuke. ‘I wasn’t teasing!’
‘You mean that you didn’t tell me you were a virgin to whet my appetite for you?’ Navarre derided.
