PROLOGUE
‘SOMEONESHOULDOUTLAWthe playing of bagpipes indoors.’
The woman on the terrace swung around at his words, the dark waves of her hair swirling invitingly about her shoulders.
Their eyes met and Salim’s pulse gave a thud of satisfaction as he felt again that spark of heat.
Indoors the sensation had been muted, for he’d seen her only at a distance. Yet whenever their gazes collided, or he felt her watching him, awareness had prickled between his shoulder blades.
Her lips curved into a wry half-smile that appealed far more than the beaming grins of the socialites he’d fended off inside. ‘You’re not a fan?’
Salim moved nearer to where she stood, illuminated by flambeaux set on the edge of the lawn. Behind her stretched a silvery loch and beyond that a dark mountain then the vastness of a Scottish summer evening.
Unlike the other female guests, she didn’t wear an evening dress but a tuxedo, tailored to fit her curves and long legs. Enticingly long legs. Yet even in basic black she stood out. And not just because of the glittering silver top visible between her satin lapels.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he murmured. ‘Bagpipes can be quite stirring in the right circumstances.’
He was fascinated to discover a stirring of his own. A physical response to her closeness, low in his body.
It intrigued him. This woman wasn’t precisely beautiful, yet she was...alluring.
More, something about her made his inner self whisper a word that sounded remarkably likeMine.
That was unusual enough to secure his attention.
Salim was a modern man who dealt in concrete reality, proven facts and double-checked figures. Yet he had a healthy respect for his instincts. They’d saved him more than once in the past. He listened to them now.
Her smile widened and Salim felt it like the slow spread of dawn heat warming the earth after a chill desert night. ‘Perhaps you can put in a request for the piper to wake you at dawn. But I doubt it will make you popular with the other guests at the castle.’
The sound of her throaty chuckle sent a ripple of arousal skidding down his spine and straight to his groin.
Salim’s brows twitched together. It was one thing to recognise his body’s reaction to an attractive woman. It was another to feel arousal like an unbroken horse, stampeding straight through him, galloping out of control.
Perhaps on reflection this wasn’t such a good idea.
As he thought it, she half turned away, as if to admire the glen in the fading light. Giving him a reason to end the conversation and return to the party.
As if she weren’t interested in him, despite the looks she’d sent his way.
Suddenly, retreating wasn’t an option.
Because what else could it be, other than retreat?
As if on cue, Salim heard the French doors open behind him, and the measured steps of the waiter to whom he’d given his order.
‘Madam? Sir?’ He proffered a silver tray with two champagne flutes.
Salim lifted both glasses and nodded his thanks. As the waiter disappeared he offered one to his companion.
She’d turned towards him again, frowning up under dark eyebrows. Now he was near enough he discovered her eyes were a clear, dark grey. Like the pewter of the loch behind her, or the silvery curve of his ceremonial scimitar.
‘You ordered these?’
Her words were sharp like a blade too. Yet Salim read not temper in her eyes but a shadow of something unexpected in this elegant, self-contained woman. Nerves.
Was she, too, wary of this attraction?
‘I did. I saw you leave and the idea of quiet conversation seemed infinitely more appealing than the crush inside.’ He paused. ‘But if you’d prefer solitude...’