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twisted smile.
    Flora frowned. ‘Do you really believe we are on opposing sides?’
    ‘I’d hardly be confiding in you if I did.’
    ‘So we are fighting on the same side?’
    ‘I wouldn’t go that far, Miss Daughter-of-the-Laird-Carmichael,’ Geraint said, grinning and getting to his feet. He held his hand out to help her up. Her fingers were slender, perfectly manicured, her palm smooth against his rough calloused hand.
    ‘If we are not enemies but we are not on the same side, then where on earth are we?’
    ‘I’ll tell you where we are, we’re in no man’s land.’
    ‘No man’s land,’ Flora repeated. ‘Our own private land.’
    ‘For the time being.’
    * * *
    No man’s land. A place where only one man existed, Flora thought. A man whose eyes glittered darkly down at her, mesmerising beneath the thick curtain of his lashes. A man who, by his own admission, confided in no one, yet had confided in her. A dangerous man. A lonely man. A challenging man. And a very enticing one. ‘I think I like no man’s land,’ she said.
    ‘So do I,’ Geraint said softly, closing the space between them. He slid his arm around her waist. His fingers were delicate on her jaw, her cheek, making her catch her breath in anticipation, making her tremble, scattering her inhibitions to the four winds.
    Her body was pliant, melding itself to his hardness as she reached up to put her arms around his neck. As his lips touched hers, her eyelids closed. His tongue ran along the soft skin on the inside of her lower lip, and she shivered at the shocking intimacy of it. It was like the first sip of a fine French cognac. Warmth flooded her.
    Her heart pounded. His kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers, sending sizzles of heat coursing through her veins. His hand cupped her breast. They staggered back, stumbling over the steamer chest, until her back was pressed against the attic wall, directly under the skylight. He slid his hands down, cupping her bottom, lifting her. The rough stone grated on her back as she arched against him, encountering the hard length of his erection through his uniform. He moaned, a low growl that made her spine tingle. And then he dragged his mouth from hers.
    For a long moment they stared at each other, eyes glazed with desire, breathing shallow and fast. Then slowly, reluctantly, he released her. As her feet touched the dusty wooden boards of the attic, Flora caught at his sleeve to steady herself. ‘I think the air in no man’s land has rather gone to my head,’ she said.
    Geraint laughed softly. ‘I could tell you what it’s done to me, but I suspect you already know.’ His smile faded as his eyes met hers. ‘I didn’t mean to get so carried away.’
    ‘I ought not to have let you,’ Flora said, realising this very belatedly. Which made her realise that the thought had not occurred to her, any more than it had occurred to her to be embarrassed. On the contrary, what she felt was a kind of elation. This strange, interesting, dangerous man wanted her, and she wanted him. ‘No man’s land,’ she said softly, looking at him with a deliberately teasing smile, ‘is a dangerous but exciting place to be.’

Chapter Five
    ‘Y ou actually kissed him! Oh, my, who would have thought it?’
    Sheila and Flora were in what Lady Carmichael termed the garden room, which was in reality an old scullery at the back of the house used mainly for flower arranging. At this time of year it lay empty and quite unoccupied. Outside, a neat row of army tents had been erected amongst which soldiers bustled around, some in full uniform, some minus jackets, in singlets and braces. Unfamiliar accents echoed over the once-peaceful loch. Sporadic bursts of raucous laughter punctuated the Highland air. ‘I don’t know why you look so astonished,’ Flora said. ‘I’ve been kissed before.’
    ‘Not like that, I’ll bet,’ Sheila replied, grinning. ‘Your Welsh firebrand looks like a man who would know how to