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propped by the door.
    ‘I think there’s been some mistake,’ Carrie said. Not hers, though. Cabin six, Kinlochburn Hall. The directions to the estate on the north east side of the loch were unmistakable.
    ‘I think you’re right. Can I get you a drink?’ He reached over the kitchen counter and produced a bottle of single malt.
    ‘I just want you to go. This is a disaster.’ Carrie was deflated. She looked round the cabin. It was OK but not what she’d paid for. And she wasn’t alone . She felt close to tears and hated herself for it. Was she incapable of a normal existence outside the boundaries set by her celebrity lifestyle?
    The man shrugged and poured from the bottle. ‘Can’t do that.’
    ‘Why the hell not? Is this some kind of set-up?’ She half expected a camera crew to appear or the wretched man to produce a tape recorder. Oh, why didn’t she let her secretary take care of the booking?
    ‘Don’t think so, nope.’ He fell down into a large leather settee that was draped in furs. His arms spread along the back of the chair. He drank his whisky. He stared at her.
    ‘So what am I to do?’ Carrie’s voice quivered. People usually did as they were told.
    The man shrugged. ‘Guess if it were me, I’d apologise, leave without any further fuss, and drive a little way along the track until I reached cabin number six.’ He grinned and downed the last of the whisky.
    ‘This isn’t six?’
    ‘Nope.’ He stood and walked past Carrie, the smile still there. He put his glass in the kitchenette sink. ‘The number plaque’s a little weathered. This is number eight.’
    ‘Do you know who I am?’ When he realised, he’d be sorry.
    ‘Nope again.’ He was right in front of her now, all big and tanned with his Scottish accent weighing down his words so Carrie could hardly understand him. No wonder wires had been crossed.
    ‘I’m Carrie Kent, for God’s sake, and you have entirely ruined the start of my break.’
    ‘Pleased to meet you, Carrie Kent. I’m Jason McBride.’ He held out his hand. ‘I own the estate. My family have lived at Kinlochburn Hall for three centuries.’
    Carrie was vaguely aware of her hand being drawn into his, only half conscious of him explaining why he lived in the cabin for part of the year, how he needed the solitude, but fully alert when his mouth suddenly came down on hers.
    As he kissed her, she was already reading the trashy headlines: Carrie’s Secret Snog . . . One-Night Stand For Reality Check Star . . . Kent’s Secret Lover Spills All . . .
    Despite what was going on in her head, she didn’t immediately pull away. She listened to the voice telling her all the things that she’d come to Scotland to do – be alone, relax, unwind, escape, recharge – but her resolve was waning with every inch more of him that pressed against her.
    ‘Stop!’ she managed, gasping for air. ‘I can’t do this. Do you know who I am?’ She knew she sounded ridiculous. Briefly, she was reminded of Brody, felt a pang of regret as she recalled their first passionate night together seemingly a lifetime ago.
    ‘You just told me. And you know who I am. So we’re even.’
    Oh no we’re not .
    And he pulled her close again, attempting a further kiss.
     
    ‘Turns out,’ Carrie said to Leah just before the next show went to air, ‘that he doesn’t even own a television. Imagine, in that great mansion. So he hadn’t got a clue who I was.’
    Leah glanced over the top of her glasses and shook her head. A smile threatened but she fought it back. ‘And you’re honestly telling me that you didn’t sleep with him?’
    ‘Not even a little bit. But we swam together. We fished. Cooked and ate the catch. We went for walks and he showed me the big house.’
    ‘I thought you wanted to be alone.’ Leah handed over several files to her assistant as she passed through the set.
    Carrie was about to defend herself, but there wasn’t time. She paused for a moment then walked out on stage.