A Familiar Stranger. Caroline Anderson
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she glanced down to see with horror that her skirt was still tucked into her knicker-legs like a little girl’s. Blushing furiously, she tugged the thing down and slid behind the wheel, dusting the worst of the sand off her feet before shoving them into her shoes without the tights. It didn’t matter. There was no visit, anyway.
Hands shaking so badly that she could scarcely fasten her seatbelt, she started the car and drove a little way, before pulling over and sagging over the steering-wheel with a sigh of frustration. How was she going to cope with him? He would drive her crazy—that megawatt charm and wicked, wicked grin undermining all her good intentions.
‘Damn you, Finlay McGregor,’ she muttered. ‘Damn you for coming back and messing up my mind!’
Shoving the protesting lever into first gear, she swung back out on to the road without checking her mirror. There was a screech of rubber, and the unmistakable tinkle of breaking glass.
She stopped, her heart sinking, and got out.
Finn was just climbing out of the cab of a dark green Discovery with Edinburgh plates, propped gently against a rock by the side of the road.
‘Trying to run me off your territory, Janna?’ he asked mildly.
She gathered her wits. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Aye—by a miracle. That and the fact that I was already slowing down to see if you were all right. I gather you’re not, or you wouldn’t be driving like that.’
She started to shake. How could she have been so careless? If only he hadn’t come back …
‘It’s your fault,’ she told him unreasonably. ‘You taught me to drive!’
He grinned infuriatingly. ‘So I did. Clearly I have only myself to blame. Perhaps you’d better go on to your next visit and I’ll follow at a safe distance.’
She drew herself up. ‘You do that—give me half an hour’s start!’
‘I intend to,’ he said drily, and got calmly back behind the wheel and reversed back on to the road, then got out again to check the damage.
‘Send me the bill,’ she called back to him.
‘My pleasure. Now, perhaps we’d both better move so John-Alec can go about his business?’
Janna looked up and saw the farmer in his Land Rover, waiting patiently up ahead of her. She muttered a rude word under her breath, started her car and left the explanation to Finn.
‘So, Janna, what do you think about this young scallywag, grown up and taking my place, eh?’
Old Bill MacWhirter had an arm flung affectionately around both Janna and Finn, and she found it impossible to avoid seeing Finn’s mouth soften in a smile.
‘Scallywag, sir?’ he challenged.
‘Scallywag. Best damn salmon poacher I ever met—barring your father as a young man, God rest him.’
Finn chuckled. ‘There were more than enough fish.’
‘Oh, aye, laddie, and you were a joy to watch, the way you could tickle them almost into a coma.’
They all laughed, Janna politely and a little distractedly, because she was remembering the first time Finn had kissed her, lying on the banks of MacWhirter’s burn and laughing while her first tickled salmon trout flapped beside them on the bank. ‘Clever girl,’ he’d said, and then suddenly the atmosphere had changed and he had leant over, his cool, wet fingers steadying her chin as his mouth lowered to taste hers. She had been fifteen, and Finn twenty, fully grown, her childhood idol turned with a single kiss into the subject of her adolescent fantasies …
‘So, Janna, answer the question. It can’t be a surprise to you.’
She shrugged. ‘He always said he’d be back,’ she said simply. ‘I hear he’s a good doctor—no doubt our patients will be quite safe. They seem happy enough.’
‘And what about you?’ the old doctor asked.
Janna laughed. She wouldn’t be safe—not by a long way. Finn haunted her every waking moment, and joined her in her dreams. No, she wouldn’t be safe, and for that reason she couldn’t allow herself to be happy. ‘I dare say I’ll make the best of it,’ she replied lightly, and was surprised to see a flicker of hurt in Finn’s eyes before he disguised it with a laugh.
She felt a softening, a weakening of her resolve, and excused herself to slip outside and spend a few overdue minutes shoring up her defences. If she allowed herself to start feeling sorry for him she was lost, and she knew it.
No, Finn had been the transgressor, Finn the one who had turned his back on their love, and Janna was damned if she was going to let him back into her heart on the strength of one tiny flicker of hurt.
She closed her eyes and leant back against the wall, inhaling deeply to soak up the mild, dark night. Why had he come back? Her life was tolerable here, empty of love, but full in many other ways.
Damn him, she had been content until today. Now she was a seething mass of confusion.
The hair prickled on the back of her neck, and she opened her eyes to see him standing a few feet away, watching her thoughtfully.
It didn’t surprise her that she hadn’t heard his approach. For all he was a big man, he was lighter on his feet than anyone else she had ever met. Nor did it surprise her that she had known he was there. She had always had a sixth sense where Finn was concerned. She spread her hands out over the wall behind her, drawing strength from the rough-hewn stone of the old schoolhouse.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked softly.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
She saw his big shoulders shrug slightly in the gloom. ‘No particular reason. You looked a little strained, that’s all. I wondered if you were ill.’
He moved closer, the grass whispering under his feet, and stood just inches away, so that the scent of his soap teased her nostrils and caused an ache low down in her body—an ache only Finn could cause, or ease.
His hand came up, fingers curved so that his knuckles brushed lightly over her cheek. Her lips were suddenly dry and she tucked them in, running her tongue over them and then standing, mesmerised, as his thumb caressed their soft fullness, dragging gently on the newly moistened surface.
A tiny moan rose in her throat, and then it was too late to protest because his body, warm and hard and strong, was cradling hers as his mouth came down and settled against her lips in the softest, gentlest caress.
She wanted to cry out, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, to draw him down with her on to the soft grass and let her love take its course, but some vestige of common sense made her stand still, silent and unresponsive, as his lips sipped and brushed and cajoled.
She ached to open to him, to taste him again, to see if he was still as sweet and potent as he had been that long, hot summer. His tongue swept over her lips, probing gently, and she felt her knees threaten to give way. But she couldn’t give in—she mustn’t.
She turned away slightly and the pressure eased, leaving her empty and unfulfilled as he lifted his head, his expression veiled by the dimming light, but she heard him sigh softly as he stepped back.
The silence stretched, broken only by the muted laughter from the building behind them and the fragmented sound of her breathing. ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked in a strangled whisper. ‘Why couldn’t you leave things alone?’
He sighed again, a deep, ragged sigh full of regret. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t come out here with the intention of kissing you. Forgive me, Janna.’ His hand came up to cup her cheek, but she jerked her head back and hit it against the hard stone of the wall.
A little cry escaped from her lips, and then his gentle fingers were in her hair, finding the tiny abrasion and soothing it with whisper-soft caresses that made her