Conner stood for a moment, battling with uncomfortable thoughts until some inner sense warned him that he wasn’t alone.

He turned swiftly and saw her.

Flora was standing only metres away from him, the wind lifting her brown curls and blowing them around her face, her expression uncertain.

‘Sorry.’ Her voice faltered and it was obvious that she couldn’t decide whether to stay or retreat. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

He wished she hadn’t, because he was in no mood for company and his desperate need for isolation fuelled his temper. ‘Then why did you?’

Flora flinched at his directness, but she didn’t retreat. ‘You were supposed to be at Logan and Evanna’s for lunch. We assumed you’d forgotten.’

‘I needed some space.’

‘Oh.’ She took a breath. ‘It’s just that…you didn’t ring or anything.’

‘No.’

‘I was worried.’

‘Why?’ Since when had anyone worried about him?

‘This business with the islanders,’ she shrugged, embarrassed and awkward. ‘It’s horrible. I thought by now they would have accepted you.’

‘It’s not important.’

‘Of course it’s important! Evanna told me that Finn wouldn’t rent you a boat—’

When he didn’t answer, she gazed at him in exasperation. ‘Don’t you care?’

He could feel the blood throbbing in his veins. ‘What are you doing here, Flora?’

‘When you didn’t show up, I thought I’d bring lunch to you.’

It was then that he noticed the basket by her feet. He could see a bowl of strawberries, thick whipped cream and another bowl, this one piled high with bronzed chicken legs. And white and red checked napkins.

A traditional picnic.

It was all so civilised and in such direct contrast to this place and everything he was feeling that he felt his tension levels soar.

He wasn’t feeling civilised. He wasn’t feeling civilised at all.

In fact, he was in an extremely dangerous mood.

‘It’s pretty here,’ she ventured hesitantly, glancing over to the rocks and the tiny beach. ‘This is the only house on the island that has its own private beach.’

‘Flora, if you have any sense, you’ll leave right now.’

Her eyes flew to his. Widened. ‘I’ve made you angry.’

There was something different about her but he couldn’t work out what it was. ‘I was angry before you arrived. I know you mean well, but I don’t wish to take a trip down memory lane and I especially don’t want to do it holding anyone’s hand,’ he said harshly. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘I went to your barn first and you weren’t there.’ She captured a strand of hair as it danced in the breeze. ‘And I saw Mrs North picking blackberries in the lane outside and she said she’d seen you coming in this direction.’