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She recognised him at once, of course. It had hardly been possible to pick up a newspaper or a magazine for the past eighteen months without seeing his picture. And just lately he’d made the headlines again—for rape.
It was Jay Delaney.
The stone bottle slipped from her nerveless grasp and fell to the floor with a crash that shook the cottage.
And, as if on cue, all the lights finally went out.
CHAPTER TWO (#uf7c9074e-1a26-5478-aefd-46d09b98d2fc)
THE DARKNESS CLOSED round her, suffocating her, and Maggie screamed again, hysterically.
She had to find the door, she had to get away, but she felt totally disorientated. She swung round, colliding with the corner of the dressing-table, crying out in pain as well as fear.
‘Do us both a favour, lady. Keep still and keep quiet.’ Even when angry it was an attractive voice, low, resonant and with a trace of huskiness. Part of his stock in trade, Maggie thought with furious contempt as she rubbed her hip.
She heard the bed creak. Heard him stumble and swear with a vigour and variety she had never experienced before. Then came the rasp of a match and the candle blossomed into flame.
The cottage shook in the grip of another gust, and in the distance Maggie heard a noise like a faint roar. The curtains billowed in the draught, and the shadows danced wildly in the candle’s flicker, diminishing the room, making it close in on her. And him.
They looked at each other in inimical silence.
At last, he said, ‘Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you find me?’
‘Find you?’ Maggie flung back her head, returning his glare with interest. ‘What makes you think I was even looking?’
‘Oh, come off it, sweetheart. What are you—a journalist, or a fan? If you’re a reporter—no comment. If you’re a groupie, you’re out of luck. I’m in no mood for female company, as your own common sense should have told you. Either way, get out, before I throw you out.’
‘Save the rough stuff for your tacky series, Mr Delaney,’ Maggie said, with gritted teeth. ‘You lay one hand on me, and you’ll be in jail so fast your feet won’t touch the ground. And you won’t get bail. That’s if I don’t have you arrested anyway for breaking and entering.’
His voice was dangerously calm. ‘And what precisely am I supposed to have—broken and entered?’
The candle-flame steadied and brightened, the extra illumination providing her with an all too potent and quite unnecessary reminder that he didn’t have a stitch on. A fact of which he himself seemed magnificently unconscious as he confronted her, hands on hips.
‘My home,’ she snarled. ‘This house.’
There was a long and tingling silence. Jay Delaney said slowly, ‘You must be the sister-in-law.’
‘Sister-in-law?’ Maggie’s voice cracked. ‘You mean—Sebastian—told you that you could come here?’ Suddenly she remembered the keys so mysteriously missing. Seb knew where they were kept. He must have helped himself on his way out—while she was in the bedroom. ‘But he had no right—no right at all …’
‘He said there was no problem—that I could hide up here—get a few days’ peace. He said this was the end of the world, and that no one would ever find me here.’ He sounded weary. ‘You were supposed to be going abroad—Martinique, or some damned place,’ he added almost accusingly.
‘Mauritius,’ she said tersely. ‘But, as you can see, I’m standing right here.’
Jay Delaney lifted a bare, muscular shoulder in a laconic shrug. ‘Snap.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘It seems to cover the situation.’ His mouth slanted in a sudden, wry grin.
Maggie drew a sharp, angry breath. ‘Then perhaps you’d care to do the same,’ she said with icy significance, turning her back on him with elaborate ostentation.
To her fury, she heard him give a low amused chuckle. ‘Isn’t it a little late for outraged modesty? How old are you, anyway, sister-in-law—twenty-seven—twenty-eight? I can’t be showing anything you haven’t seen before.’
‘I’m twenty-four,’ she said, stung by his reference to her age, but at the same time relieved that he hadn’t gauged her total inexperience. ‘Not that it’s any concern of yours,’ she added belatedly, listening to the rustle of material and the sound of a zip closing.
‘It’s safe to look,’ he said softly. ‘That’s if you didn’t see enough the first time around.’
Sudden colour burned her face as she turned unwillingly back to face him. ‘Actually, Mr Delaney, I would prefer not to see you at all. I want you out of my house, now.’
‘That could be difficult,’ he said thoughtfully. The jeans he had put on were like a second skin, Maggie thought in outrage. How could he seem marginally less decent clothed than naked?
‘Why?’ she asked glacially.
‘For one thing I have no transport. Sebastian smuggled me out of my hotel and brought me here in a hired car, to fool the Press gang. He’s coming back to collect me in time for the next police interview.’
‘Then you’ll just have to hire a car of your own, and find another refuge.’
‘You have no phone here.’
‘There’s a phone at the farm.’
‘But I can hardly turn up on the doorstep demanding to use it at this time of night.’ His reasonable tone grated on her. ‘Quite apart from the inconvenience I’d be causing, I don’t want to draw attention to myself right now.’
‘Why change the habits of a lifetime?’ Maggie said bitingly.
The firm mouth tightened. ‘I thought I’d made it clear that I’m hiding out here. I can’t set foot out of doors in London without some tabloid baying for my blood. As long as I can keep my presence here a secret, I’m safe for the time being.’
‘And you expect me to sympathise?’ Maggie shook her head. ‘I said Seb had no right to bring you here, and I meant it. I loathe you, Jay Delaney, and every arrogant, sexist, chauvinist element you stand for. You’re totally contemptible. Men like you have got to learn you can’t force yourself on unwilling women and get away with it. I hope they lock you, and all rapists, away forever.’
There was another taut silence. ‘Brave words,’ he said slowly. ‘Considering that, at this moment in time, I’m locked away with you. And who appointed you judge and jury, anyway, my little red-haired spitfire?’
‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she said defiantly.
‘No?’ Jay Delaney took a step towards her. Then another. His eyes held hers, and his mouth curved in a smile without amusement.
Instinctively, Maggie backed away, and found herself trapped almost immediately against the wall behind her.
‘Don’t come near me.’ Her voice sounded shrill and ragged.
‘Why not? According to you, I’ve already raped one woman, so I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.’ He put a hand on the wall at either side of her body, effectively cutting off any hope of escape.
His eyes—they were incredibly blue, she noticed almost inconsequentially—began a leisurely and insolent inspection of her body, lingering in frank assessment on the small high breasts outlined beneath the cling of the black sweater, then sweeping down to the gentle swell of her hips and the length of her slender thighs.
His scrutiny seemed to sear through her clothes. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Her voice cracked. ‘Please—let me go.’
‘In my own good time,’ said Jay Delaney. Using the tip of one forefinger, he lightly, almost casually began to circle the peak of her left breast through her sweater. He did it with aching slowness, letting her nipple harden to taut, greedy life as he touched her. His eyes were dispassionate as they looked into hers.
Maggie leaned back against the wall, palms flattened, fingers splayed against the plaster, as if she was trying to impress herself on it or sink into it completely and be absorbed. Her body felt strangely heavy and her legs were shaking under her.
No one had ever touched her in this way before, and her body clenched in shamed and painful excitement.
What was happening to her, she asked herself dazedly? What was she allowing to happen? This couldn’t be real. It had to be some fantasy—some nightmare. She ought to protest—to struggle—to hit out. She couldn’t just—stand here, and let him subject her to this intimate torment.
Jay Delaney bent towards her, his lips only inches from hers, the sharp smell of alcohol on his breath. The warmth from his body seemed to envelop her, mingled with the faint scent of some cologne he used.
His hand slid under the ribbed welt of the sweater and caressed the warm, smooth skin above the waistband of her trousers, then stroked upwards to the cleft between her breasts and the tiny plastic clip which fastened her bra at the front. He twisted the clasp, snapping it open, letting the imprisoning lacy cups fall away from her breasts.
Her mouth was dry. Every nerve, every pulse in her body seemed to be suspended in anticipation, waiting to feel the stroke of his fingers on her bare and eager breasts.
But it did not happen.
Instead, Jay Delaney stepped back, pulling her sweater back into place almost with indifference. The blue eyes bored into hers.
He said softly, ‘You mentioned something about unwilling women. Do you include yourself in that category?’
She stared at him, trying to speak, trying to think of something to say, but no words would come. Instead, she knew an urge to burst into humiliated tears. She had never behaved like that before—never. Standing there, letting a complete stranger—insult her body.
‘Two more things,’ he said. ‘I hope you, as the owner of this property, are insured, because I may have broken a toe just now, falling over your damned hot water bottle. If I don’t walk, I don’t work, and my television company may well sue you.’
He picked up a half-empty bottle of Scotch from the night table and poured a measure into the glass beside it.
‘And, lastly, observe this. I’ve been drinking steadily since I got here, so even if half a dozen hired cars turned up at this moment I wouldn’t be driving any of them, lady, because I have far too much alcohol in my bloodstream.’ He raised the glass to her in a parody of a toast. ‘You can do as you please, sweetheart, but I’m going nowhere tonight.’
Her throat muscles worked at last. She said thickly, ‘Then I shall leave.’
Jay Delaney shrugged, then stretched out on the bed again, glass in hand. ‘That’s your privilege.’ He sounded almost bored.
Watching him like a hawk, she edged along the wall to the door, found the handle, turned it, and backed on to the landing. He seemed to have lost interest in her, but she didn’t trust him—not after the disgusting—the unforgivable way he had treated her.
Down in the living-room, she snatched up her bag from the kitchen table and ran to the door. As she opened it, the wind shrieked into the room, and for a moment she quailed.
Then, biting her lip, she forced herself out into the wildness of the night. Better to face a demon wind, she thought, than stay with that human fiend, currently drinking himself into extinction on her bed.
Battered and buffeted, Maggie had to fight every step of the way to the car. And even when she was in the driver’s seat, with the door shut, she didn’t feel safe. The car was rocking uneasily with every gust.
She took a deep breath as she started the engine, trying to calculate how far it was to the village. There was a pub there which handled overnight accommodation. They might not be too pleased to have to provide it at one o’clock in the morning, but surely they would understand this was an emergency.
She looked back at the cottage, and the light flickering in the upstairs room. Her sanctuary—and she was being driven away from it.
But only for one night, she thought. Tomorrow she would phone Seb’s London office and give her brother-in-law a piece of her mind, making it clear he could come and take Jay Delaney away. And he can think himself lucky I’m not charging him with indecent assault, she thought, fighting back an angry sob.
But the thought of describing what he had done to her to a police officer made her cringe. And there was the question of her own response too. Why hadn’t she at least slapped his face?
Damn him, she thought seething. Oh, damn him to hell.
If she had been concentrating more, she would probably have seen the giant elm lying across the track in time. As it was, when it loomed up in the headlights, she hit her brakes a fraction too late, and the Metro ploughed into it with a sickening crunch of metal and broken glass. Maggie was thrown forward, but her seat-belt held her firmly enough. Her ribs were bruised against the steering-wheel, and there was a sharp pain above her right eye, but apart from that she seemed to have got off lightly.
She sat, staring through the shattered windscreen, unable to believe what had happened.
She thought stupidly, ‘There’s a tree down. I’ll have to move it if I want to get out.’
She released her belt and tried to open her door, but it was jammed because of the impact, and she started to beat on the panels, shaking, and crying out in fear.
‘Turn your engine off.’ Suddenly Jay Delaney had materialised beside the car, and was shouting at her through the window. She forced her trembling fingers to comply. He gestured at her to wind the window down, and she obeyed.
‘It’s turning out to be quite a night,’ he said grimly, surveying the damage. ‘Your insurance company’s going to be working overtime. So what’s the problem? Door stuck?’
She nodded, her throat working convulsively.
‘Then we’ll try the passenger door.’ He sounded almost soothing. ‘And if that doesn’t work, we’ll get you out through the window, or the hatchback.’
The passenger door opened with a wrench.
‘OK,’ Jay said. ‘Just slide over, and get out.’
‘I—don’t think I can.’
He said something very rude and derisive under his breath, then leaned into the car, taking her hands in his.
‘You can’t sit there all night. If one tree’s down, others may follow,’ he added grimly. ‘So move.’
In the end, he had to half drag her from the car.
‘Can you walk?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then try putting one foot in front of the other, and see what happens.’
That was one of the funniest things she had ever heard, and she began to giggle weakly.
‘None of that.’ Jay’s fingers stung on her cheek, making her gasp. ‘Hysterics in the house, not out here.’
There were candles burning on the table and the dresser when they finally stumbled back into the living-room. Jay pulled out a chair and pushed Maggie into it.
He picked up the beaker from the table. ‘What’s this?’
‘I made myself some Bovril.’ A thousand years ago.
He grimaced. ‘Well, it’s cold now.’ He tipped it down the sink. ‘I prescribe hot milk with a slug of whisky in it.’ He paused. ‘Not that we have a great deal of milk. Seb only provided me with rations for one.’
‘I’ve brought some groceries.’
‘Where are they?’
‘In the boot of the car.’
There was a pungent silence, then he said, too politely, ‘How unfortunate you didn’t mention it a little earlier.’
