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‘Right.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
Oh, she was convinced, Manda thought. If it was possible, he would do it.
She’d briefly glimpsed Jago’s silhouette in the flare of the match; a dark mop of hair, a strong neck, broad shoulders that, as the light had gone out, had remained a ghostly negative imprint in the darkness.
The impression had been of power: not the weakness of a man who’d surrendered to the easy oblivion of drink. His face had been taut, firm to the touch. Beneath her fingers, his body had the sinewy, muscled strength of a man who knew how to work. And his mouth—she felt the weakness return; his mouth had not tasted of stale alcohol, but had the clean, hard, demanding authority of a man who was confident of his power to overwhelm all and any objections.
But what woman would object?
Despite their bad start, every instinct told her that he was the real deal, a true alpha male, and she’d come within a heartbeat of succumbing to an intimacy that she’d denied herself for so long, aware that, if only for a little while, this man had the ability to wipe out the darkness.
She had resisted the temptation, knowing that when the darkness returned it would be even worse.
Realising that she was still pressing herself against him, clinging close for support, warmth, comfort—something darker and more compelling—she pulled away and he didn’t make any move to stop her.
‘Convinced?’ she said, using the words, a disparaging tone to her voice, to put more distance between them, distract herself from the throbbing of lips that hadn’t been kissed that way in a very long time. Actually, had never been kissed that way. No gentleman ever kissed a woman like that. More was the pity… ‘Oh, please! I can tell when it’s the drink talking.’
‘Really?’ There was a long pause and in the darkness Manda fancied he was smiling, if a touch grimly, not fooled for a minute. ‘Well, maybe you’re right, but since I’m the only help you’re going to get, you might be wise to brush up your manners, Miranda Grenville.’
‘Why?’ She just couldn’t stop herself… ‘Will they help us burrow our way out of here?’
‘No. But it might make the time spent doing it a touch less disagreeable.’
Manda cleared her throat of dust. She knew she wasn’t behaving at all well, but then behaving badly had been her default mode for a very long time. She really would have to try and do better now that she was a godmother, even one whose avowed aim was to lead her little charges astray.
As if…
Unless spoiling them rotten came under that heading. Not just with toys, sparklies, outings and treats. She was going to really spoil them with words, hugs, being there for them when they needed a hand in the dark, by giving herself. She was going to love them, cherish them. And make sure they knew it.
Given a chance.
She sucked in her breath as she faced the very real possibility that she might never see them again. The knowledge that if she didn’t she would have no one to blame but herself. She’d been weak, running away, unable to face up to the demons that haunted her.
Who was she to judge a man like Jago?
If she had to spend much time in this ghastly place, she would probably be driven to blur reality by whatever means came to hand. Or leave.
But maybe he couldn’t do that.
He was after all working here…
‘O-okay,’ she managed. ‘Pax?’ He responded with a grunt. Obviously she was going to have to work harder on her social skills. ‘So, macho man, what’s the plan?’
‘Give me a minute.’ Then, ‘I don’t suppose you have painkillers about your person by any chance?’
‘In my bag,’ she said. ‘Wherever that is. Until we get some light you’ll just have to suffer.’
No. Even in extremis she just couldn’t bring herself to play nice…
‘That’s a pity. I don’t think too well with a headache.’
‘That must be extremely limiting.’ Then, as he began to move, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Not far,’ he assured her dryly at the sudden rise in her voice. ‘My supplies were stored at the far end of the temple. I want to see if I can find anything useful.’
‘Another bottle of cheap brandy?’
‘This isn’t the Ritz, lady. You’ll have to take what you can get.’
‘Mine’s water, since you’re offering.’
The drink thing was getting old, Jago thought. Okay, she was scared—she had every right to be; he wasn’t overcome with an urge to burst into song himself—but a woman with a smart mouth wasn’t about to provoke much in the way of sympathy. Even if it was a mouth that had promised heaven on earth.
‘If I find any, I’ll save you a mouthful,’ he said, making a move.
‘No! Hold on, I’m coming with you,’ she said, grabbing a handful of shirt, and the sudden note of desperation in her voice got to him.
‘There’s no need, really,’ he said. Disengaging her hand from his shirt front and putting his mouth to her ear, he whispered, ‘I promise if I find some I’ll share. Scout’s honour.’
Furious, she backed off. ‘You’ve never been a scout. Anyone less “prepared”…’
‘Tell me, are you always this disagreeable?’ he enquired.
‘Only when I’ve been trapped underground by an earthquake.’ He didn’t answer. ‘Okay. I have a low tolerance of incompetence,’ she admitted. ‘Not that I’m saying you’re incompetent. I’m sure you’re very good at…’
‘Getting drunk?’
She gave a little shivery sigh. ‘N-no. You’re no more drunk than I am.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘although I’ll admit that I did consider drowning my sorrows if it’ll make you happy. Fortunately for both of us, I thought better of it but it’s likely the bottle broke when the earthquake hit so be careful where you put your hands and knees. And don’t grab at me, okay? I’m not going anywhere without you.’
‘No,’ she said again. Then, ‘I’m…sorry.’
Anything that difficult to say had to be sincere and by way of reply he wrapped his fingers about her wrist.
It was slender and he could feel the delicate bones beneath her skin, the rapid beat of her pulse. It was a wonder that something so fragile could have survived undamaged as she had fallen through the roof. She had been lucky. So far.
‘Yes, well, maybe we could both do better. Now, let’s see if we can find a light.’ As she made a move to stand up, he held her down. ‘On your knees, Miranda. Breaking an ankle down here isn’t going to improve matters.’
‘Know-all,’ she muttered.
‘You know, maybe you should try not talking for a while,’ he suggested.
‘You should be so lucky,’ she replied, grinning despite everything. Riling this man might be the last fun she ever had so she might as well enjoy it. ‘So, have you any idea where you are?’
‘I know where this was yesterday,’ he replied, bringing her back to earth with a bump. ‘Once we reach one of the walls I’ll have a better idea of the situation.’
Keeping his free hand extended in front of him, Jago swept the air at head height; it would be stupid to knock himself out on a block of stone. Easy, but stupid and he’d used up his quota of stupid for this lifetime.
Despite the blackness, he sensed the wall a split second before he came into contact with it and, placing his hand flat against the surface, he began to feel for the carvings that would tell him where he was.
‘I’ll need both hands for this,’ he said, but rather than abandoning her while he searched for something that would tell him where he was, he turned and pressed her fingers against his belt. ‘Just hang on to that for a moment.’
Manda didn’t argue. His belt was made from soft, well worn leather and she hooked her fingers under it so that her knuckles were tucked up against his waist as he moved slowly forward, her face close enough to his back to feel the warmth emanating from his body.
‘Well?’ she demanded after what seemed like an endless silence. He didn’t answer and that was even more frightening than his silence. ‘Jago!’
‘I think I’ve found the eagle,’ he said.
‘The eagle?’ Manda remembered the unfinished carving on the stone beside the path.
‘It had a special place in the life of the people who lived here, watching over them.’
‘In return for the entrails of young virgins?’ she asked, trying to recall the stuff she’d heard in the television interview of the well-endowed archaeologist.
‘You read the Courier?’ He didn’t bother to disguise his disgust.
‘Not unless I’m desperate. Should I?’
‘Someone wrote a book about this place and the Courier ran excerpts from it. It was pitched at the sensational end of the market.’
‘They wouldn’t be interested otherwise. And no, I didn’t read it, but I did catch a few minutes of the author when she was doing the rounds of the television chat shows a few weeks back. Very striking. For an archaeologist.’
‘Yes.’
‘I take it you know her?’ Then, when he didn’t answer, ‘Who is she?’
‘No one who need worry about becoming a virgin sacrifice,’ he replied and there was no disguising the edge in his voice. He was, it seemed, speaking from experience. Was she the reason he’d been thinking about taking to the bottle? She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know and, rapidly changing the subject, she prompted, ‘Tell me about the eagle. The one that you’ve found.’
He turned away from her, looking up. ‘It used to be above the altar stone.’
‘So?’
‘In the ceiling above the altar stone.’
Earlier that day Jago had been certain that life didn’t hold much meaning for him. The sudden realisation of how close he had come to losing it put a whole new slant on the situation.
‘Okay, let’s try this way,’ he said, moving to the left too quickly, catching Miranda off balance and she let out a yelp of pain.
‘What is it?’ Jago demanded impatiently.
‘Nothing. I jabbed my hand on something, that’s all—’
‘Glass?’ Jago reached back, took the hand she was cradling to her breast and ran his thumb over her palm and fingers to check for blood. If the bottle had broken, if she’d cut herself… But her hand was dry. ‘It must have been a piece of stone. Be careful, okay?’
She just laughed, deriding him for a fool and who could blame her?
‘I mean it!’ he said angrily, knowing full well that what had happened had been his fault. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I understand. It’s worse than you thought, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not great,’ he admitted.
‘So? Are we going to get out?’
She spoke directly, her voice demanding an honest answer from him, but Jago had spent a lot of time working alone in the Cordilleran temples and his hearing had grown acute in the silence. He heard the underlying tremor, the fear she was taking such pains to hide.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ua46afdbe-9c93-5a42-9e63-d2f1dd9989d4)
‘WE’LL get out. I’m not promising you that it will be quick, or easy.’ Jago knew there was little point in putting an optimistic gloss on it. She had seen the devastation for herself in the flare of the match. ‘Even if, in the confusion, your tour party don’t immediately miss you, I have no doubt that your family are already making things hot for officials at the Foreign Office.’
Her response was a tiny shivering sigh. ‘I’m afraid if you’re relying on that to get us out of here, we really are in trouble. I…I’m sort of taking time out from my family. They have no idea where I am.’
‘Are you telling me that you didn’t even send your mother a postcard?’ he asked, tutting.
‘I don’t have a mother, but even if I had…’ She broke off. ‘I mean— Wish you were here? Would you?’
‘Point taken,’ he said, his pitiful attempt at levity falling flat. He should have known better. He hadn’t just taken time out from his family, he’d walked out of their lives fifteen years ago and never looked back. ‘Not to worry. If no one misses you, there are plenty of people who know I’m out here.’
He hoped that would hold her for the moment. That she wouldn’t realise that if the whole island had been hit as hard as this there wouldn’t be anyone with the time or the energy to care what had happened to him, to any of them. Not until it was too late, anyway.
He continued to hold her hand. Her skin, beneath his own callused palms, was soft. Her fingers long and ringless. Then, as his thumb brushed over the pads of her fingers, he realised that they had taken a pounding. They were rough, the skin torn, her nails broken where she’d clawed at the ground as she’d fallen.
She must have been hurt, he realised, but she wasn’t complaining.
‘Come on,’ he said, with a briskness he was far from feeling. ‘This won’t buy the baby a new bonnet.’
And this time when she laughed it was with wry amusement. ‘When was the last time you bought a baby a bonnet, Jago?’
‘Now that, Miss Grenville, would be telling.’
‘Manda.’
‘Excuse me? You’ve decided that I’m a friend?’
‘I’ve decided that I don’t like being called “lady” or Miss Grenville and I never liked Miranda.’
‘Why not?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Please yourself. Shall we get on?’
There was a long pause, then he released her hand. ‘I’m moving to the left.’
She shuffled after him, studiously ignoring a stream of muttered oaths as the floor shook beneath them once more. He turned and caught her before she went down this time, holding her against him, tucking her safe against his shoulder. With her face pressed into his chest, his body protecting her from falling debris, Manda felt ridiculously secure, despite the fact that some vast megalith could at any moment crush the pair of them.
‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ Jago murmured when everything was quiet, continuing to hold her, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder, her cheek tight against the heavy cotton of his shirt. The beat of his heart a solid base counterpoint to her own rapid pulse rate and in the darkness she clung to him as if to a lover.
