even above the keening of the wind.
The man stirred and half sat up, propping himself on an elbow as he looked dazedly round at her.
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.
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?’
