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
