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.’
‘They can wait there till tomorrow.’
‘They can indeed.’ He went upstairs and came back with the whisky. He had put on a sweater, she realised, before he had come to look for her, but in a strange way he still didn’t look any more dressed. Or did she just think that because she had been forced to see him so blatantly undressed?
She watched him open the cardboard container and pour milk into a saucepan, then put it on to heat.
‘You didn’t spill any,’ she said.
‘I’m housetrained. I used to live with a woman who was fussy about things like that.’
‘One of your many conquests, no doubt.’ And of course he would have to brag about it.
‘No,’ he said. ‘My mother.’
She was taken aback. That sounded altogether too cosy and domestic for someone like Jay Delaney. He was a jungle creature, a predator.
She watched him fill two beakers, add a measure of whisky to each, and bring them to the table.
‘Here.’ He passed her one.
‘I don’t like whisky.’
‘Tough. Drink it, or I’ll pour it down your throat.’
She sipped, shuddering elaborately. Jay seated himself opposite, and watched her sardonically.
‘Nice performance,’ he commented. ‘Are you in our profession?’
‘No, I’m in publishing.’
‘Let me guess.’ He pretended to think, then snapped his fingers. ‘Virago Books.’
She gave him a stony look. ‘Munroe and Craig, actually. We’re a fairly new imprint.’
‘Presumably, you’re neither Munroe nor Craig.’
‘No. I’m Maggie—Margaret Carlyle. I’m an editor.’
‘And an editor who should be in Mauritius.’
She bit her lip, and drank some more milk. In spite of her dislike of the taste she had to admit that there was a new warmth stealing through her veins, dispelling the trembling and the cold.
‘So,’ he went on. ‘What are you doing here, Maggie Carlyle?’
‘This is my house,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t owe you any explanations.’
There was a silence. Then he said, ‘Let us agree that under normal circumstances, neither of us would wish to spend even five minutes in each other’s company. Yes?’
Maggie nodded, staring down at her beaker.
‘But circumstances are not normal, and whether we like it or not, we are stuck here together under the same roof, maybe for an indefinite period, so we may as well be civil to each other. Right?’
‘Not necessarily,’ she objected. ‘This storm won’t last forever. You can leave tomorrow.’
‘On foot?’ He gave her a steady look. ‘Lady, you aren’t even trying to be reasonable.’
She put down the beaker. ‘Is that how you’d describe some of your conduct tonight?’ Her voice sounded aggravatingly breathless suddenly. ‘Reasonable?’
‘I was just teaching you a much-needed lesson, sweetheart,’ he said levelly. ‘Don’t give it out, if you’re not prepared to take it. Maybe you’ll think twice next time before slagging me off about my supposed sins.’
‘There isn’t a great deal of supposition involved,’ she said coldly. ‘They’ve been fairly well documented.’
Jay leaned back, tilting his chair, surveying her through narrowed eyes. ‘You really like to live dangerously, don’t you, darling? Be warned, the next lesson will be administered to your backside, with the flat of my hand.’
‘Very macho,’ Maggie said with contempt. ‘Are you really pretending, Mr Delaney, that you don’t like your hard-won reputation as a hell-raiser?’
‘You deal with works of fiction every day of your life,’ Jay said with a shrug. ‘So how is it you believe everything you read in the newspapers?’
‘There’s no smoke without fire.’ She really couldn’t believe she had said that, and by the look of unholy amusement on his face neither could he.
‘That’s a novel thought,’ he said. ‘Did one of your authors write it?’
‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘It probably came from one of your television series.’ She pushed her chair back, and stood up. ‘And now I’m going up to bed, in my own spare room.’ She paused. ‘The door locks, and I don’t wish to be disturbed on any pretext.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Jay drawled. ‘If you’d really been following the reports of my private life, you’d know my taste doesn’t run to under-developed redheads.’ He got to his feet. ‘Before
