lips curved in a parody of a smile. ‘I don’t think so, Miss Nash. I believe it would take a great deal more than that to send you down that cliff.’
‘You’re too modest, Mr Buchanan. Besides, it was easy enough,’ she gasped, but the pain in her shoulder, her head, and torn and bleeding hands made a liar of her. Easy enough getting down.
‘Easy?’ he sneered. ‘If it had been easy you wouldn’t be lying here, you would be racing to Luqa airport now with your ill-gotten gains.’
She lay back against the hard rock. He was right, of course, and now he would take the films and she would have to tell Nigel she had failed, appeal to his sense of honour. A hollow little voice suggested that Nigel was not overburdened with the stuff. But Chay Buchanan mustn’t know how much it mattered.
‘I wasn’t in a hurry,’ she said, as if strolling up a rockface was an everyday occurrence. ‘I was...admiring the view,’ she added, with a slightly wobbly attempt at airiness.
‘You won’t admit it, will you?’ he replied, clearly infuriated by this unrepentant display of bravado. Then he eased himself away from her, letting his eyes trail insolently from a pair of clear grey eyes, by way of a very ordinary nose and a full, over-large mouth, to linger on a bosom that rose and fell far too rapidly. ‘But you’re right about one thing. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the view.’
Sophie felt the colour flood to her face as she realised just how vulnerable she was. Pinned to the ground by his body, she had made not the slightest effort to free herself. ‘How...how dare you?’ she blustered, attempting to fling herself away from him, but he had her effortlessly pinioned between a pair of powerful thighs.
‘Don’t go all shy on me, Sophie. This morning you were quite prepared to offer me anything I wanted for that photograph.’
‘That’s not true! Let me go!’ she demanded. Then, breathlessly, as his fingers brushed against her breast and the tip involuntarily tightened to his touch, she squeaked, ‘What are you doing?’ her grey eyes widening in alarm. ‘Stop it!’
‘You don’t really mean that, Sophie Nash,’ he said, knowing eyes dwelling momentarily on the tell-tale peaks thrusting against the thin white cotton of her shirt. ‘There’s no need to be embarrassed. Sex is the obvious response to a brush with death. It’s simply nature’s prompting to ensure the perpetuation of the species. But I’m afraid that right now I have something else on my mind.’
He flipped open the button of her breast-pocket and removed the film she had stowed there for safety. Then, without haste, not deliberately touching her but making no effort to avoid the inevitable intimacy, he thoroughly searched the rest of her pockets, while she squirmed with embarrassment. ‘Just one roll?’ he said at last.
She swallowed, then, very slowly, she nodded. For a moment he stared at her and she held her breath, certain that he would challenge her, would see the blatant lie. But her cheeks were already flaming from the intimacy of his touch and apparently satisfied he stood up, pulling her to her feet and half supporting her as her legs refused to work properly. He propelled her back towards the edge of the cliff.
‘No!’ She tried to step back but he held her fast, and she was too frightened of falling to attempt to jerk free. ‘What...are you going to do?’ He didn’t answer, but took one gashed and bleeding hand, placed the spool of film into it and wrapped her stiff, rapidly swelling fingers around it. She glanced up at him uncertainly.
‘Throw it into the sea, Sophie Nash,’ he commanded, his words eerily echoing her own thoughts as she had perched on the ledge. But that had been before his hands had ransacked her pockets without a thought for her feelings. And his feelings? her over-active conscience prompted. But she was in no mood to listen to such stuff. He had no feelings. He was just a great big bully.
‘No!’ She defied him.
His hand gripped her arm more tightly. ‘Do as I say.’
‘No, damn you. I worked hard for those pictures. Do your own dirty work.’
That’s rich, coming from someone who spies on other people for a living. Throw it!’ For a long moment she outfaced him, chin high, eyes blazing. ‘Throw it!’ he demanded.
Slowly, almost against her will, she turned to stare down at the white sea boiling around the rocks. It was oddly hypnotic, almost mesmerising. She began to sway towards it, only to be snapped back by Chay with a fierce oath. With a faint moan she turned and buried her face in his chest, and for a moment he held her and she knew he had been right. She could so easily have fallen.
And he was right about something else. Held against the warmth of his chest, almost drowning in the scent of his skin, the sharp tang of sweat and sea-water so strong that she could almost taste the salt, she wanted him to pull her down to the ground and take her, right there in the open air, with the sound of the sea pounding in her ears. The knowledge was as brutal as a slap in the face.
Horrified by desire so raw she could practically taste it, she tore herself away from him on legs weak from more than the terror of falling. It was far more frightening than that. She had to get away from this man. As quickly as possible, and not just because of her appalling reaction to him. He had found one film but she- might still get away with the others. Might still snatch her moment of triumph.
She bent to pick up her bag, wincing as its weight bit into her fingers, staggering a little as the ground dipped and swayed. The feeling was beginning to come back to her hands with a vengeance, the cuts and grazes stinging viciously and making her feel nauseous.
‘Nice try, Sophie. But I’ll have the film.’ He caught her wrist, turning her roughly, and for a moment she thought he had guessed. But he forced open her fingers, still curled tightly around the little cassette, and she cried out involuntarily. For a moment he stared at her hand, then with a sharp impatient movement he said, ‘You’d better come inside and clean these.’
‘I’m all right,’ she protested hoarsely. He hadn’t suspected. ‘I’ll go back to my hotel,’ she said quickly. Except that she’d already checked out. Her bags were in the car. She would be driving straight to the airport where she could clean up and change back into the pristine two-piece she had been wearing when she had called on him earlier. And, once she was inside the departure lounge, she would be beyond his reach.
‘You think you can drive in that state?’ he uttered in disbelief.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said desperately. All she wanted was to get to the car and sit down for a moment, until this sickening weakness passed. She paused. ‘I suppose I should thank you for saving me,’ she added, a little grudgingly.
‘Yes, you should,’ he ground out. ‘But we’re so far beyond the niceties of good manners that I’d prefer it if you didn’t bother.’
Hackles rose at his sharp, contemptuous tone. ‘I won’t! In fact, Mr Buchanan, you can rest assured that I won’t bother you ever again.’
‘I wish I could believe that, Sophie Nash. Why don’t I?’ His eyes fastened on the bag biting painfully into her shoulder, and before she could prevent him he had slipped it away from her and was hefting it thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I’d better keep this to be on the safe side.’
Her grey eyes widened in horror and she flung herself at him, making a grab for the bag. ‘No!’ she cried as he effortlessly whisked it out of her reach. Everything spun horribly from the sudden movement.
‘No?’
