man at her side gave her a frowning look of disapproval and then returned his concentration to his driving.
It had been a mistake to delay his departure from the Cairngorms for that extra day. He had an appointment tomorrow that he must keep, but this was likely to be his last opportunity to go climbing for quite some time. Still, he was paying for his self-indulgence now, having to help out this idiotic female…He grimaced as he looked at her. Tiny little thing…what on earth had possessed her to wear that appalling garment with its dubious invitation? She looked so young and innocent as she slept. His mouth tightened. As he had good cause to know, her sex was adept at promoting fictitious images. He had once thought Jolie just as innocent—until he had found her in bed with someone else three days before their wedding.
She had cried and pleaded with him, begged him to understand, and he, God help him, had been tempted…until he had discovered the real reason she had wanted to marry him. Being wanted for your wealth was one of the penalties paid by the offspring of rich men, his father had told him, adding forthrightly that in any case he considered twenty-one far too young for a man to marry. He had had a miraculous escape, he had added.
Perhaps he had…certainly the experience had soured him against committing himself to any kind of permanent relationship with someone else. There had been women, of course—episodes he was not proud of and which soon lost their savour—but over these last few years there had been no one, and he had been content with that state of affairs. Until now, because for some reason this idiotic female asleep beside him was making him uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was, after all, a man and not a monk!
He wondered how old she was…eighteen? Nineteen? He was thirty-four, and she was not his type anyway. Jolie had been a soignée elegant blonde, tall and slim. This…this child wasn’t much over five feet two, and as for her shape—impossible to see what it was like under that appalling sweatshirt.
When he had picked her up, though, his hands had fitted easily around her waist. Her wrists were fragile and narrow, and she had the longest eyelashes he had ever seen—unless they were false…
As he stole another look at Emily’s sleeping profile, just to make sure that he hadn’t imagined that thick, long sweep of curling lashes, the road dipped for a hundred-yard stretch where it was fully exposed to the full force of the blizzard, and before he could do a single thing about it his Land Rover had run straight into an eight-foot drift of snow.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS Matt’s savage curse that woke Emily, combined with the sudden jarring sensation as the Land Rover’s engine stalled.
As she opened her eyes and blinked sleepily, she realised immediately what had happened, and it was Emily and not Francine who asked automatically, ‘Can we dig our way out, or…?’
Matt gave her a sharp look. Was she serious? The only women he knew would rather die of exposure than risk their long varnished nails by wielding a spade. ‘It might be easier to reverse; the drifts are only going to get worse if we turn back.’
Immediately Emily shook her head. ‘It’s too late,’ she told him calmly. ‘The road will be blocked where it dips down to the river. That’s always the first place the drifts form.’
He gave her another sharp look, but recalling the stretch of road she was referring to had to admit that she was probably right.
‘It looks as if we’re well and truly stuck, then,’ he said tersely. Inwardly he was cursing himself for not setting out earlier. If he had not been having doubts about the wisdom of interviewing for this new job…
Now he had no option but to spend what was left of the night in the close confines of his Land Rover with this idiotic female, who smelled disturbingly of some kind of no doubt expensive French scent.
Emily would have been stunned had she known what he was thinking. The French scent was in fact the rose-scented soap she always used and was so accustomed to that she had no idea of the way it clung so pervasively to her skin.
‘I suppose we ought to get out and check that we can’t dig our way out,’ she suggested cautiously.
‘I’ll do it,’ her companion said tersely. ‘There’s no point in both of us getting soaked.’
Emily wanted to point out that, since she already was, it seemed sensible that she should be the one to check on the extent of the drifting; but she suspected that this arrogant, lordly male would never accept that a woman could do such a task as effectively as a man, so she said nothing and watched as he opened his door and climbed out.
His inspection of their plight was thorough, she had to admit when he eventually returned. She doubted that she would have had the fortitude to stay outside for so long. Snow clung to his sweater and jeans, turning him into a walking snowman, and she watched as he brushed the worst of it off before climbing back inside.
‘We haven’t a hope of getting out,’ he told her crisply, ‘and God knows how long we’ll be stuck here for.’
‘Probably only until tomorrow,’ Emily told him. ‘They normally try to keep this road open if they can. It’s a pity we can’t pull off the road to leave room for the snow plough,’ she added thoughtfully, causing him to give her a considering look.
Perhaps, after all, she was not as idiotic as he had first assumed; certainly there was no trace of panic in her behaviour at his announcement that they were stuck. He wished grimly now that he had stopped at that garage and bought himself something to eat, but he had been so conscious of how late he had been in leaving.
‘I suppose we’d better keep the coffee until we get cold,’ Emily murmured, speaking her thoughts out loud as she sifted through her brain trying to remember the most important laws of cold-weather survival.
They were more fortunate than most. They had warm clothing, a hot drink, some food, and a certain amount of shelter, although she suspected that the Land Rover would soon become very cold indeed without the engine running. She glanced over her shoulder into the rear of the vehicle, wondering if she had actually seen what looked like a rolled up sleeping-bag there. If so, they were very fortunate indeed. If not…well, she had Travis’s sweater to give her an extra layer of warmth, and, if only she could pluck up the courage to do so, she really ought to remove her wet jeans and wrap the car rug round her legs. It was silly to worry about modesty in this kind of situation, where the cold, wet fabric wrapped around her legs could dangerously lower her body temperature to the point where at some stage during their incarceration she could start to suffer from hypothermia.
As though he had read her mind, Matt suddenly said curtly, ‘You’d better get those wet jeans off. I’ve got a spare pair you can have.’
Emily struggled not to laugh at the thought of her wearing his jeans. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she told him coolly. ‘I can use the car rug.’
To her astonishment he shook his head. ‘No, we’ll both need that later.’
When he saw her expression he said grimly, ‘Look, I don’t like this any more than you, but we’ve got to face facts. The temperature in here is going to drop so fast that within an hour both of us are going to be frozen. That means we’ve got to preserve what body heat we still have by any means we can.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost nine o’clock. A bit early to be thinking of going to sleep, but in the circumstances it’s going to be our wisest course of action. I’ve got a sleeping-bag in the back.
