The client, Mr Ainley, owned a number of exclusive boutiques in the North of England, and was interested in new lines. So, with the ground work completed and Mr Ainley very definitely interested, Deborah left his house a little after five o'clock. At the gates she pulled to a halt, undecided as to what she would do. The sky was dark and it was snowing, and she knew that if she wanted to get home tonight, she ought to be heading towards the motorway.
A sudden loneliness gripped her. Inside the warm cocoon of the car she was safe from the weather but cut off from the world. She thought of Jake, his hard face rising up in her mind's eye, and felt like crying. She was tired of being alone, she was tired of being unloved. At this moment she wanted someone to lean on, someone to talk to. She wanted the strength of a man's arms around her. She couldn't fool herself. She wanted Jake. More than anyone in the world, more than anyone in her life, she wanted Jake.
Slamming the car into gear, she turned out of the drive, the tyres squealing. She was angry with herself for being all kinds of a fool. Jake had never loved her, he never would. If she wasn't careful, she would spend the rest of her life longing for him, loving him so much she would never be able to look at another man. It was a depressing prospect.
Reaching the motorway, she stopped the car. The snow was heavier now and she wasn't sure whether to drive on. She could drive back to Kendal and spend the night in a hotel. She didn't feel like driving back to London.
She lit a cigarette, and swallowed back the tears that were suddenly blurring her vision. You're an idiot, she told herself, such an idiot. Then, on impulse, she turned the car around, and joined the motorway on the other carriageway, driving north towards the Lakes. By the time she reached Windermere, visibility was down to a few feet and she was forced to crawl along at ten miles an hour. She didn't examine her motives, but she knew exactly where she was going.
It took her an hour to reach the cottage, even though it was only a few miles from the town. The car was skidding badly, the tyres not gripping the icy road and she would have been frightened to death if she hadn't been so determined to reach her destination. In the end she had to leave it and walk the final quarter of a mile. By the time she reached the front door, she was soaked through, the snow driven into her face by a bitter wind. From the high white drifts, it was clear that heavy snow had fallen over the past few days, and the temperature was very much lower than in London.
The key was where it always was, under a plant pot near the door, and she knew that Charlotte would not mind her using the cottage. As she opened the door, piles of snow fell inside. She scooped it out with her hands, a feeling of profound relief coming over her as the door shut behind her.
The cottage smelled damp and unused and she stumbled in the darkness searching for the light switch. Finding it, she pulled the switch and nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing. Cursing, she fumbled in her handbag and found her lighter.
She tried every switch she could find with the same result. There was no electricity. The fuse box offered no answers. None of the fuses were blown and the mains switch was turned on. She shivered. She shouldn't have come here. The cottage was hardly used in the winter and it would be impossible to stay the night in any comfort.
She walked over to the front door, intending to drive back to Kendal. A blizzard of snow whirled in on her, her footprints already hidden. She was going nowhere.
Trying to make the best of it, she lit a fire from the neat pile of logs in the fireplace. She found a decanter of brandy and some candles in the carved oak sideboard. The spirit warmed her, and made her realise how tired she was, sudden waves of exhaustion washing over her. She lay down on the sofa, her coat draped over her, and stared into the fire, her eyelids drooping. It isn't so bad after all, she thought with a smile. I'll get up in a minute and throw more logs on the fire. I could freeze to death if it goes out...
She woke with a start, two hours later, sure that something had woken her. She was cold and the darkness frightened her, as she lay, ears straining against the silence. The fire had gone out, the room chilled again.
She heard footsteps outside the front door, footsteps muffled in the snow. She swallowed, unable to move, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. There was someone outside.
She couldn't see, but she could hear the slight creaking of the door handle being turned. Had she locked it? She couldn't remember. She must have done because the door didn't open and she let out her breath on a long high-pitched sigh.
She sat up, trying to pull herself together. She didn't want to be lying on the couch if there was an intruder outside. She felt vulnerable, weak and nervous, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the banging on the door.
'Who is it?' she shouted shakily.
'Jake, let me in.'
Laughing with relief she ran to the door and opened it. He stood outside, tall and powerful in the darkness. She wasn't surprised to see him. It was as if she had known he would come.
'You frightened me,' she admitted, still smiling.
'Let me in,' he repeated, his eyes holding hers, unsmiling. Hard.
She stood back and he brushed past her as he came inside. His hair was wet, his coat heavy with snow, the cold dark smell of the night clung to him. Deborah closed the door and turned to him. She felt his anger as he spoke. 'Why the hell are you in the dark?'
'There's no power,' she said, her voice breathless.
He seemed to fill the room with his presence and she felt intimidated.
'I've found some candles, though.' She moved carefully across the room, finding her lighter by touch. She lit two yellow candles, their ghostly flickering bringing the room to life. She picked one up, holding it high, and because her hands were shaking, burning wax spilled on to her fingers. She cried out involuntarily, and Jake was beside her in a second.
'You stupid little bitch,' he muttered, taking the candle from her and examining her burnt fingers. His sure touch made her tremble.
She looked into his hard face. 'Don't' she began,
but he cut her off.
'What are you doing here, anyway? You could have got yourself killed.'
'I don't know why I'm here,' she said defiantly. 'Why are you?'
Jake released her hand but did not move away. 'I followed you.'
'How did you know ...?'
'I rang your office. Your secretary was very helpful.' His mouth curved into a slow smile, and Deborah felt a flash of anger. She could just imagine him charming Alison, winding her round his little finger to get the information he wanted.
'That information was supposed to be confidential,' she said stiffly.
Jake laughed. 'Your secretary can't keep a secret then.'
'How did you know I'd come to the cottage?' She diverted the conversation from Alison because she could feel that old bitter jealousy rising to the surface.
'I guessed you'd come here,' Jake said calmly.
She turned away, hiding her eyes from him. 'How predictable I must be.'
He reached out and caught her chin in his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. He scrutinised her face, seeing the tears barely held back, the sudden pain.
'No,' he said very softly. 'Not predictable. Never predictable.'
'I'm going back to Kendal,' she said through clenched teeth, sure he was laughing at her. 'Now.'
Jake smiled, but his eyes were very cool. 'Don't be ridiculous. You're going nowhere.'
'You can't hold me against my will,' she snapped, pulling away from him, aware that she was being melodramatic.
Jake lit a cigarette, drawing on it deeply, the fragrant smoke drifting from his nostrils. 'Your car is completely buried,' he said, expressionlessly. 'It would take you hours to dig it out, even if the roads were passable.'
'You could take me in your car.'
'The situation is the same,' he said patiently.
'But there's not enough room here for both of us,' Deborah said desperately, the thought of having to spend the night with hi
m in this dark isolated cottage filling her with panic. 'You can go to your own house—it's not far from here.'
Jake frowned, his voice irritated now. 'The roads are closed, for God's sake. If you don't believe me, go out and look for yourself. My car is in a ditch half a mile from here, so stop acting like a child and accept the fact that we are both staying here tonight.'
He shrugged out of his coat with easy grace, and Deborah, swaying with tiredness, watched dry-mouthed. 'Sit down,' Jake instructed curtly. 'You look like death.'
'Thank you!' Huddled on the couch, shivering, she reflected that she didn't need him to tell her that.
'What about the bed upstairs?' His voice was cool and businesslike but Deborah felt the colour pouring into her face.
'It's cold and damp. It needs airing,' she said shortly, the tilt of her head defiant.
Jake nodded, smiling slightly, and while she sat, her limbs slack with exhaustion, he collected blankets, relit the fire and opened some tins of meat and fish found in the pantry. They ate in silence, washing the food down with brandy. Deborah stared into the flames of the fire, warm now, and strangely content. On the mantelpiece, the candles flickered, their soft glow throwing a cocoon of intimacy across the room.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched Jake smoking, aware of every slight shifting of his long powerful body. She tried, but she couldn't drag her eyes away. Whenever she was with him she couldn't stop looking at him, her fascination deep and soul-destroying.
He turned his black head and their eyes met.
'Why did you come here?' he asked again.
'I told you, I don't know.' She looked away, breaking the eye contact. It was true. She really didn't know. Her feelings for him and for this place were so deep, so complicated that she didn't dare to reach down and inspect them. The knowledge that she had never stopped loving him, that she never would, had been enough of a shock, she was still getting over it.
'Think about it,' Jake suggested mockingly.
Deborah leaned back, closing her eyes. 'Too many questions,' she murmured, smiling lazily.
'I've got plenty more.' He moved quickly and silently.
She heard the threat in his voice and her eyes flew open. He was standing over her. The warm contentment fled, the room suddenly full of savage electric tension.
'Jake' Frightened, she gazed up into his
unreadable face.
'Tell me about Robert Stevens,' he demanded grimly.
'No, I won't.' She stood up, feeling too vulnerable with him towering over her. But as she tried to move away he caught her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh as he turned her to face him. 'I want to know,' he said angrily, shaking her slightly.
'It's none of your damned business,' she retorted, hating him for his strength, unable to understand his obsession with a dead man.
'You were seeing him behind my back. I'd say that made it my business, wouldn't you?' His eyes were hot, burning with rage. 'God knows, I could kill you for what you did.'
'It didn't bother you for three years,' Deborah said bitterly, twisting her body in an effort to free herself. 'So why now?'
'You married him,' Jake said through his teeth. 'You were his wife.'
'I wouldn't have thought a little formality like that would bother youl' She spat at him, her voice shaking. 'I read the newspapers, I know what sort of a man you are.'
She had gone too far, driven by the fierce emotions he aroused in her. Jake's hands were violent, but as his mouth found hers, she couldn't pretend that she didn't want it.
She had been thinking about him, aching for his touch since their parting the night before. His mouth explored hers deeply, his anger dissolving in desperate need. Heat flamed between them, hunger in the fusing of their mouths. Deborah moaned softly. He had taught her body the motions of desire, of love. He had taught her so well, and she longed to experience his lovemaking again. Her fingers traced the tensed muscles of his shoulders, sliding beneath the fine material of his shirt to find his hair-roughened chest. She touched him, caressed him, as she had dreamed of doing so often. His skin was smooth and tanned, so familiar, the fine abrasive texture of the hair that matted his chest, well remembered.
Jake shuddered, lifting his mouth from hers, brushing her lips gently. 'God, Deborah, you're driving me insane,' he muttered, his breath coming unevenly. He stilled her seeking hands, covering them with his own. He stared down into her face with dark, narrowed eyes. 'How many times did you go to him, straight from me?' he asked, harshly. 'How many?'
Deborah stiffened, afraid that she had given too much away in those wild desperate moments in his arms. She couldn't bear him to know that she loved him. Had he been testing her, in some perverse way? Did he already know?
'Does it matter?' she asked, defensively.
'Dammit, yes!' His anger scraped along her nerves.
'Well, I don't know,' she lied, unable to shed her pride and tell him the truth. 'I don't know.'
Jake's mouth hardened. He looked as though he was going to hit her, fighting for, and finally gaining control of his anger.
'Why?' The one word question was torn from him, his mouth twisting bitterly. Deborah bit her lip, her lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes. 'I won't talk about Robert, I won't. You're not so blameless yourself.'
'Meaning?' His voice was ominous. He was very still, reminding her of a dark panther, poised for the kill.
'I'm too tired to fight,' she pleaded, something inside her breaking. She couldn't mention Leila, she was sick of arguing, close to tears, shaking. Jake looked at her, taking in the paleness of her face, the dark smudges beneath her eyes.
'Go to sleep then,' he said quietly, surprising her. 'You can have the couch. We'll talk tomorrow.'
'Thank you.' She tried to make her voice sound light and sarcastic, but failed miserably. She fled from the room feeling foolish.
In the kitchen, she washed in freezing cold water, staring out of the window. Outside the sky was clear. Amazingly, the snow had stopped falling, and the heavy blanketed silence rang in her ears.
She ran back to the fire, shivering, holding out her hands to warm them. She felt embarrassed as she unzipped her boots, but glancing surreptitiously at
Jake, she found his face impassive. He wasn't even looking at her. She lay down awkwardly, visibly jumping as he moved towards her.
'Relax.' He had seen her reaction, and a lazy amused mockery threaded his voice. 'You're perfectly safe with me, so don't overestimate your attractions.'
'You wanted me before,' Deborah heard herself reminding him, her voice quivering with rejection.
'Is that an invitation, my love?' His eyes were very dark, his mouth sensual, as he stared down at her.
'Go to hell!' She buried her face against her arms, hearing his soft laughter with her teeth grinding together.
Damn him, she thought furiously. He was too strong, too sure of himself, and he always won. She felt him covering her with blankets and did not move. She closed her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep. She seemed to dream for hours, dreams filled with anxiety and dread. In them, she was running, pursued by a dark, faceless figure. She couldn't get away, her legs leaden, refusing to carry her.
She woke with a scream, Jake's name on her lips. He was beside her in a moment, taking the hand she held out to him, engulfing it in his own.
'You've been dreaming,' he said quietly.
'Oh.' She lay back with relief. Her forehead was damp with perspiration. 'It was horrible.' She shuddered, remembering.
'You're safe now.' Jake's eyes were smiling, his long fingers moving against her palm.
Deborah nodded, turning her face away, embarrassed by the tenderness of the mood between them.
'You look like a littie girl when you're asleep,' he said, staring at her averted profile.
Her head swung round in shock. He had been watching her sleeping. She felt vulnerable, disturbed by the knowledge. She looked into his dark grey eyes and her stomach lurched.
'Who was that woman at the party?' she asked in a small voice.
'What woman?' His smile was indulgent.
'The one in the yellow dress.' She didn't know what had brought it into her mind. A truthful answer would probably hurt her, and of course it was none of her business.
'Ah, that was Caroline. Caroline Winters.' He said it as though he was amused by her question.
The name rang a bell immediately. Caroline Winters had been in Jake's car at the time of the accident. 'Is she your lover?' Her own brazen courage amazed her.
Their eyes met, and tension filled the room, dizzying in its intensity. Jake frowned heavily. 'Don't judge everybody by your own standards.'
It was as though he had hit her. For a second she couldn't breathe. 'My standards?' she echoed bitterly, her anger exploding. 'Damn you, Jake Logan, damn you to hell!'
His mouth tightened, and he reached out, his fingers twisting in the pale gold of her hair. 'Damn me by all means, but I'll take you with me,' he promised, very softly.
'Don't touch me,' she whispered, trembling as his fingers moved against her head. 'I hate it.'
Jake laughed, a harsh humourless sound, his hands straying to her white throat, caressing with strange gentleness. Deborah gasped, frightened, suddenly aware of how alone they were cut off from the world in this tiny isolated cottage.
She looked into the smoky, unsmiling depths of his eyes and accepted that this was exactly where she wanted to be. She had come here, somehow knowing that he would come too. It had almost been an invitation.
'You followed me,' she said, smiling, the curve of her lips unknowingly provocative.
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