To Play With Fire

by Flora Kidd

  busy with the cord which tied the hood of her anorak, trying to unknot it. 'Now I know you're crazy, stark raving bonkers,' he added with a sort of gentle mockery that assured her that his attitude had changed. He was no longer hostile.

  'It was the only way I could get there. The electricity went off and the phone was out of order,' she continued with her explanation.

  'Couldn't you have waited until the storm was over?' he asked, pulling the cord loose and pushing the hood back off her tangled hair.

  'No. You see ...' The job of having to explain about Rita took on enormous proportions which were beyond Tory's present capabilities. She began to shake again, and stood mutely while he unzipped the anorak and peeled it off her to drop it on the floor and pull her into his arms.

  'Calm down, lover,' he said softly, holding her close against his warm bare chest. 'You're going to have a hot bath to wash all that mud off while I see what I can find in the way of clothing for you—a repeat performance of your first visit here.'

  'I ... I have some clothes with me ... in my holdall,' she mumbled into his shoulder.

  'You don't have a holdall with you unless it's on the steps outside,' he replied quietly.

  'Oh, I remember now! I dropped it when I fell in the forest. I ... I couldn't find it ... it was so dark. Oh, Denzil, I've never been so frightened in my life ...'

  'Okay, okay. It's over now. You're here.'

  An arm round her shoulder, he helped her to hobble to the bathroom. He made her sit on the chair while he put the plug in the bath and turned on the taps. When the bath was half full he felt the water with his hand, turned off the cold tap and let the hot run some more. Then he turned off both and turned to her.

  'Can you manage now, or would you like me to stay in case you fall?' he asked coolly.

  'I'll manage, thank you very much,' she said.

  'I'll get you something to wear,' he murmured. 'Don't lock the door.'

  Alone, Tory stripped slowly, becoming aware as she did so of the tattered state of her slacks and of the numerous scratches not only on her legs, but on her arms and face too. Shakily she hopped to the bath and stepped into it. The warm water was like balm to her shaking limbs and she lay back in the steam, half dazed by nervous reaction. She was still lying there half-submerged when Denzil returned. He dropped an article of clothing on the chair and his eyes glinted down at her through the steam.

  'That's all I can find.' He bent and picked up her wet clothing and bundled it under his arm. 'Come into the living room when you're ready.'

  He had gone before she had time to object to his cool invasion of her privacy, but in a way she was glad that she had been too surprised to speak because if she had she might only have roused his mockery, and she didn't want to do that. She wanted him to take over, to use his cool managing mind on her behalf, to comfort and protect her, and in return she would do anything for him, anything.

  She was alarmed at her own admittance that she needed Denzil, possibly far more than he needed her. Somehow it seemed like surrender to a force against which she had been struggling for some time. Stepping out of the bath, she towelled herself and pulled on the man's beach robe he had brought. It was made from striped towelling and was too wide, but because it was only knee length for him it came to calf length on her, and since it had a tie belt she was able to wrap it round herself and secure it with the belt. With shaky fingers

  she turned back the too long sleeves, then combed her hair with a comb on the shelf above the wash basin.

  Knuckles slithered perfunctorily over the panels of the door, it was opened, and Denzil looked round it.

  'Just making sure you're okay.' he explained laconically. 'Leave the mess, I'll clear it up later. I've made a drink for you.'

  In the living room, shaded table lamps shed pools of mellow light and the blue and green striped curtains were pulled across the wide windows to shut out the wet darkness of the night.

  Tory sat, or was rather gently pushed, down on to the big settee. She still felt dithery and when Denzil came back from the kitchen with a mug from which steam rose and handed it to her, she couldn't take it because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to hold it. At once he squatted before her so that his face was on a level with hers.

  'Listen, my darling,' he said gently, and she knew he was using the endearment in the same way as he used lover, in the way the people from his part of England always used such words when they wanted to comfort or reassure. 'You're suffering from some kind of nervous shock and this drink will help you to relax, take the edge off things for a while. Come on, now, take a sip. It's mostly hot milk.'

  It was a long time since she had been given hot milk to drink. It was something she always associated with being ill as a child, when her mother had cosseted her, putting her to bed with an aspirin taken with hot milk.

  'I don't think I can hold the mug, my hands are shaking so much,' she murmured.

  'Then I'll hold it for you.' He held the mug to her lips and she took a sip. 'More,' he insisted, so she took a big swallow. The milk had a strange tangy taste to

  it and she glanced at him suspiciously.

  'What's in it?' she demanded.

  'Rum,' he said, and smiled. She liked the way he smiled, Tory thought. She liked the way one corner of his mouth turned down while the other turned up. 'Rum and hot milk is my grandmother's cure for everything. She says that's why she's lived so long. She drinks it every night before she goes to bed.'

  She took another sip. The smooth yet fiery liquid slipped down easily, and she could feel its warmth spreading through her body.

  'You can hold it now,' said Denzil, taking one of her hands and pressing the fingers round the handle of the mug. 'It'll give me a chance to finish my own drink.'

  Liking the ease that the drink had brought her, Tory sipped more of it, and felt the cushion beneath her sink as Denzil sat down beside her. Glass in hand, he leaned back and put his free arm along the back of the settee behind her.

  'Like to tell me why you were hiking to Port Anne on a night like this?' he asked casually.

  'I couldn't stay in that house any longer.'

  'Because you didn't want to or because someone told you to clear out?'

  'Both. You were right. Rita Jarrold told me to leave the first day. She gave me until tonight to find alternative accommodation. If I didn't, she said she would see that my contract would be torn up and that I wouldn't be able to find another job easily because of bad references.'

  'Have you found alternative accommodation?'

  'I thought I had, but this afternoon the woman who had offered me lodgings told me she'd changed her mind. I asked Magnus if he could persuade his wife to give me more time. I don't know if he did or not, but tonight she came to my room and ordered me to pack.

  They were going out for the evening and she said that if I hadn't gone by the time they returned she'd act ... Oh, she's been horrible and vindictive. She's spreading lies about me, telling people I'm untrustworthy. She's humiliating me.'

  The shame and the shock of all that had happened to her since Monday rose up and burst out. Sobs shook her and tears ran down her face. Denzil took the mug from her hand and set it on the floor with his own glass, then put his arms round her and pulled her against him. She lay with her head on his chest. He didn't say anything, but she felt his hand smoothing her arm under the sleeve of the robe and gradually her sobs subsided. It was good to be held by him, she thought hazily, to feel the solid support of his body, the warm hairiness of his skin beneath her damp cheek, the hardness of bone and muscle against her softness, the tender lingering caress of his hand on her arm. She would like to lie against him all night, to go to sleep like that comforted and protected, but she had to get to Port Anne.

  'Denzil, may I use your phone?' she asked, and found that it was difficult to talk because all of a sudden her tongue felt thick and didn't want to form the words. So she tried again, speaking slowly, making an effort to be distinct. 'Denzil, may
I use your phone?'

  'It's out of order, like the one you tried to use earlier,' he replied lazily.

  'Oh dear!' Tory wanted to giggle because nothing seemed to be working. 'I have to get to Port Anne. I have to book a room in a hotel, but I can't walk there because I've hurt my ankle, so will you please take me in your jeep?'

  'No.'

  He didn't want to help her after all, she thought miserably. And she had thought he would be on her

  side. She raised her head. It seemed very heavy and everything seemed to whirl around her. She glared at him through the tangle of hair that fell across her face.

  'Why not?' she demanded.

  'Because your clothes are in a mess and I haven't anything else but that beach robe for you to wear. Right now it isn't exactly decent.'

  'Oh!' She glanced down and found that the robe was gaping at the front. She pulled one edge of the robe over the other tightly to close the opening, tossed the hair back out of her eyes and encountered his twinkling, derisive eye.

  'You have the most wicked glint in your eyes whenever you look at me, Denzil Hallam,' she accused.

  'You know, Victoria, I think the rum has gone to your head and that I'd better put you to bed,' he retorted with a grin.

  'Which bed?' she asked, frowning at him. There was nd doubt her head was behaving in a most peculiar way, and she longed to lay it on his shoulder again.

  'My bed. There is no other bed,' he replied, and began to shift forward with the intention of standing up. She reached out and caught his arm.

  'Can't I sleep here, in your arms?' she pleaded.

  'Much as I'm flattered by the fact that you want to sleep in my arms, I think you'd be more comfortable in bed. Come on, up you get,' Denzil ordered, rising to his feet and holding a hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. Pain twinged agonisingly in Tory's ankle, the room whirled about her and she had to hold on to him.

  'I'd forgotten about the ankle,' he murmured, and lifted her easily in his arms. Glad that he had taken over again, she put her arms round his neck and nestled her head against his shoulder.

  In the bedroom he set her on her feet, pulled back the coverings on the bed and pushed her down on to it. Dizzily she lay back against the pillow as he lifted her legs on to the bed and covered her with the sheet and thin blanket. He turned away and she felt suddenly desolate, a great fear of being left alone swamping her so that she reached out and caught his hand.

  'Denzil, please don't leave me by myself all night,' she pleaded. 'Please stay with me.'

  `Okay" he replied, calmly reassuring. 'I'll stay. I'll be back in a few minutes.'

  Reassured, she let go his hand and closed her eyes. The pillow was comfortable, the sheets were cool and she seemed to be floating in a circle, round and round and round, so she turned on to her side.

  She must have slept, for she knew nothing more until she felt a movement behind her. Opening her eyes to darkness, she thought she was back in the tunnel of trees coming over the hill and that some monster was moving behind her, coming closer, actually grasping her round the waist. Turning quickly, she put out her hands to fend it off. Her hands touched bare skin, felt the hardness of bone, moved upwards to encounter the roughness of hair.

  `If you're going to persist with this sort of behaviour I hope you're prepared to take the consequences,' Denzil whispered mockingly, his arm tightening about her.

  'Oh, I thought you were a monster,' she exclaimed,, and snatched her hands away.

  'No, I'm merely a man, one with vigorous appetites,' he retorted dryly. 'Judging by your reaction it seems you'd prefer to find yourself with a monster, so why don't you turn over? It'll be safer for both of us if you do. You're still a little squiffed.'

  Tory did as he suggested, but he kept his arm about her and drew her close into the curve of his body, and

  she fell asleep at once, feeling warm and secure.

  When she wakened again sunlight was warm on her face. She was on her back and something heavy was lying across her chest. There was a faint feeling of discomfort in the region of her head, as if her hair was being pulled. Turning her head, she saw that Denzil was beside her, apparently fast asleep, his face half buried in a swathe of her hair which lay on the pillow. The weight on her chest was his arm.

  She frowned, trying to remember how she came to be in this bed with him lying beside her, but all she could recall was ,being in the living room drinking hot milk. She glanced at him again, rioting how calm his face appeared in sleep. His lashes were thick and dark against his cheek and there were fine laughter lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes. His dark hair had golden glints in it, as did the fine dark down which covered the forearm resting across her.

  Suddenly she didn't want him to be asleep. She wanted' him awake and aware of her. She wanted his eyes to glint wickedly at her, his arm to tighten around her and draw her close. She wanted to feel his mouth, hard and passionate, against hers. She wanted the fire of his passion to touch her and rouse a similar feeling within her.

  Her fingers trailed caressingly up his arm over the curve of his bare shoulder. There her hand lingered as if to soak up the pleasure the feel of skin over firm muscle gave her. Slowly she stroked the line of collarbone to his throat, then curled her hand round to the back of his neck. As he moved his head a little in response to her touch, turning so that he was face to face with her, she leaned forward and touched his lips with hers, then drew away and watched.

  His eyelids lifted, his eyes gleamed at her briefly, then were covered again.

  `Denzil?'

  ` Mmm.'

  `Have you been here all night?'

  `Yes. You didn't want to be left alone,' he murmured, his eyes still closed.

  `I can't remember anything. What did you put in that drink?'

  `Only rum, too much for an innocent like you, apparently.' He chuckled sleepily and settled his head more comfortably against her hair. 'I had to carry you in here and later you dreamt a monster was chasing you.' He opened his eyes suddenly and stared at her. `Did you kiss me just now?'

  `Yes.' She was in retreat, drawing back from him and wondering what had caused her to behave in such a way. 'I ... I wanted to wake you up.'

  `Why? To ask me silly questions?' he challenged her, his eyes glinting between half-closed lashes.

  `No er ... that is ... I ...' She broke off as he moved and raised his head to look down at her. Lifting his hand from her arm where it had been resting, he stroked her cheek.

  'I think I like waking up and finding you in my bed in the morning, all pink-cheeked, dewy-eyed and shy,' he murmured, and then his mouth was on hers, forcing her lips to part. At once passion leapt within her. Her senses spinning, she responded to the caress of his hands with caresses of her own. Slowly, deliciously, her body seemed to be melting into a lovely dangerous softness over which her mind had no control.

  A loud banging sound jolted her into stiffness again. Denzil stiffened too, raised his head and glanced towards the door.

  'Who's there?' he called out.

  `Josh. Wake up, man !' Josh's voice was breathless, urgent. 'Der's a yacht in trouble off de coast. She's driftin' towards de rocks on the southern headland. She's one of ours, looks like de schooner Mary Jane. If you want to save her you'd best be coming, boss; Denzil, is you in dere, man? Or is you dead?'

  'I'll be with you in a minute,' Denzil yelled. He looked down at Tory, murmured dryly, 'That was quite an experiment you were conducting. Maybe one day we'll be able to complete it.'

  He rolled away from her and off the bed. Grabbing his white pants off the chair, he pulled them on over the boxer shorts he had worn to sleep in, zipped them up and buckled the belt. From a drawer he took a shirt and pulled it on. From the floor he scooped up his canvas sailing shoes and went from the room, not even glancing at her as he closed the door.

  Alone, Tory rolled on to her stomach and tried to quell the throbbing of her body and the clamouring of her thoughts. What had m
ade her tempt Denzil to make love to her for the second time? Why did her senses take over whenever she was near him? She had never felt like this with Magnus or with any other man. It was a wonderful exciting feeling, but dangerous, especially when it was caused by someone as tough as Denzil whose emotions, she was sure, were ironbound and were never allowed to get out of control.

  Gradually excitement died down and she slept again, only to waken with an alarmed feeling that she had overslept and would be late for work.

  -Climbing out of bed, she yelped with pain as her right foot touched the floor. She sat back on the edge of the bed and examined the greenish-purple swelling between the ankle-bone and the instep. Somehow she must find something with which to bind it, and she remembered suddenly that Denzil had had a sprained ankle when she had first met him. A search of drawers and cupboards brought to light an elastic bandage and,

  the wooden crutches. With the ankle securely bound by the bandage and the crutches adjusted to her height, she went through to the living room and sat down by the telephone, intending to phone Magnus and tell him that she would not be in to work until later. But the phone was still out of order.

  There was nothing else she could do but wait for Denzil to return, and that might not be for hours, depending on how long it took him to bring the yacht in. Feeling hungry, Tory decided to make herself some breakfast. Or was it lunch? she wondered with a rueful glance at her watch. It was almost noon.

  She was sitting at the counter on one of the red-topped stools eating an omelette and drinking coffee when she heard footsteps coming up the steps to the back door and the sound of voices, Denzil's and Josh's. She could not move fast enough to be out of the room before they entered, so she -tried to appear nonchalant, as if she had every right to be wearing Denzil's beach robe and sitting in his kitchen eating her breakfast, and she pretended she didn't notice Josh's eyes go wide with shocked surprise when he saw her.

  Immediately he turned to go back through the door. `See you later, man,' he muttered, and the screen door clanged after him.