'I thought you were stronger-willed than that.' He gave her a glinting look. 'But I suppose if it's the only way for you to keep your hands off me, well
'No—you're wrong. It's not—' But, in her present state, she couldn't even be angry at his taunt, and broke off abruptly, gnawing her lip against another of those waves of anguish that, every few minutes, had engulfed her since that terrible moment of truth. She loved Jared—and, ruthless as he was, he must never suspect it, or the last pitiful rags of her defence against him would be torn from her.
And he mustn't suspect, either, how she was aching for him to take her in his arms. If he really did believe that the only thing saving her was her stubborn refusal to drink at least a little of the wine . . .
Snatching up her glass, she held it out to him. 'I will have some, please.'
He made no response, beyond a quirked eyebrow, filling the glass in silence.
'Thanks.' She took a cautious sip of the pale golden liquid, gasping as the icy bubbles hit her throat. 'It's very good. Is it champagne?'
'No.'
He lapsed into silence again, studying his glass, and the only sounds were tin shrieks and howls of the storm outside, roaring around the building like some primeval beast roused from its lair. Inch by inch, it was dragging itself up from the sea bed to destroy them all, and she was completely helpless —
'What's the matter?' As she gave an involuntary shudder Jared glanced up at her. 'I thought you said you weren't frightened.'
Not of the storm, no. But of you—and, most of all, of myself. 'Of course I'm not.' She gave a tinny laugh and took another sip of wine.
He set down his glass and, uncoiling himself from his chair, lowered himself on to the sofa beside her. Not giving her a chance to move, he took her hand and, turning it over between his, pressed one finger to her wrist.
'Hmm. Very rapid pulse-rate,' he remarked, pursing his lips. 'You know, I think you are scared.'
She snatched her hand away. 'I'm not, I tell you.'
He was sprawling back into the padded cushions beside her, his long bare legs almost touching hers, that V of naked chest inviting her to touch, to explore, while the sensuous scent that was Jared Tremayne and no other man was penetrating her nostrils and weaving patterns in her disordered brain—With a little jerk she came upright. 'Do you . . . ' something was sticking in her throat ' ... do you think it was worth coming? Have you got what you came for? I mean—'
Suddenly aware of the opening her innocent question had given him, she faltered, then went on carefully, 'Have you found out anything about the legend that will help you?'
'I think so, yes. I'm trying to blend the past with the present in the script, so I'll probably work in one or two of the stories Mrs Jenkins told us.' His lips tugged into a smile. 'I imagine it'll end up as an eighteen-certificate film, anyway, so I should be able to use them
— even if they aren't very nice.' He turned his gaze on her. 'Did you enjoy that one about—?'
'She was lovely—' she broke in abruptly '—Mrs Jenkins, wasn't she?'
'Yes.'
The tension of having him near her
— so close that she could hear the rise and fall of his breathing—was winding itself around her until she felt as though she would suffocate.
'I thought I'd send her some flowers before we leave.'
'That's a wonderful idea.' She gave him an almost natural smile.
'I'll order them in the morning. Do you think, fifty pounds' worth?'
In her imagination Petra saw the old lady, overwhelmed with such a superb bouquet of spring blooms. 'Oh, yes, she'll be delighted, I'm sure,' she said warmly. Their eyes met, and for a split-second the storm outside seemed to ebb away as the whole world fell silent. And then she was coming to her feet as blind panic clawed at her.
'I—I must go. I'm very tired, and—'
A tremendous gust of wind shook the windows, roaring down the blocked-up chimney, and her overstrung nerves finally snapped. With a strangled sob she took a step backwards and stumbled into the trolley. Next instant she felt Jared's arms go round her, dragging her to him to steady her, and for a moment, all sensation gone except mindless terror, she clung to him, her head resting against his chest.
Slowly and gently he stroked her hair, until at last the soft, hypnotic rhythm soothed her, relaxing her jagged mind, even while other tensions uncoiled themselves and began wreathing through her like fine mist.
She stood quiescent in the circle of his arms, until he tilted her face up. As he lowered his mouth to hers she wanted to cry out in protest, bin instead heard herself whisper, 'Oh, Jared.'