Seductive Stranger

'That your mother locked you up in deep freeze years ago and you don't know the first thing about loving anyone?'

She threw the tea at him on impulse; she hadn't intended to do it, she just hurled the mug, and Josh Killane must have had good reflexes because he ducked before the scalding hot tea reached him. He didn't escape entirely, though; Prue's aim was better than she had ever suspected. Swearing furiously, Josh looked down at his shirt and jacket—both tea- stained.

Prue wasn't surprised by the language, she had heard worse. She was afraid of Josh in a temper, though. He was frightening when he looked like that, and she was alarmed enough to wish she hadn't done it.

'You crazy little bitch!' he called her, reaching for her with violent hands, and she fled, hearing him right behind her, and catching up fast. She slammed the kitchen door behind her and managed to get to the stairs before he got the door open again, which gave her a slight lead in their race, but he still caught up with her on the landing. By then, Prue was in a feverish state; half fear, half guilt.

She should have apologised, but as his powerful hands grabbed her she panicked and hit him, and this time she did connect with his face.

The dramatic sound of the slap was probably worse that the actual impact, but both of them were taken aback.

Josh swore some more, the livid mark of her fingers standing out on his darkly flushed skin. His hands fastened on her wrists, yanked her arms down by her sides, and slammed her up against the wall. He held her there with his body; she felt the lean weight, the muscles backing up his insistence. The breath was almost knocked out of her; she had to fight for breath before she could get a word out.

'Get your damned hands off me!' she raged, and Josh raged back.

'You don't chuck a mug of hot tea over me and get away scot-free, so don't think it!'

Prue swallowed, her head swimming and a sick tension cramping her stomach. She couldn't free herself and she couldn't stand the enforced contact; the last thing she wanted was a sensual awareness of him, but how could she be unaware of his body when it touched hers so intimately? She might ignore what he said; she could never ignore what he was doing. When he breathed she felt it; she almost heard the beating of his heart; his face was inches away, his thigh pushed against her own.

'All right,' she muttered, eyes restlessly evading the pressure of his angry stare, 'I'm sorry! There, will that do? Let me go!'

'Is that supposed to be an apology? Why the hell did you throw that tea over me, anyway?'

'I lost my temper!'

'Oh, it's OK to throw things at someone when you've lost your temper, is it?' he sarcastically drawled, black-browed.

'You insulted me,' she said, feeling childish.

'I told you the truth; it was time you faced it.'

'It wasn't the truth!'

'Oh, yes, it was! Your mother was a neurotic and she screwed you up, too. You're more worked up over what happened years ago to someone else than you are over this guy you're supposed to love!'

'Don't be ridiculous, I . . .'

'You ignored your father after your mother took you to Australia!

You didn't answer his letters, although you must have known from them that he loved and missed you, and you didn't come here now because you wanted to tell him you were sorry, or to get to know him again. Why did you come? I wonder if you didn't have doubts about your mother, at last. Did you come to find out whether she was a much wronged woman—or a hysterical neurotic?'

'In some ways, maybe she was!' Prue muttered, hating him. 'But that doesn't mean she wasn't right about your mother and my father. I don't suppose you like admitting it, but they're lovers and have been for years. That's what pushed my mother over the edge. Something made her the way she was!'

'And in her turn, she made you the way you are!' Josh said, and she looked up at him angrily, then froze as she realised how close his face was, so close that she could read every fine line, every pore in his skin, the shadows along his jaw where he needed to shave, the firm moulding of his mouth, the veining on his lids, the black brows and eyelashes.

'I love David!' she said unsteadily, as though by mentioning David's name she could erect a wall between herself and Josh.

His mouth silenced the words; she saw it coming down towards her and she could have turned away, but a terrifyingly intense need consumed her. It wasn't desire or passion, it was an elemental drive like the force that feeds the wind or the tide. She met his mouth angrily, and they kissed like enemies; fighting, not making love, again and again, their bodies clamped together in mortal combat. He was no longer holding her wrists, and she could have got away if she had tried. She didn't try; she had hold of him, her hands attacking him, her nails sinking into his throat, clutching his hair, gripping his shoulders, her eyes shut and her body shaking, until the burning heat went out of her and she pulled her head back.

'No!' she said in a thick voice, feeling sick. 'Go away! Just go away, for God's sake!'

Josh let go of her without argument, and before he could say anything Prue dived past him and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door and locking it. She leaned there, trembling, hating herself. She loved David, she had loved him for years; she couldn't wait to marry him.

There had never been an instant's doubt about how she felt, and there wasn't now. What in heaven's name was wrong with her? She hated Josh Killane as much as she loved David—why, oh, why, had she let him make love to her?

It had happened too suddenly, and yet at the same time, if she was honest, she knew it hadn't been any surprise. She had felt it coming ever since they first met. She couldn't put a name to it, but it had been threatening her on the shadowy outskirts of her consciousness, like a coming hurricane you couldn't see or feel yet, but which all your instincts told you was coming. She shouldn't have let it take her over, though, she should have fought it; why hadn't she fought it?

Cold tears dripped through her closed lids; she tasted their salt on her lips and her whole body seemed cold, too. She felt she would never be wa