Merger By Matrimony

‘So you’ve been drinking,’ she accused coolly, and he gave a bark of humourless laughter.

‘A glass or two of whisky. Is that allowed under the circumstances?’

‘You probably need to go to bed,’ Destiny said. Her body was beginning to ache from the unnatural angle in which she was sitting, pressed back against the chair in an attempt to ward off the sheer force of his masculinity.

‘Is that an offer?’

‘No, it’s not!’ But the suggestion stirred something in her that sent her already accelerated heart into overdrive. Bed? With Callum Ross? Naked bodies coated in perspiration, writhing in passion on rumpled sheets. The image was strong enough to almost make her squeak with terror. ‘Look, why don’t I make you some coffee?’ In other words, Please let me get out of here and away from you so that I can pull myself together.

‘You think that’s what I need?’

‘It might…sober you up…’

‘I’m not drunk.’

‘No, maybe not, but…’

‘Oh, why not?’ He pushed himself back and stood up, fists balled in his pockets, watching her.

‘Black?’

‘Whatever.’ He shrugged and she escaped out of the room, and, after a moment of brief orientation in the hall to make sure that she headed in the right direction and didn’t amble off to some remote corner of the house by mistake, made for the kitchen.

She didn’t hear him enter. In fact, she was only aware of his presence when she turned around with the cup of coffee in her hand to find him standing there behind her. In her shock she took two steps backwards, bumping into the counter, and there was a second’s delay between the coffee spilling and the sudden burning pain on her hand, where most of it had gone. This time her yelp had nothing to do with him but with her hand.

She dashed the cup on the counter and half ran to the sink, pushing the plug in and filling it with cold water; then she plunged her hand in, gritting her teeth.

‘This is your fault!’ she wailed. ‘If you hadn’t sneaked up on me like that, none of this would have happened.’ Through the water she could see the raised red smudge where the coffee had touched. It would come up in a nasty blister and hurt for a bit, but it wasn’t serious. When she looked at him, though, his face was deathly pale.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said roughly. ‘Do you need to see a doctor?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a burn, not a broken hand.’

‘God. Abe must have had some kind of first-aid supplies in this bloody mausoleum.’ He began pulling open cupboard doors which were either empty, or else yielded stores of pristine, unused china.

‘I’ll be fine.’

He swung back to her, raking his hand through his hair. ‘There’s no need to play the martyr, Destiny.’

‘I’m not playing the martyr. Look, why don’t you go and sit down? Or make yourself another cup of coffee.’

‘You’re right. It was my fault.’ He stood next to her and they both watched her splayed fingers under the water. ‘How does it feel now? Is that helping? Should I get a dishcloth and soak it in some water? I’ve got a first-aid kit in my car. No, forget that, the car’s at the pub. We can’t even get out of this damned place to get you to a hospital!’ he groaned, and Destiny sighed deeply.

‘It’s a coffee burn, for heaven’s sake. Surely you must have dealt with this type of thing before?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘You’ve never burnt yourself before?’

‘Not that I can remember. My mother always taught me to be careful around hot things.’ His anger had dissipated, which was good, she thought, although the humour creeping into his voice was almost as dangerous.

She whipped her hand out of the water and said, in a soothing voice, ‘There, it feels much better now.’

‘Wait there.’ He fetched a dry cloth and gently dabbed the water off, while her heart seemed to do a funny kind of somersault and end up somewhere in her throat. ‘You’d better come and sit down.’

‘You’re overreacting!’ Destiny protested fruitlessly, as he led her very slowly back into the sitting room, holding her wrapped hand as though it was made of breakable crystal.

‘Now, sit.’

She obediently sat on the sofa and, alarmingly, he sat next to her, so that the sofa depressed under his weight and her body slid an infinitesimal amount closer to his, so that they were lightly touching. He gently rested her hand on his leg and removed the cloth.

‘Looks much better,’ she said weakly.

‘Looks bloody awful.’