Confrontation

by Sarah Holland

  Suddenly, a loud hammering on the front door made her run out into the hall and open it. The blizzard blew Mark inside, covered in snow and shivering, his face pinched with cold.

  'Nothing!' he said tersely, striding past her, shaking snow from himself as he went. 'Not a damned thing!'

  'Oh, no!' Caroline followed him. 'What are we going to do?'

  'Make the best of it,' he said, pushing open the living-room door. 'Get that fire going, for a start. We might as well face it, Caroline.' He turned at the fireplace, studying her with hard grey eyes. 'We could be stuck here until the morning.'

  She swallowed, her heart missing a beat. 'All night... ?'

  'That blizzard means business.' He looked away, mouth tight. 'I could barely see in it. And the snow is at least four inches deep.'

  'It's got to stop some time!' she said, appalled.

  'And if it doesn't?' His dark brows arched. 'We might find ourselves snowed in for days, Caroline.'

  Suddenly their eyes met and held in appalled silence.

  Her heart missed a beat. 'What are we going to do?' she asked unsteadily, looking up, her chestnut-gold hair spilling damply around her beautiful face, green eyes glittering through long lashes.

  Mark gave a hard grimace. 'I'll build the fire. You go in the kitchen and have a look around for food.'

  Leaving the room, Caroline went into the kitchen with a sense of dread. How on earth would they get through the night? She put the kettle on again and lit one of the gas hobs, then lit them all in order to keep warmer.

  There was a surprising amount of food. Rows of tins containing plenty of interesting dishes that would last them quite a long time if they were careful.

  When she took Mark his coffee, she found him sitting in an armchair with a brooding expression on his face. He had pulled the chair close to the fire, which was now crackling as the logs caught light.

  'There's quite a lot of food,' she told him. 'Do you want to hear the menu?'

  A grudging smile touched his mouth. 'Well?'

  'Spaghetti bolognese,' she said with an attempt at friendliness, 'or steak and kidney pie with new potatoes and peas. Or chicken and mushroom pie-filling with sweetcorn.' Her green eyes watched his face. 'Anything you fancy? Or shall I go on?'

  'I'd prefer the spaghetti,' he said, and prodded the fire with a long steel poker, making logs spit and flames dance. 'I wonder where the occupants are? I'll have to reimburse them for that window, and everything else we might use.'

  'I'll contribute half,' she said at once.

  He gave her a hard, arrogant look. 'I think not.'

  'I'm here too,' she said defensively. 'I'm using their --'

  'And I've got ten times more money than you have,' he drawled, 'if not ten million times. Now, just leave it. I'll pay for everything.'

  'I noticed dust on that pendulum,' she told him, gesturing to the grandfather clock in the corner. 'Nobody can have been here for at least a week. Maybe it's a holiday cottage.'

  His brows drew in a frown. 'I hadn't thought of that.'

  'If it is a holiday cottage, they won't be likely to come home equipped with a snow-plough and rescue us.'

  Mark gave a brief laugh, sipping his black coffee. 'Quite!'

  'Jack Rachey might, though,' she said, watching him carefully. 'He might already be on the phone to the hotel...'

  'Don't make me laugh!' he drawled derisively. 'I should think he'll just shrug his shoulders when we don't turn up.'

  'But it was a business appointment.' She frowned.

  'He's not going to come and get us out of this, Caroline!' Mark said coolly. 'We're stuck with each other. Just accept it!'

  'I'll go and cook lunch,' she said huskily, and left the room.

  The kitchen was very warm now, the gas jets all on full blast, and so she took her coat off. She found an apron hanging on the back of the door, slipping it over her dress and tying it at the back.

  Moving around efficiently, she prepared the spaghetti and opened the tin of bolognese sauce. She found a tin of devilled kidneys and put them into the sauce along with plenty of herbs and spices from the rack.

  Half an hour later, she put her head round the kitchen door and called, 'Lunch!'

  Mark came into the kitchen, intolerably sexy in the black cashmere sweater and black trousers, his hair dry now from the warmth of the fire, and his strong throat and chest gleaming with his tan.

  'That smells delicious!' he admitted grudgingly.

  Caroline turned. 'Just take a seat. I've laid the table.'

  He studied the pine table with its knives and forks and place mats. 'A shame we haven't any wine.'

  'There's a drinks cabinet in the living-room,' she said, serving spaghetti on to the two plates by the stove. 'I'm sure I saw some in there.'

  'Really?' His eyes lit up, and he went off into the living-room, returning a moment later with a bottle of Chianti. 'Imagine keeping wine in the drinks cabinet! Most unorthodox!'

  Caroline laughed, serving the spaghetti sauce on to the thick strands of pasta. Mark hunted for a bottle opener, then got two glasses and started opening the wine. They ate at the table, although they had to attack the parmesan cheese with a knife to hack it out of its solidified state.

  'I feel almost human again,' Mark commented, leaning back in his chair, pushing his plate away and cradling his glass of red wine in one strong hand. 'It's amazing what a little food and warmth will do.'

  She nodded, smiling benignly. 'They're innate needs.'

  'Yes, of course,' he said, sipping his wine. 'What are the others? Food, shelter, comfort and security. There are four, aren't there.'

  'We've got them all in this little cottage.' Caroline sipped her wine.

  'Not quite all,' Mark said with a barbed smile.

  Her green eyes flashed warily to his.

  'Comfort is just another word for physical affection,' he said tightly, mouth hard. 'And there's precious little of that in here!'

  Pulses leaping, she said huskily, 'I'll clear the dishes...'

  'Very domesticated!' he drawled with a nasty smile. 'You really can't wait to get married, can you?'

  Her mouth compressed. Glaring at him, she picked up the plates and walked to the sink.

  'If only Stephen could see you now!' he mocked, watching her. 'The little hausfrau in her pinny!'

  'You don't seriously think I want to do the washing up, do you?' she demanded, sliding the dishes into the water and adding washing-up liquid.

  'No,' he said tightly. 'But you do want to get married.'

  'What's wrong with that?' she said, washing a plate. 'Every woman wants to get married.'

  'My mother didn't,' he said thickly.

  The air between them suddenly crackled with violence.

  Slowly, she turned and stared at him.

  He was white, his skin stretched tautly over his hard bones as he met her gaze and she saw violence flash out of his steel eyes, his mask suddenly ripped away.

  That's it, she thought...

  'I don't know why I said that.' His voice was thickly slurred. 'Forget I mentioned it.' There was a pause, then he stood up, saying abruptly, 'I'd better go and check on the fire.'

  As the door closed, she was staring after him. Questions were buzzing around in her head. She forced herself to keep busy, cleaning the kitchen, her mind revolving around Mark, his complex, knife-edge personality and that hard-driving refusal to be human.

  Suddenly, she noticed darkness falling outside, the snow still whirling violently. She had to go in there and face him at some point. Drawing an unsteady breath, she smoothed down her dress with damp palms, and walked out into the cold hall, then pushed open the living-room door.

  Mark was lying on a sofa, on his side, reading a book.

  He tensed as she came in, and so did she, the tension gripping her stomach like an iron fist.

  His eyes were hostile as he said tightly, 'Hi!'

  'My watch has stopped,' she said, watching him through her lashes. 'W
hat time is it?'

  He glanced at the Rolex on his hair-roughened wrist. 'Six.'

  'Really?' She was genuinely shocked. 'I must have got carried away in the kitchen...!'

  'The little hausfrau,' he drawled, his smile barbed.

  'I like to keep busy.' She walked to the fire, aware of his grey eyes on her body. 'I'm bored now, though. I wish there was something to do.'

  'You could always dust and hoover,' he said tightly. 'It won't get a proposal of marriage out of me, but it'll certainly convince you that you did your best.'

  Caroline gave an angry laugh, hating him. 'You really think I can't wait to marry you, don't you?'

  'You're not the first woman to have used that trick on me, Caroline. My instinct for that kind of danger is finely honed, and --'

  'Is that how you feel about domesticity, Mark?' She stared at him, her gold-brown hair gleaming like silk in the firelight. 'That it's dangerous?'

  'Men don't want marriage,' he said with a hard smile. 'I'm a man. QED.'

  'Why don't you want to get married?' she asked softly, suddenly, her heart beating faster as she concentrated on looking into the flames of that fire blazing in the grate.

  'Don't ask stupid questions,' he said, eyes narrowing.

  'What's stupid about it?' she asked softly, studying the fire. 'I'm just making polite conversation. If you'd rather argue, I'll --'

  'All right,' he cut in tightly. 'Polite conversation about marriage! It benefits women, not men.'

  'Not according to extensive research,' she murmured. 'Quite the reverse, in fact.'

  'I suppose you're going to quote boring statistics at me now.' He laughed. 'Please don't bother. I'm only too well aware of your capacity for twisting the facts to your advantage.'

  'And what about you?' she asked, turning her head slowly, fixing him with her green eyes and meeting that suddenly dangerous stare. 'What facts are you twisting here?'

  'I'm not twisting anything,' he said in a warning voice.

  'I think you are,' she said, her heart beating faster.

  He gave a slow dangerous smile. 'Really? Why should you think that?'

  'Because you have a very good personal reason for not wanting to get married, and it's coloured your whole life,' she said under her breath, and felt the air between them prickle.

  A second later, Mark was sliding off the couch, his hard body straightening as he walked towards her, his eyes predatory, and she could not back away.

  'You little bitch!' he said under his breath. 'I told you something in the kitchen that I should have kept to myself! It's been going round and round in your head, hasn't it?'

  'Round and round,' she agreed huskily, her eyes riveted on his face.

  'I can't believe I told you,' he said tightly. 'Can't believe I said it. I've never discussed it with anyone. Least of all a woman!'

  Caroline's heart was beating very fast. He was towering over her, and the violence in his grey eyes was exciting to her.

  'I'll bet there are twenty thousand questions in that beautiful little head,' Mark said slowly. 'Why not go ahead and ask them?'

  She moistened dry lips. 'Would you really answer them, Mark?'

  Menace glittered in his eyes. 'Why not? After all, we've come this far, haven't we? Stuck together, alone in this damned cottage, with nothing better to do but talk. Hell—I hate sharing secrets at the best of times, but I've already let the cat out of the bag, haven't I?'

  'You don't have to tell me any big secrets, Mark,' she said huskily, watching him through her lashes. 'I'm no secret sharer, either. We can just drop the subject if you like.'

  He laughed harshly. 'Very clever. Putting me at my ease. Making me think it's entirely up to me.' His hand shot out, gripped her chin in hard fingers. 'But it wouldn't be the end of it, would it, Caroline? We both know you're eaten up with curiosity.'

  'You're right,' she said softly. 'I'm dying to know all about it. But I would drop it if you asked me. I would, Mark.'

  His eyes narrowed. 'Ask your damned questions and let's get it over with.'

  She hesitated, then said under her breath, 'Tell me about your mother.'

  'My mother?' he drawled with a slow, cynical smile. 'Oh, she was very beautiful. Very wilful, too, as beautiful women so frequently are. She married my father because he'd made her pregnant. Six months later, I was born. A little surprise. Some might even say—a mistake.'

  'I'm sorry...' she said softly.

  'Don't be,' he said flatly, 'it was my destiny. Fate deals the cards and you play them as best you can.' He studied her, his mouth hard. 'At any rate—my mother wasn't keen on motherhood. Or marriage, for that matter. She ran off with my father's best friend when I was a year old.'

  Caroline winced. 'How awful...'

  'It gets better!' he drawled. 'She decided she wanted me back so there was a big court wrangle. Then she ran away again with some new' guy. More court wrangles. I was shunted back and forth while my parents fought like cat and dog over me. I was twelve when it all came to a shuddering halt. My father won final custody of me, and my mother carried on having lovers all over the world until she died last year.' He looked at her, his face tough. 'The funeral was held in Ireland. I went along and stood in the sunlight and tried to remember the last time I'd spoken to her. I couldn't remember, so I had a little too much champagne and shrugged the whole thing off as life's rich tapestry.' He smiled slowly, eyes flickering over her pale face. 'Got what you wanted?'

  She was silent for a long time. Then she said, 'No wonder you hate the mention of marriage.'

  His eyes narrowed. 'I don't hate the mention of it,' he said flatly. 'I just don't believe in it.'

  'Not all marriages end the way your parents' did.'

  'I'm aware of that!' he drawled with a hard smile. 'But the truth is that most of them end, sooner or later, and divorce is divorce no matter how you look at it. Everybody always ends up in a bloody mess, and if children are involved it turns into a full-scale horror story.'

  'And that's all you have to say on the subject?'

  'Basically, yes.' The black brows arched arrogantly.

  Caroline's eyes flickered. 'Well, your behaviour towards the women in your life certainly begins to make sense.'

  His mouth tightened. 'Meaning?'

  'All your love affairs,' she said softly, watching him through her lashes, the urge to provoke suddenly rearing up in her. 'Venetia Blake and her predecessors.'

  'Venetia is an adult,' he said tightly. 'She can look after herself.'

  Jealousy stung her. 'She is your mistress, then?'

  He smiled cynically. 'Jealous, Miss Shaw?'

  'I thought we were on first-name terms, Mark,' she murmured, green eyes intense on his hard, handsome face.

  'Yes,' he drawled tightly, 'but this conversation is just a little too personal.'

  'That's because we're stuck here in this cottage together,' she murmured, pulses leaping. 'Forced to talk to each other. Live together, practically. No office politics here, Mark. We're just a man and a woman, stranded together in a cottage, miles from nowhere, and you can't stand that, can you? Because you're being forced to live with me as though we're married.' She smiled provocatively. 'You know—watching me cook, wash up, clean the house, ask you what you want for dinner and --'

  'I have a housekeeper in London,' he cut in sarcastically. 'And one in Hampshire. There's not much difference, is there?'

  'There is,' she said softly, 'if you want to go to bed with the woman in question.'

  He breathed harshly, his grey eyes furious.

  Caroline laughed under her breath. 'And keep getting refused.'

  'You're not refusing me,' he said tightly, eyes like steel knives. 'You're refusing yourself!'

  'Hardly!' she laughed breathlessly. 'I think we both know I could make love with you any time I wanted.' Her green eyes flared with open mockery, provocation, her heart beating hard as she pushed him to the limit. 'I wouldn't have to do much more than whistle—would I, Mark? You'd c
ome running to the bedroom in ten seconds flat.'

  His teeth met. 'I wouldn't touch you now if you went down on your knees and begged me!'

  Caroline blew him a kiss.

  He sucked in his breath. 'You little bitch,' he said thickly, and then his hands were on her shoulders, dragging her against his taut body, and the impact of touch was like the explosion of release in both of them.

  They kissed desperately, violently, their mouths clinging in fierce fusion, and Caroline's hands were thrusting into his black hair, her fingers shaking as she felt him slide his own hands angrily over her body, down to her waist, her hips, clamping her against him.

  intolerably excited, she was shaking in his hard hands as he kissed her ruthlessly, and she gave him that emotion back, matched it with hunger, crying out hoarsely as she felt his hands move to her breasts, clamping them angrily, his hands hard on her erect nipples.

  She whispered fiercely against his mouth, 'Mark...!' Desire blazed in her green eyes, her hands shaking on his strong neck. 'Mark...!'

  He stared at her for a second, his heart slamming in his chest.

  Then his hands were on her shoulders, dragging her across the room.

  He flung her on to the couch with a hoarse sound, eyes blazing as he joined her, pushing her back into the cushions, his strong body covering hers as he arched above her.

  'I won't let you take me!' she whispered, her hands stroking his hard-muscled chest.

  'The hell you won't!' he bit out thickly, and thrust one hard thigh between hers, making her gasp and close her eyes, whispering his name. 'You provoked this, you little bitch!' Mark said against her mouth. 'Admit it!'