CHAPTER ONE

by The Devil's Kiss (html)

  'Well?' Warren saw her face and gave her a dangerous look. 'You'd better tell me.'

  'I think I must have forgotten to turn it off after I called Rosalind. The battery must be dead.'

  'And don't tell me—you didn't think to bring a spare unit,' he said heavily.

  'No. Why should I? I only grabbed the phone at the last minute because I wasn't happy about travelling across half the country with a man like you. How was I to know you were going to drive into a ditch?'

  Giving her a glowering look, Warren gritted his teeth as he said feelingly, 'Lady, you didn't need the phone-1 did! Any man who's stupid enough to get within a mile of you needs police protection.'

  Thrusting the useless gadget at her, Warren strode on again, head bent against the wind. The snow seemed to get worse as they trudged on so that a couple of times they almost strayed from the road. Miranda's hair was completely wet now and her teeth were chattering; she was frozen even with her coat and could only imagine how Warren must be feeling.

  He stopped for a moment and searched the darkness, wiping the snow from his face. 'We should have reached a village by now; it was marked on the map.' But there was nothing in sight and they plodded on again.

  Miranda was beginning to feel very tired but determination not to give Warren another reason to yell at her kept her going, but it was almost half a mile further on before they came to a crossroads with a signpost. 'At last!' Warren lifted the torch to see the sign but had to reach up and brush away the snow before they could read it. He stared at it in perplexity. 'But that says that the B1228 is over to our right. But it can't be unless...' He stopped and swung to face her, the beam of the torch shining in her face. 'Good grief! Can't you get anything right? You've sent us in the wrong direction. We're miles from the road we wanted!'

  'But we can't be. You must have misread it.' Grabbing the torch from him, Miranda swung it back on the sign and saw with a sick feeling of de¬spair that he was right. 'Oh, no!'

  'Of all the useless, vindictive, stupid—'

  'Shut up! I'm just about sick and tired of you yelling at me,' Miranda shouted back, exhaustion snapping the thin thread of her temper. 'Anyone can make a mistake, for heaven's sake.'

  'A mistake! Is that what you call this fiasco? Let me tell you—'

  'No, let me tell you for once. You're a great overbearing, chauvinistic, intolerant rat. And I...' She stopped, suddenly realising that they were standing in the middle of the road and having a shouting match in a blizzard. 'Oh, what's the use?' Throwing the torch at him, she turned on her heel and strode down the road to the left.

  Neatly fielding the torch, Warren shouted, 'Where do you think you're going?'

  'Anywhere so long as it's not with you!'

  'You're crazy, you'll get lost. Come back here.'

  'Don't you dare order me around,' Miranda yelled back over her shoulder. 'And you can stop coming after me because I—' She felt the ground fall away under her feet and too late turned to look where she was going. She slid gracefully down a steep bank and splashed into the freezing cold water of a weed-covered river.

  Her scream of terror cut through the snow-storm like a knife, but the next moment Warren was there, throwing himself on the ground and reaching down to grab her hand. 'All right, I've got you. Don't panic.' Taking hold of her other hand, he tried to pull her out, but after a few minutes said, 'It's too steep for me to drag you out; I can't get any pur-chase in the snow. Can you try and climb up my arms until I can lift you?'

  He spoke calmly, steadily, and his voice did a lot to still Miranda's terror. 'Yes. Yes, all right.' She tried but the weight of her coat pulled her down. 'I'll have to take my coat off.'

  'OK. One arm at a time. Don't worry; I won't let you go.'

  The shock of the cold water had got to her and Miranda's whole body shook as she struggled to take off the heavy coat. She let it go to the bottom of the river with her bag, too scared to care. Using all that was left of her strength, she managed to inch herself up Warren's arms until he could put his hands under her arms and slowly drag her back with him. Afterwards Miranda lay on the ground, gasping for breath, just overwhelmingly grateful to be out of the water.

  'Come on, you must get up. You'll freeze in those wet clothes.

  'I—I can't.' Miranda spoke through teeth that rattled like gunfire in her head.

  'Yes, you can. Come on.' Warren hoisted her to her feet and took off his jacket. 'Here, put this on.' 'But you—'

  'Do as you're told,' he said roughly, and pushed her arms into the sleeves. 'Now, you have to walk.'

  Putting his arm round her, Warren marched her along. Miranda didn't attempt to look where they were going, she just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She was aware of Warren talking to her, encouraging her, but her boots were full of water and sloshed as she walked. And she was so cold, so cold.

  'We have to get help,' she mumbled.

  'I know. We will. Soon, now; we just have to keep going.'

  She lost track of time and distance and didn't know how far they'd gone when Warren suddenly stopped and exclaimed. 'There are some buildings over there by the river.'

  Oh, thank God! Miranda thought gratefully and tried to open her eyes. 'I can't see anything.'

  'Over there. Come On, not far now.' Almost dragging her along, Warren turned off the road to-wards the snow-covered buildings, then gave a cry of disappointment. 'They're boats. But they're still shelter.' He looked at Miranda worriedly, then leaned her against a tree. 'Miranda! Open your eyes, look at me.' She did so and saw the look of blue, pinched cold in his face. 'That's it. Good girl. Now I'm going to find some shelter for us. You mustn't go to sleep. Do you understand?' She managed to nod and he grinned. 'Good. You can be thinking of all the names you want to call me until I get back. OK?' She managed to nod again and this time attempted a travesty of his grin. An amazed look came into his eyes and Warren shook his head. 'Lady, you are something else.'

  He left her and Miranda pulled his jacket closer around her, although now it was as sodden as the rest of her clothes. She concentrated on staying standing up and thought of all the hot things she could think of: huge log fires, curry, the sun...

  It seemed like ages, but Warren was back in just a few minutes. He took one look at her face and picked her up to carry her along the riverbank to the boat he'd picked out, lifting her on board and under the canopy. There was an immediate relief from the wind, but Miranda hardly noticed as he set her down while he broke open the door to the cabin, kicking in the lock.

  The next hour only slowly resolved itself into different actions which she dimly felt. Her outer

  clothes were stripped off her and she was wrapped in a blanket, then rubbed vigorously until she began to protest. Then Warren left her and she gratefully slumped down where she sat and fell asleep, but he was soon back and carried her to the tiny shower-room opening off the main cabin, where he made her stand under the hot water until feeling and sen¬sation slowly crept back and she became aware of what was happening. Warren was still wearing his clothes but was getting as soaked by the shower as she was.'Can you manage by yourself now?'

  She nodded. 'Yes.'

  'All right. Dry yourself with the blanket while I go and see if I can warm the place up a bit and find some dry clothes.'

  When he came back Warren was wearing an old sweater and a pair of jeans that were too small for him, his bare feet poking out at the bottom. He grinned when he saw her look him over. 'That's nothing; see what I've got for you.' And he pro¬duced an old sweat-shirt with a sailing ship on it and a pair of paint-stained overalls.

  'If they're dry then they're the most gorgeous clothes I've ever seen,' Miranda told him fervently.

  He laughed. 'The boat should start warming up soon; they've got central heating and I managed to get it going. Now I'll see if I can make a hot drink.'

  'Oh, please,' she said longingly. Outwardly she was warm again now, but inside she still felt as if her bones were frozen.


  She put on the smelly clothes, only now realising that Warren must have undressed her as well as holding her under the shower. Finding that she had mixed feelings about that, Miranda pushed them aside; right now all she wanted to think about was getting warm. There was carpet on the floor of the cabin but her feet were cold, so she started pulling out drawers, but couldn't find anything to wear.

  'The owners must have taken most of their stuff away for the winter,' Warren remarked, coming in and finding her kneeling on the floor. 'Here, try this.'

  He handed her a steaming mug of coffee that, when Miranda went to drink it, smelt strongly of brandy. She raised her eyebrows. 'Cognac?'

  'I always a carry a small flask around in my briefcase,' Warren explained.

  He sat beside her on the upholstered seat and for a while they were both content just to sit and drink, but presently Miranda said, 'How about you; are you warm enough? Did you have a shower?'

  Warren grinned. 'I shared yours; remember? Yes, I'm OK, but I could do with something for my feet. Did you find anything in here?'

  'No, but there's some sleeping-bags in the locker; we could wrap those around us.'

  'Good idea. How are you feeling now?'

  'Fine.' She gave a tremulous smile. 'I thought I'd never get warm again.'

  'We were lucky to find this.'

  'Yes.' Miranda knew she had a whole lot of apologising and thanking to do, but the brandy was making her feel very sleepy.

  She drank the last drop of coffee and Warren stood up. 'Want another?'

  He went along to the galley to make it and Miranda roused herself to get out the sleeping-bags, but found that instead of two as she'd thought, there was only a big double one, so worn that the owners mustn't have thought it worth taking off the boat. She left it in the cabin and went through to the neat galley. A kettle was on the gas hob but Warren wasn't there. For a moment a flash of fear at being alone filled her and she called out, 'Warren!' on a note of alarm.

  He came quickly back. 'Yes? What is it?' He spoke with sharp concern.

  Relief flooded through her and she flushed at her own stupidity. 'Nothing, really. I... There's only one sleeping bag.'

  'You must take it, then. Look what I've found.' He held up a half-full bottle of whisky. 'It was in the other cabin.'

  'Isn't there any food?'

  "Fraid not. Are you hungry?' And, when she nodded, 'You should have eaten some of the Chinese at your sister's place.'

  Miranda laughed and he shot her an enquiring look. 'You sound like your old self again,' she told him.

  'Bad as that, was I?’

  Her eyes shadowed. 'You had every right to be,' she said huskily.

  'Forget about that now,' Warren instructed firmly. 'Come on, go back to the cabin where it's warmer.'

  He came back with her and lowered the table so that it joined with the seats to form a bed. 'That's clever,' Miranda remarked. 'You must know about boats.'

  'A little. You can climb into the sleeping-bag now.' Miranda didn't need any encouragement; it was better but her feet still felt icy cold.

  The whistle of the boiling kettle drew Warren to the galley to make the coffee and carry it back. 'I've put our clothes to dry,' he told her. 'Here, we might as well finish off the cognac.' He shared what was left in his hip-flask between the two mugs.

  'That's a nice flask,' Miranda remarked. 'Are those your initials on it?'

  'Yes. It was a present,' he explained.

  From a girlfriend? she wondered, but he didn't enlarge and she didn't like to ask. There was so little that she really knew about him. He might even be engaged to be married or have a live-in partner. He seemed so big and capable, completely able to handle the perilous situation in which they'd found themselves. He sat down beside her on the bed, his legs stretched out in the old jeans. She chuckled and he raised an eyebrow. 'We look like a pair of old tramps,' she explained.

  'So we do.' His eyes went over her blonde hair that had gone into curls with the damp, at her face washed clean of make-up. 'Your yuppy boyfriend would hardly recognise you.'

  'What makes you think my boyfriend is a yuppy?' Miranda asked curiously.

  'Oh, I think that's the type you'd go for—it's certainly the only type who could hope to keep up or compete with you.'

  'Going out with someone isn't a competition,' she pointed out, her voice hardening.

  'I bet it is with you. Who is your boyfriend? He works with you, doesn't he?'

  'How do you know that?'

  'I heard you tell your secretary to cancel your date with him for tonight.' He glanced at his watch. 'Or for last night, rather. You and he should make a good pair—a pair of headhunters,' he said derisively.

  Miranda found that she didn't like that de-scription. 'He's my boss,' she said defensively.

  Warren turned to study her face. 'That figures.'

  'Why? Why does it figure?' she demanded, finding that she disliked him analysing her like this.

  'Because your type always goes for power; you have no respect for people who are lower or on an equal level to you. You want to climb and you can only look up the ladder, not down or sideways.'

  'That is completely untrue,' Miranda said shortly. 'And I am not a type!'

  Warren laughed. 'That's better. Now you're back to normal again, too.'

  She stared at him for a moment, then relaxed and leaned back against the wall. 'Is that a built-in radio?' She pointed to a unit on the far wall.

  'Could be. Let's try it.' After fiddling with the knobs for a few minutes Warren succeeded in getting a programme of' music from old shows. 'Hardly fitting music for a snowstorm, but OK for this time of night, I suppose.'

  'What time is it?'

  'Almost two-thirty.'

  'How are we going to get out of here in the morning?'

  He shrugged. 'Don't worry about it now. We'll work something out.'

  She was silent for a while, listening to the music, but presently said, 'Can I have some of that whisky?'

  'Of course.' He poured a very generous helping into her mug. 'Are you still cold?'

  'It's my feet; they just won't get warm.'

  Her eyes flew up to meet his. 'Oh, but I...'

  Her voice trailed off as she saw him put aside his mug and hold his hands ready, and she obediently pulled her legs out of the bag and put her feet in his lap. His hands were so warm on her poor feet that she gave a groan of pleasure as he began to gently rub and massage them, first one foot and then the other. They began to tingle as he brought life into them again and Miranda's groan turned into a contented purr.

  'Oh, that is absolutely fantastic. Wonderful.'

  He went on stroking them, sending delicious sensations over her whole body, and didn't seem in any hurry to stop, but eventually he said, 'Warm enough now? You'd better get back into the sleeping-bag, then.'

  She wriggled back inside but stayed sitting up. The whisky in her mug had gone down quite a bit. Miranda wasn't used to it and began to feel light¬headed and knew that the drink was starting to get to her. She looked at Warren, leaning against the wall beside her. 'Are your feet cold?'

  Warren nodded. 'Mm, a little.'

  'Then why don't you...? I mean, it's a double sleeping bag and there's plenty of room... So why don't you...?' She lifted heavy-lidded eyes to meet the astonished amusement in his. 'Oh, darn it! Why be cold out there when we can both be warm in here?'

  'Thank you,' Warren said gravely, and slid in beside her.

  The bag had seemed quite big but it was surprising how little room there was left when two people were sharing it. They were squeezed quite closely together, their bodies touching all the way down. And his feet were cold.

  'More whisky?' Warren asked.

  They sat and drank in silence for a while until Miranda became aware that the boat, which had been swaying in the wind, wasn't moving so much now. She remarked on it to Warren. 'And the wind doesn't seem so noisy.'

  'Maybe it's easing up. Don't worry, w
e'll be able to get help tomorrow.'

  Turning her head, Miranda gave him a languor¬ous smile. 'I'm not worried,' she said, meaning it. Then, still rankled by their earlier conversation, she said, 'Would you call yourself a yuppy?'

  'Certainly not!' Warren laughed.

  'Why not?'

  'Because I've got where I wanted to go. Opening my company was my big ambition. Now that I've done that, all I want to do is to consolidate it and build it up.'

  'It means a lot to you, doesn't it?'

  His eyes settled on her face. 'Yes. It does.' With difficulty she said, 'Have I—have I ruined it for you?'

  He shrugged, his shoulder against hers. 'You might have caused a set-back but you certainly won't put me out of business. Now that I know who the people are that you've headhunted I can try and persuade them to stay. It will probably push up the wages bill,' he added wryly, 'but that can't be helped if I want to keep them. And they're a good team; I don't want to break it up.'

  'You must hate me,' Miranda said ruefully. Reaching out, Warren ran the back of his finger down her cheek and round her chin. 'No, I don't hate you. I understand why you did it. If someone had treated my sister so shamefully I'd want to get back at him, too.'

  'Would you?' Miranda's eyes searched his face. 'You really mean it?'

  'Of course.'

  She sighed. 'Good. 1 don't want you to hate me.'

  'No?'

  'No.' She nestled against his shoulder as Warren put his arm round her. 'This is nice.'

  He laughed. 'What a strange mixture you are.'

  'Am I?’

  'Mm.' He bent to kiss her nose, then found that Miranda had tilted her head so that he had no trouble in finding her lips.

  The dimly lit cabin had become very warm now and Miranda could feel the heat coursing through her body. When she drew away from him her eyes were dark and her voice husky. 'Have you got a sister?'

  'No.' He took the empty mug from her and set it aside, then drew her to him and kissed her again.

  It was a lot longer before they parted this time and somehow they had slipped down into the sleeping-bag and were lying side by side. Slowly Miranda lifted her hand and began to trace the strong outline of his face. 'You saved my life when I fell in the river; I haven't thanked you for that yet.' And she leaned forward to gently caress his lips with hers.