CHAPTER ONE

by The Devil's Kiss (html)

  'Is this gratitude, then?' Warren asked thickly, his eyes on her face.

  Miranda shook her head wonderingly. 'No,' she said softly. 'This is warmth, and closeness, and—and...'

  'And desire?'

  'Yes.' She said the word on a note of surprised discovery.

  Reaching out, Warren drew the sweat-shirt over her head and put his hand on her breast. 'This is sex, then,' he said huskily.

  'Yes,' she breathed. 'This is sex.' And surrendered to the overwhelming need to love and be loved.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WARREN had said that he had some experience of women, but Miranda found that to be an understatement; he was a marvellous lover. On the gently swaying boat, in the close confines of the sleeping-bag, he made love to her with an abandoned passion that lifted her to the heights of ecstasy time and again. But Miranda did her share of giving, too, so filled by sensual pleasure that she was over¬whelmed by the need to return this joy and ex¬citement, to make Warren groan in gratification as she cried out his name at the climax of passion.

  They slept, afterwards, but the light was still on and Miranda stirred an hour or so later, wondering why her bed was so hard, and realising with a gasp that she was held against the length of a man's naked body. Her eyes flew open as she remem¬bered. Warren was still asleep, breathing steadily, his long lashes brushing his cheeks and giving him a vulnerable look that he didn't have when awake. One arm was under her head, acting as a pillow, but the other lay across her, heavy and possessive. She stared at his face, realising that she'd given herself to a man she'd known for less than twenty-four hours; that she'd behaved in a way that she wouldn't have hesitated to condemn as cheap in anyone else. But somehow she didn't feel in the least cheap; she felt as if her whole body had come alive for the first time. She was filled with such inner happiness that her eyes shone with its radiance. She glowed with sexual contentment. Miranda smiled—and deliberately began to move against him.

  His eyes didn't open, but after a few moments Warren's hand tightened on her hip. 'Wench,' he murmured and nuzzled her neck, biting her earlobe. He held her closer, his kisses becoming deeper as his hand explored her. Then he swung her on top of him, his legs twined with hers, their bodies moving together as passion flared again and carried them to a frenzy of shared paroxysms of delight.

  Slowly they relaxed, hearts thumping, their skin dewy with perspiration. Warren kissed her gently, tenderly, and put her at his side again, his arms around her. Miranda gave a long, unsteady sigh, her body on fire, her breath catching in her throat, knowing that nothing had ever been this good before. 'I'm so hot,' she murmured.

  Warren chuckled, a laugh of sheer contentment deep in his throat. 'Lady, you can say that again!' And then she was laughing with him, and knew a moment of that pure happiness that was so seldom felt in a person's lifetime, before she fell asleep again with her head against his chest.

  When Miranda woke again it was morning; strips of pale light edged the cabin curtains and the air felt cold outside the cosy warmth of the sleeping bag. Her head felt a little muzzy from all the drink and her throat was dry, but otherwise she felt fine. Warren still had his arms around her but she had her back to him this time. A small smile lit her mouth as she thought how easy it would be to rouse him sexually. For a few moments she considered doing so, but there was plenty of time, and she was enjoying lying here in his arms. So she lay very still as she let her thoughts roam back over the night.

  How strange that it should have ended like this; they had started yesterday as mortal enemies, then had come that long ride to find Rosalind and learn that she had made the most terrible mistake. And later the snowstorm and her fall in the river, and then this.

  Miranda realised that she ought to be thoroughly ashamed of herself, but found it impossible to feel anything but gratitude for a night of such over-whelming rapture. Had it been the same for Warren? she wondered. He had certainly seemed to be as lost in passion, but for Miranda it had been more than that; it had been a revelation. But she wasn't sure if he had felt the same. When he woke would there be a glow of satisfaction and triumph in his face, would his eyes fill with joy when he saw her in his arms, and would he kiss her and love her all over again? She felt a great surge of longing for him to do so, and this time felt herself blush all over at the force of her own libido.

  She wondered what would happen when they got back to London. Warren would have the people she'd headhunted to sort out, of course, but she was completely confident now that he'd be able to do so. How she'd reversed her opinion of him since she'd found out he wasn't Rosalind's ex-lover, she thought with a smile. And would last night have reversed his opinion of her? She realised that she hadn't come out of yesterday at all well. There had been the basic mistake of thinking that he was someone else, of course, but she had also got them lost and fallen in the river. OK, her mind had been on other things but she wasn't normally that stupid. Warren had every right to have a low opinion of her, but maybe last night would have helped to change it. She hoped it had.

  The thought made Miranda sigh in apprehension. Behind her Warren moved and she became very still, waiting in heightened anticipation. He tried to turn but found that his arm was trapped, then gave an exclamation and pulled his arm from under her as he sat up. 'Hell, no!' The words were said in a fierce whisper, and Miranda swung round. There was no joy in his face, no desire or even satisfaction. Instead his brows had drawn into a grim frown of anger as he said, 'Damn it all to hell!' and swung himself out of the sleeping-bag without even looking at her, and then out of the cabin.

  For a few minutes Miranda lay in frozen inactivity, too stunned to move. Whatever she'd expected it hadn't been that. At the worst, she could have understood if he'd felt some chagrin at their hasty lovemaking, but never this instant and total rejection. Especially as it had been so wonderful for her. Feeling completely degraded, Miranda scrambled around until she found the sweat-shirt and overall, and hastily pulled them on, shivering in the sudden change of temperature.

  'Miranda!' Warren rapped on the door. 'You awake?'

  'Yes.' She managed to answer unsteadily.

  'I'm going to try to get some help. The fuel's all used up so there's no heating, so you might as well stay where you are until I get back.' He waited for her to answer but when she didn't called, 'OK?'

  'Yes, OK,' Miranda shouted back, then put her hand in her mouth, biting on it to stop herself from crying. For God's sake, what else did she expect?

  To him it had been nothing but a one-night stand—and with a woman he probably loathed. Hadn't he said that she was safe from him, that he wouldn't want her if she was the last woman on earth? It was only the drink and the cold, the need for warmth and comfort that had driven them into each other's arms. No wonder he had been so angry when he had woken up and realised. She supposed that she ought to have been angry, too, because she wasn't into casual sex either.

  The boat rocked as Warren got off it and Miranda pulled the curtain back to look out. Her eyes were immediately startled by sunlight coruscating off the whiteness of the snow like a carpet of diamonds. The storm was over, the wind had gone, and it was a beautifully clear, sunny day. Al-ready the snow that clung to the trees had started to melt and drip, making grey pencil-thin holes in the snow below. Warren was striding towards the road, wearing his suit and, although it had lost its crisp smartness, he looked again the assured businessman of yesterday.

  If his clothes were dry, then hers must be too. Miranda went in search of them and found them hanging in a drying cabinet next to the galley. They were all dry, even her mohair sweater and her boots, and she quickly changed into them. She would have given a great deal for a black coffee, but had to settle for a drink of cold water, but even that felt good to her parched mouth. How she wished, now, that she hadn't drunk so much last night; but they had needed it to get warm.

  Going to the bathroom, Miranda groaned when she looked in the mirror; she looked terrible. She went to find her bag and the
n remembered that it was at the bottom of the river. Groaning again, she tried to comb the tangles out of her hair with her fingers. Had the owners of this darn boat had to strip it so clean? Couldn't they even have left a comb and a lipstick? She went back to the cabin and tidied it up, washing the glasses and putting them away, then slowly picked up the sleeping-bag and put it round her shoulders. It would have been warmer to have got inside it again, but somehow she couldn't bear to do that, not now, now that the magic was gone.

  It was a couple of hours before even the smallest human sound broke the stillness outside, and by that time Miranda had begun to wonder uneasily if Warren had just abandoned her. Then she heard the sound of an engine and rushed to look out. A tractor was going slowly along the distant road—and behind it was the red flash of the Lotus. It stopped and Warren got out and began to walk down to the boat. Hastily Miranda stuffed the sleeping-bag back into the locker and went to meet him.

  He swung himself on board and stopped when he saw her. His eyes went quickly to her face, but Miranda had had plenty of time to school her features and she looked at him in icy calm. 'Did the tractor pull the car out of the ditch?'

  'Yes. It wasn't damaged.' He reached into his wallet. 'We'd better leave a cheque for the owner to cover the damage to the door.' He went down into the cabin to write it but Miranda didn't follow him, instead jumping off the boat and on to the bank. The snow wasn't very deep and the sun was warm on her face. She began to walk towards the car but then looked back at the boat. Its name was painted in bold letters on the bow; Chimera. Very apt, she thought with bitter humiliation. 'A passing fancy'; and that was certainly all it had been to Warren.

  She got into the car and; Warren soon came to join her. 'I'll get in touch with the local police and tell them that we had to break into the boat,' he remarked. 'They should be able to let the owner know so that he can get the door repaired.' She was silent and Warren glanced at her as he did up his safety strap. 'You OK?'

  'Yes, of course.' She managed to keep her voice light, even slightly surprised. 'Just hungry, that's all.'

  'So am I. We'll stop at the first place we come to.'

  This turned out to be a service station on the motorway. Warren bought himself a large plateful of bacon and eggs, but Miranda asked for just coffee and toast. It was the coffee-pot she reached for first, filling her cup and drinking the hot liquid down thirstily to ease her parched throat. Then she refilled the cup, but drank it more slowly this time.

  Warren raised an eyebrow. 'You looked as if you needed that.'

  'My throat felt dry.' She hesitated, then said, 'I—I'm not used to drinking neat spirits.'

  'No, I suppose not.' He gave her an intent look. 'Miranda, about last night; I—'

  'How long do you think it will take us to get to London?' she cut in hurriedly, not wanting to even think about last night any more. 'I have several appointments I'll have to reschedule.'

  A withdrawn look came into Warren's eyes. 'Depends on the traffic. Not before mid-afternoon, I should think,' he answered shortly.

  She bit into her toast, then spoke quickly, in a hard, brisk voice, to try and hide her embarrassment. 'I'll have to phone the office. I can re-verse the charges, of course, but I'm afraid my bag is at the bottom of the river so I don't have any money to pay for my share of breakfast. And if you'll let me know how much you left to cover the repair of the boat, then I'll let you have a cheque to cover that as well as soon as I can get a new cheque book. I—'

  'Why do you want to pay for it?' Warren interrupted.

  Miranda gave an eloquent shrug. 'Well, it was my fault that we got lost, and if I hadn't fallen in the river we wouldn't have had to break into the boat. So naturally I must pay for it. How much did you leave?'

  An impatient gesture of Warren's hand dis¬missed the subject. 'Don't be silly.'

  Her face tightening, Miranda said curtly, 'I insist on paying. If you won't tell me how much you left than I shall just have to—'

  Reaching out, Warren caught her hand, startling her into silence. Leaning forward he said. 'Surely we've become too close to argue about something as petty as this.'

  Miranda snatched her hand away, her face flaming. 'We are not close!' she said vehemently. She became aware that people were giving them curious glances and stood up. 'Excuse me.'

  'Do you want some money for the shop?'

  Warren reached for his wallet but before he could draw it out, Miranda gave him a blistering look. 'I don't want anything from you!' And she turned and marched out of the cafe with as much dignity as she could muster in bedraggled clothes and un¬combed hair.

  She would have given a great deal to be able to hire a car and just abandon Warren, but without her driving licence and credit cards it was impossible. Miranda began to experience what it must be like to be penniless, or entirely dependent on a man, and found that she didn't much like it. There was a queue at the telephone kiosks and she had to wait until one was free before she could put a call through to the office. She tried to stall by asking for her secretary, but Graham must have told the switchboard girl that he wanted to speak to her, because she was put straight through to his office.

  'Oh. Hello, Graham,' she said weakly.

  'Where on earth are you? I've been trying to reach you all last night and this morning. I even rang your parents in case you'd gone there.'

  'No, I—er—had to go to York to see my sister, and there was a terrible snowstorm so I had to stay the night.'

  'A snowstorm? We didn't have one here.'

  'Well, you are a few hundred miles further south, Graham,' Miranda pointed out with a trace of acerbity in her tone. 'Anyway, I'm on my way back now, but I'm not sure how long it will take me to get there and I want to go home to change before I come into the office. The only thing is—' she grimaced, knowing how thin it was going to sound '—I lost my door key. I'll need the spare one that you have.'

  'Lost your key! How on earth did you do that?'

  'It was in my bag, and I lost my bag. I'll tell you all about it when I see you,' she said hurriedly. 'But would you please just send round the key to my next-door neighbour, and I'll pick it up from her?'

  'Yes, of course. What time do you think you will get there?'

  'About three,' Miranda hazarded.

  'You don't have to come into the office today, you know.'

  'Thanks, but I want to see you. There's—there's something I have to tell you.'

  'I'll make sure the key's waiting for you, then.' 'Thanks, Graham, you're an angel.'

  He laughed. 'Anything for a lady in distress—especially when it's you. I think it's the first time you've ever asked me to help you.'

  And Miranda hadn't enjoyed doing so this time, although Graham hadn't seemed to mind. He transferred her to Megan, who was as curious to know where she was as Graham had been, but Miranda was able to put her off more easily and gave instructions for rearranging all her appoint¬ments for that day.

  When she'd finished, Miranda turned away and found that Warren was using one of the other phones. 'I hope you haven't missed any important appointments,' she said stiffly when he joined her.

  His manner was brusque. 'No, but I'm as eager to get back to London as you are. I need to have an urgent meeting with several members of my staff,' he said meaningfully.

  The rest of their drive was a silent one. Warren concentrated on his driving, but the roads were clear of snow and as they progressed further south all signs of it disappeared from the fields and hedge-rows. It was as if the blizzard that had trapped them had never been, that it had happened in some fairy-tale land of the north, a land that was almost impossible to believe in now that Miranda saw the green fields beneath the trees. She closed her eyes, her head starting to ache, and decided she must think of the experience as just a fantasy, a dream. After today she would never see Warren again, so it would be easy. And she would remember only the wonder of it, pushing the rude awakening out of her mind. In time it would be OK, she assured herself;
she would force her mind to remember only what was good.

  But remembrance had brought silly tears to her eyes, and Miranda turned her head aside, leaning back on the head-rest.

  'Not too far to go now,' Warren remarked. 'Are you all right?'

  'Just tired.' And she firmly closed her eyes and shut him out, her headache steadily getting worse.

  When they reached the outskirts of London, Warren asked her where she wanted to go and she said stiffly, 'It's OK, you can just drop me some¬where and I'll get a taxi to my flat; I've arranged to pick up a spare key.'

  'Where do you live?'

  'I've told you, I—'

  'Just stop the martyr act, Miranda, and tell me where you live,' Warren commanded forcefully. 'I'm not in the mood for silly feminine games.'

  Something snapped and she swung round to glare at him. 'Stop the car and let me out!'

  'Don't be stupid, we're miles from—'

  'I don't give a damn where we are. Just stop. Now.'

  But Warren merely gave her a withering glance and drove on. Pushed beyond endurance, Miranda undid her safety strap and reached to open the door. A blast of cold air filled the car and horns hooted angrily as Warren had to cut across the lanes of traffic and pull into the kerb. Miranda went to get out but he grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her back, then shook her until her teeth rattled.

  'You crazy, brainless female! Of all the damn stupid things to do. I'm taking you home, do you hear me?' he yelled as he shook her. 'I'm taking you right to your door so that you can't do any more harm to me, yourself, or anyone else. You are the most infuriating woman I've ever met!' He shook her once more for good measure, then pushed her back in her seat, pulled the door closed, and did up her safety strap. 'Now, where do you live?' he gritted, his voice full of the determination to keep her there no matter what he had to do.