LITMIR.BIZ

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‘But, as you can see, I’m standing right here.’

      Jay Delaney lifted a bare, muscular shoulder in a laconic shrug. ‘Snap.’

      ‘Is that all you have to say?’

      ‘It seems to cover the situation.’ His mouth slanted in a sudden, wry grin.

      Maggie drew a sharp, angry breath. ‘Then perhaps you’d care to do the same,’ she said with icy significance, turning her back on him with elaborate ostentation.

      To her fury, she heard him give a low amused chuckle. ‘Isn’t it a little late for outraged modesty? How old are you, anyway, sister-in-law—twenty-seven—twenty-eight? I can’t be showing anything you haven’t seen before.’

      ‘I’m twenty-four,’ she said, stung by his reference to her age, but at the same time relieved that he hadn’t gauged her total inexperience. ‘Not that it’s any concern of yours,’ she added belatedly, listening to the rustle of material and the sound of a zip closing.

      ‘It’s safe to look,’ he said softly. ‘That’s if you didn’t see enough the first time around.’

      Sudden colour burned her face as she turned unwillingly back to face him. ‘Actually, Mr Delaney, I would prefer not to see you at all. I want you out of my house, now.’

      ‘That could be difficult,’ he said thoughtfully. The jeans he had put on were like a second skin, Maggie thought in outrage. How could he seem marginally less decent clothed than naked?

      ‘Why?’ she asked glacially.

      ‘For one thing I have no transport. Sebastian smuggled me out of my hotel and brought me here in a hired car, to fool the Press gang. He’s coming back to collect me in time for the next police interview.’

      ‘Then you’ll just have to hire a car of your own, and find another refuge.’

      ‘You have no phone here.’

      ‘There’s a phone at the farm.’

      ‘But I can hardly turn up on the doorstep demanding to use it at this time of night.’ His reasonable tone grated on her. ‘Quite apart from the inconvenience I’d be causing, I don’t want to draw attention to myself right now.’

      ‘Why change the habits of a lifetime?’ Maggie said bitingly.

      The firm mouth tightened. ‘I thought I’d made it clear that I’m hiding out here. I can’t set foot out of doors in London without some tabloid baying for my blood. As long as I can keep my presence here a secret, I’m safe for the time being.’

      ‘And you expect me to sympathise?’ Maggie shook her head. ‘I said Seb had no right to bring you here, and I meant it. I loathe you, Jay Delaney, and every arrogant, sexist, chauvinist element you stand for. You’re totally contemptible. Men like you have got to learn you can’t force yourself on unwilling women and get away with it. I hope they lock you, and all rapists, away forever.’

      There was another taut silence. ‘Brave words,’ he said slowly. ‘Considering that, at this moment in time, I’m locked away with you. And who appointed you judge and jury, anyway, my little red-haired spitfire?’

      ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she said defiantly.

      ‘No?’ Jay Delaney took a step towards her. Then another. His eyes held hers, and his mouth curved in a smile without amusement.

      Instinctively, Maggie backed away, and found herself trapped almost immediately against the wall behind her.

      ‘Don’t come near me.’ Her voice sounded shrill and ragged.

      ‘Why not? According to you, I’ve already raped one woman, so I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.’ He put a hand on the wall at either side of her body, effectively cutting off any hope of escape.

      His eyes—they were incredibly blue, she noticed almost inconsequentially—began a leisurely and insolent inspection of her body, lingering in frank assessment on the small high breasts outlined beneath the cling of the black sweater, then sweeping down to the gentle swell of her hips and the length of her slender thighs.

      His scrutiny seemed to sear through her clothes. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Her voice cracked. ‘Please—let me go.’

      ‘In my own good time,’ said Jay Delaney. Using the tip of one forefinger, he lightly, almost casually began to circle the peak of her left breast through her sweater. He did it with aching slowness, letting her nipple harden to taut, greedy life as he touched her. His eyes were dispassionate as they looked into hers.

      Maggie leaned back against the wall, palms flattened, fingers splayed against the plaster, as if she was trying to impress herself on it or sink into it completely and be absorbed. Her body felt strangely heavy and her legs were shaking under her.

      No one had ever touched her in this way before, and her body clenched in shamed and painful excitement.

      What was happening to her, she asked herself dazedly? What was she allowing to happen? This couldn’t be real. It had to be some fantasy—some nightmare. She ought to protest—to struggle—to hit out. She couldn’t just—stand here, and let him subject her to this intimate torment.

      Jay Delaney bent towards her, his lips only inches from hers, the sharp smell of alcohol on his breath. The warmth from his body seemed to envelop her, mingled with the faint scent of some cologne he used.

      His hand slid under the ribbed welt of the sweater and caressed the warm, smooth skin above the waistband of her trousers, then stroked upwards to the cleft between her breasts and the tiny plastic clip which fastened her bra at the front. He twisted the clasp, snapping it open, letting the imprisoning lacy cups fall away from her breasts.

      Her mouth was dry. Every nerve, every pulse in her body seemed to be suspended in anticipation, waiting to feel the stroke of his fingers on her bare and eager breasts.

      But it did not happen.

      Instead, Jay Delaney stepped back, pulling her sweater back into place almost with indifference. The blue eyes bored into hers.

      He said softly, ‘You mentioned something about unwilling women. Do you include yourself in that category?’

      She stared at him, trying to speak, trying to think of something to say, but no words would come. Instead, she knew an urge to burst into humiliated tears. She had never behaved like that before—never. Standing there, letting a complete stranger—insult her body.

      ‘Two more things,’ he said. ‘I hope you, as the owner of this property, are insured, because I may have broken a toe just now, falling over your damned hot water bottle. If I don’t walk, I don’t work, and my television company may well sue you.’

      He picked up a half-empty bottle of Scotch from the night table and poured a measure into the glass beside it.

      ‘And, lastly, observe this. I’ve been drinking steadily since I got here, so even if half a dozen hired cars turned up at this moment I wouldn’t be driving any of them, lady, because I have far too much alcohol in my bloodstream.’ He raised the glass to her in a parody of a toast. ‘You can do as you please, sweetheart, but I’m going nowhere tonight.’

      Her throat muscles worked at last. She said thickly, ‘Then I shall leave.’

      Jay Delaney shrugged, then stretched out on the bed again, glass in hand. ‘That’s your privilege.’ He sounded almost bored.

      Watching him like a hawk, she edged along the wall to the door, found the handle, turned it, and backed on to the landing. He seemed to have lost interest in her, but she didn’t trust him—not after the disgusting—the unforgivable way he had treated her.

      Down in the living-room, she snatched up her bag from the kitchen table and ran to the door. As she opened it, the wind shrieked into the room, and for a moment she quailed.

      Then, biting her lip, she

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