A Masterful Man

The alternative might not appeal to you.' 'W-what alternative?'

'The one,' he said pleasantly, 'where I lose my temper and tell you that only a bloody idiot would get caught on Mount Lidgbird in this kind of weather because you could kill yourself that way, and where I tell you never to go off like that again without leaving some indication of your plans because I was just about to mount a search-and-rescue operation.' And, so saying, he shouldered the laundry door open, put her on her feet and switched the light on.

Davina swayed unsteadily where she stood, her poor strained knees showed an alarming tendency to buckle, and shock darkened her eyes. 'But…but,' she stammered, 'why should you have worried about me? For all you know I might have… I might have… just stayed out for dinner or something like that.' She stopped and he put his hands about her waist as she swayed again. 'I thought of that, but you would hardly have walked and all the bikes are here as well as the other Land Rover. Besides which, I had this intuition,' he said drily. 'Now will you take your clothes off or shall I?'

'Don't you dare,' she retorted, but with not a great deal of menace, and raised her hands to deal with her shirt buttons only to realise she still had her back-pack on. She made a frustrated sound and was horrified to discover she had tears of exasperation in her eyes. 'Just go away, will you?' she begged. 'I simply can't cope with you and all this at the same time!'

Steve Warwick surveyed her sodden, dirty, bedraggled person for a moment then said, with a twist of his lips, 'Don't feel embarrassed, Davina. I've never seen anyone look half as good as you do in the circumstances. I'll get you a drink while you have a shower. I'll bring it to your chalet.' And he left.

CHAPTER FOUR

The warm water of the shower gushing over her body did improve things physically, she discovered, although she was still going darkly over Steve Warwick's last words in her mind. What had he meant? That her vanity was wounded? Well, he was quite wrong; the very last thing she cared about was how she looked in his eyes and…so what had she meant? she pondered, tilting her face to the water. That I hate to look a fool in his eyes? The kind of fool who takes silly risks?

Probably, she acknowledged gloomily, and stepped out of the shower to wrap herself in a thick bath-towel- there was nothing else. And it's just as well the linen cupboard is in the laundry, she reflected, otherwise…oh, damn! What a day. I've still got to get back to my chalet and face him-in a bath-towel.

But she was grateful for the sense of irritation that all this provoked as she filled a laundry tub and dropped her clothes in to soak. Just let him say a word!

He said several. He was in fact waiting for her, as he'd promised, with two drinks. 'Still a drowned rat but a clean one. Care to tell me exactly what did happen, Mrs

Hastings?'

Davina clutched the towel closer. 'Would you mind very much if I put some clothes on first?'

'Be my guest,' he murmured.

She tossed her wet head and went into the bedroom and closed the door firmly, thinking, I suppose I do owe him an explanation but he'd better not make too many wisecracks-I just could bite!

She came out five minutes later wearing jeans and a jumper, her hair brushed and her eyes cool.

'Thanks,' she said quietly, as he rose and handed her a drink and waited until she'd sunk gratefully into a chair before sitting down himself and stretching his long legs out. 'I'll make this brief because I've just remembered your dinner-date,' she continued. 'I climbed up to the Goat House this morning in absolutely perfect weather and the views were so wonderful up there I must have stayed for a couple of hours taking photos and it wasn't until I started down that I realised the weather had changed-from the eastern side you couldn't see it,' she said with a little gesture, and sipped some heavenly brandy.

'No, you wouldn't.'

'I'm glad you agree,' she said with irony, then grimaced. 'All the same I'm-sorry to have worried you unnecessarily.' The brandy and soda was working its way down and she laid her head back thankfully. 'Where were you when it started to rain?' 'About three-quarters of the way up.' 'Davina,' he said compellingly, and waiting until she lifted her head and looked into his grim hazel eyes, 'you do realise you could have killed yourself, don't you?'

She sat up then stood up convulsively and put her glass down with a snap. 'Look, I've spent the last four hours virtually crawling down Mount Lidgbird on my hands and knees-backwards, terrified I'd get lost and fall down a precipice-of course I realise…all sorts of things, nor am I proud of anything, it was just-' her voice rose '-one of those unfortunate things that happened!

Why don't you…take yourself off to your dinner, Steve Warwick,' she spat, 'so I can get myself something to eat and go to bed!' She turned away furiously. 'I've cancelled my dinner.'

'Oh, hell,' she muttered wearily, all the fire draining from her, leaving her feeling as limp as a wet rag, and turned back to find him standing right behind her. Her eyes widened as she looked up into his and her lips parted to say she knew not what but something because the moment had suddenly become incredibly charged, and in the second before it happened, she equally suddenly knew why.

'Don't,' she whispered.

But he did. He took her in his arms, pressed her head firmly into his shoulder and simply held her close. And, after a few moments of shock, her stunned mind made the startling discovery that it was exactly what she needed to still the horrors of the past few hours, to soothe the insidious trembling that had started to rise in her body which was probably only a natural reaction, but all the same… Just some human warmth and comfort, she thought dazedly as she gradually relaxed against him and started to let go. But not much later it began to dawn on her it wasn't any old human warmth and comfort she was enjoying and being healed by-it was the unique blend of warmth and protection that Steve Warwick's arms had offered her before, and only the day before… But how can it be? she wondered, anguished, and moved her cheek restlessly against his shirt. All I want to do is attack him and just this morning all he wanted to do was more or less the same…

She swallowed and lifted her head and framed her lips to say something about being fine now but, as their gazes caught and held, she was arrested and all the fine hairs on her body stood up because she knew she was about to be kissed, and knew there was not a thing she could do about it but, worse, wasn't sure if she wanted to, anyway.

But I must, she thought, and her lips parted and her lashes fluttered agitatedly, causing a cool, absent smile to twist Steve Warwick's lips as he murmured, 'This won't hurt in the slightest.'

'I… that's not…' But she got no further, as he bent her slightly backwards over his arm and slid his fingers through her hair, and his lips sought not her own at first but the satiny hollows at the base of her throat-and surprise held her stock-still for a moment. Why? she wondered dazedly. Because it was infinitely tantalising? Because it made her so aware of the curves and hollows of her body and aware that to have him touch her most secret, sensitive places, if he did it with this light, caressing touch, would create a kind of rapture that would have her reeling with delight and ready to do anything for him…? But how could a man as forthright and often bloody- minded as he was, as strong and powerful, be so…? She couldn't put it into words, she found, but her lips parted again in wonder and this time he did claim her mouth and his hand left her hair and both hands moved on her body in what felt like all the right places, stroking, gathering her closer, but never once compelling. And she moved into him as she'd been once before and felt the softness of her breasts press against his chest, her hips touch his-and all the while he kissed her more and more deeply.

So when it ended she was as breathless as if she'd run a mile and he was breathing unsteadily too, as he watched her reaction with half-lowered lids and his long fingers traced a devastating little path of delight round her ear and down the slender column of her neck.

She closed her eyes in disbelief that any man could do this to her, let alone this one, and said huskily, 'After all the things you said, how could you…?' She opened her eyes and he was so close that she could see the faint freckles on his skin, the little lines beside his mouth, the way his tawny hair grew from his forehead, the clever eyes.

A glint that was part mockery, part amusement lit those eyes as he spoke. 'You said a few, too, Mrs Hastings,