CHAPTER TWO

      HIS SARDONIC WORDS had a steadying effect, reminding her as they did of their last interview. He had been mocking then, and scathing too, and violently angry, although he had tried hard to control it, and a feathering of anticipation ran over Rachel’s skin at the memory of how it had ended.

      ‘What do you want, Jaime?’ she enquired now, making a display of leaning close to the mirror again, smoothing a delicate finger over the curve of her eyebrow. ‘I should have thought any contact we have to have could be more suitably expressed in the presence of your parents, and I see no reason for us to exchange anything more than the time of day.’

      She spoke coolly, controlling the tendency her voice had to quiver a little, and felt quite pleased with her efforts. He should not imagine their previous relationship gave him any prior rights where she was concerned, and it was better to make her position clear, right from the start.

      ‘You think that, do you?’ Jaime’s voice was low and flat, devoid of expression, concealing his feelings. ‘So we’re to behave like strangers, are we?’

      ‘We are strangers,’ she retorted, realising she could not go on avoiding looking at him. ‘I told you—I never knew you. Now, if you don’t mind—’

      She moved then, as if to go past him, but he was standing squarely in the doorway, and her downcast eyes could not avoid the sight of his booted feet, set slightly apart, with the narrow base of the walking stick that he favoured on his right.

      Her eyes moved upward almost involuntarily then, over the cream-coloured corded pants, that enclosed his hips like a second skin, over the dark green shirt he was wearing, the neckline unbuttoned to reveal the brown column of his throat, to the swarthy features of his lean dark face, that she remembered so well. She was a tall girl herself, but he had always been taller, easily six feet, with a lean, muscular body, that owed its hardness more to the tough life he led than to any particular prowess in physical sports. He was not a particularly handsome man. Like his body, his face had a toughness that denied simple good looks. But he was attractive—how attractive, Rachel knew only too well, and the hooded depths of his eyes and the sensual twist of his mouth had an appeal that was purely magnetic. She had felt that magnetism once, she could even feel it at this moment, but now she knew the selfish nature that lay behind that sexy exterior, and despised herself for allowing even a trace of the old charisma to disturb her.

      ‘Will you let me pass?’ she demanded now, fixing her gaze on the central button of his shirt. ‘I want to put on some make-up and brush my hair, and your mother and father are waiting for their supper.’

      Jaime made no move to accommodate her. ‘Aren’t you going to ask how I’m feeling?’ he asked, using his free hand to massage his hip. ‘Don’t you want to know how it happened, and whether they got the bullet out?’

      ‘I really don’t see that it matters to me, one way or the other,’ Rachel returned callously, hardly aware of what she was saying in her urgency to get away from him—from being alone with him—from this impossible situation. ‘Your mother explained all I needed to know. She told me you got away with it, as usual. You always had the luck of the devil!’

      ‘Damm you, Rachel!’ His harshly expressed denunciation brought her head up with a jerk, and she stared tautly into his angry brown eyes. ‘Have you any idea how bloody painful it was, dragging myself in here? Just so that you shouldn’t be embarrassed! And you stand there and tell me you don’t care! You—little hypocrite!’ He used a word then that Rachel would never care to repeat.

      Rachel quivered, but she refused to be intimidated. She was alarmed to see the sallow cast of his features beneath their swarthy tan. He had not been lying when he said the effort of coming in here had drained him, and in spite of her angry bitterness, compassion stirred.

      ‘Don’t you think this conversation has gone far enough?’ she suggested quietly. ‘I’m sorry if I sound unfeeling, but I’ve just had a long journey, and I’m tired, and I didn’t know I’d have you to face at the end of it—’

      ‘You’re tired!’ he grated, bearing his weight on the stick as he moved nearer to her. ‘You’re sorry if you sound unfeeling!’ His mouth tightened ominously. ‘My God, do you think that’s sufficient recompense for the way you’re treating me?’

      ‘Jaime, listen—’

      ‘No, you listen! To me!’ He jerked her towards him as he spoke, bringing her close enough to be touching him, her thigh brushing his uninjured leg. ‘I didn’t come in here to quarrel with you, or to beg your sympathy. I came because I knew it was going to be difficult for you, for both of us, and I wanted to—smooth the passage.’ He made a sound of derision. ‘But you don’t want it that way, do you? You want to keep me at bay, to erect all those old grievances you’ve managed to perpetuate against me, to create a situation where it’s impossible for us to behave normally with one another.’ His eyes blazed angrily. ‘Oh, I know you refused to answer my calls, and you didn’t acknowledge any of my letters, but I thought—I really thought—we might be able to talk to one another here—’

      ‘Well, you were wrong.’ Rachel could not let that go unchallenged. For the first time, she tried to get away from him, but in spite of his injury he was still a lot stronger than she was, and by struggling with him she was only making the situation more volatile. ‘Jaime, we have nothing to say to one another,’ she exclaimed, then froze into immobility when he dragged her arm across his body and pressed her hand deliberately against his right leg.

      ‘Feel it!’ he commanded thickly. ‘I want you to feel it,’ and she averted her eyes quickly from the disturbing violence in his. But rather than promote another outburst, she flexed her fingers tentatively against the corded cloth. Beneath the dark material of his trousers she could detect the taut ribbing of the bandages, and sensed the heat of his flesh rising to meet hers. ‘Well?’ he muttered. ‘Can you feel it throbbing like a septic pulse? Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think we still had something to say!’

      ‘Jaime—’

      Her use of his name was not a plea for remission, but when she tilted her face up to his, his tormented expression was almost her undoing. Dear God, she thought dizzily, no one could disrupt her carefully controlled emotions like Jaime could, and for an insane moment she wanted him to touch her. She swayed weakly, as her head swam, and her breasts pressed briefly against his chest, but then Liz’s voice, from the foot of the stairs, called irresistibly, ‘Rachel! Darling, are you coming?’ and cold reason replaced the heated urgings of her senses.

      She did not have to ask Jaime to release her. He turned, as his mother spoke, his lean face taut and brooding. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I won’t embarrass you!’ and walked with evident difficulty out of her room.

      Downstairs,