Satans Master. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ shook her head. ‘I—–’

      ‘Which one? The Chronicle, News and Views, or could it be the worst one of all, the Daily News?’

      Her face paled as he mentioned her father’s newspaper. She knew it was a terrible newspaper, preying on other people’s mistakes and misery.

      ‘The Daily News,’ her tormentor repeated with distaste. ‘God, that’s really sinking low! And doesn’t he mind you using your body as well as your mind to get a story?’

      Sabina frowned. ‘He?’

      His hand came out and pulled on the slender gold chain about her throat, tugging it out of the neckline of her jumper to reveal the ring threaded on its length, the huge diamond flanked by two smaller emeralds. It was her engagement ring, the ring that had been on her finger for the past four months, until yesterday morning when she had decided such a ring was rather conspicuous for the quiet holiday she had intended taking. Had being the operative word; meeting this man had changed all that.

      ‘I discovered this during our—encounter, just now,’ his mouth twisted. ‘And I repeat, doesn’t he mind who you sleep with?’

      Sabina blushed, remembering where his hand had strayed to discover the ring as it lay nestled between the firm swell of her breasts. ‘There’s nothing to mind,’ she dismissed impatiently. ‘I’m on holiday—–’

      ‘Oh yes?’ he scorned.

      ‘Yes,’ she flashed.

      ‘Are you also on holiday from him?’

      ‘I’m alone, if that’s what you mean.’ She instantly wished she hadn’t told him that, it made her too vulnerable.

      ‘It wasn’t, but thanks for the information.’

      ‘Then what did you mean?’

      ‘I mean is it your usual practice to forget your engagement when it suits you to, when you have another man in your sights?’

      Sabins flushed. ‘You aren’t “in my sights"!’ How could she have imagined herself in love with such an insulting, arrogant man! Thank God that madness had passed, leaving only disgust with herself for having responded to him. It must have been the sensual aura he emitted without even being aware of it, that air of sexual excitement about him, that had made her forget all sensibility.

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Not even professionally?’

      Sabina sighed. ‘Well, as I don’t even know who you are I can’t really say.’

      His face darkened, his mouth tight. ‘I’ve already told you to drop the act!’

      ‘I’m sorry it it hurts your ego,’ she scorned, ‘but I really have no idea of your identity. Are you a bank robber or something?’

      ‘Or something,’ he agreed moodily.

      ‘Well, Mr Whoever-you-are, do you have some antiseptic for my ankle?’ It was starting to throb now, the cat having curled its claws into her skin before ripping them out again. ‘That animal may not have been clean,’ she snapped.

      ‘Satan is very clean, all cats are.’

      ‘Nevertheless …’ she eyed him expectantly.

      He turned impatiently on his heel, going through a door into what looked like a kitchen, a small cramped room that looked barely big enough for the width and height of him. He seemed to be searching through a cabinet over the sink, finally coming back and thrusting a tube of antiseptic at her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she accepted quietly, applying the cream to her slender ankle, aware that he watched her every move. She handed the tube back to him. ‘Can I leave now?’ she asked nervously, suddenly aware that his ‘or something’ could be the rapist or murderer she had kidded her father about yesterday.

      ‘If you leave where would you go?’ His grey eyes were narrowed and watchful.

      ‘I—I have a tent. I suppose I could pitch that somewhere.’

      He shook his head. ‘I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt—for the moment. You can stay here tonight.’

      ‘But you said—you said you had no room for me.’

      ‘I said there was only one bed,’ he corrected mockingly.

      ‘Oh,’ she blushed.

      ‘Do you also have a sleeping bag in that seemingly bottomless saddlebag?’

      ‘Yes,’ she frowned her puzzlement.

      ‘Then you can share my bed—in the safe cocoon of your sleeping bag, of course.’

      ‘Oh no, I—I’d rather sleep down here on the sofa. If you don’t mind.’

      ‘Oh, but I do mind. I can’t have a guest of mine sleeping on the sofa,’ his words taunted her.

      ‘Then couldn’t you—–’

      ‘No, I could not! For one thing the sofa isn’t long enough for either of us to sleep on, for another thing it’s my bed. And I’m not willing to put myself out that much for someone I didn’t even invite here.’

      ‘I’ve said I’ll go—–’

      ‘I wouldn’t even send a dog out in that mist. And although reporters are the lowest form of life to me I can’t be sure that you are one. But I can’t be sure you aren’t either,’ his voice hardened. ‘So tonight you’ll stay with me, where I can keep an eye on you.’

      Sabina gulped, her eyes wide. ‘K-keep an eye on me?’

      ‘I’m still not sure about you, Miss Smith,’ he managed to put a wealth of sarcasm into his voice. ‘So I’m not leaving you down here where you could snoop about.’

      ‘I don’t want to “snoop about” anywhere,’ she denied angrily. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered you at all if I hadn’t been lost and it’s pouring down with rain.’

      ‘Can you cook?’ he asked suddenly.

      She frowned. ‘Cook?’

      ‘Mm,’ her reluctant host nodded. ‘Before I came here I had never felt the necessity to learn to cook. Since my arrival here I’ve had to learn the hard way. Even Satan wouldn’t touch some of my earlier efforts.’

      ‘You want me to cook you a meal?’

      ‘That was the general idea.’

      ‘Why, you—–’

      ‘What’s the matter, can’t you cook either?’

      ‘Of course I can cook, but—–’

      ‘Good.’ He sat down in the fireside chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. ‘You’ll find the makings of a meal out in the kitchen.’

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