Satans Master

‘I—I don’t know.’ She was beginning to feel faint—for the second time today. ‘I don’t know,’ she cried, tears gathering in her distressed green eyes. ‘What sort of man are you, to treat me like this? Let me go. Let me go, I tell you!’

His teeth bared viciously. ‘Not until you answer me. So tell me, who do I remind you of?’

Right at this moment he reminded her of the devil she had first thought him, the skin stretched tautly across his hollow cheeks, shadows beneath his cold grey eyes. But that growth of beard was completely human, although it made him more satanic than ever.

Sabina took a step backwards, unwittingly stepping on the cat’s paw. The same paw snaked out and caught her a savage blow on the ankle, as the cat growled its displeasure before running up the wooden staircase that led to the top floor of the cottage.

She winced. ‘Your cat shares your dislike of my being here.’ Her ankle felt sore already, and she was sure she could feel blood trickling down on to her foot. ‘I—– Could I just see to my ankle?’ she asked her captor.

‘Why not?’ He thrust her away from him. ‘And you’re right, Satan speaks for both of us. I don’t want you here, Miss Smith, for any reason,’ he added grimly.

Sabina was once again sitting on the lumpy sofa, the rest of the furniture and threadbare carpet in just as deplorable a condition. And yet the man’s clothes looked of good quality. He was a complete mystery, an enigma who wanted her out of his life as quickly as she had come into it.

‘Has the mist cleared?’ The scratch on her ankle was red and sore-looking, the blood flowing freely. She took out a tissue to staunch the flow, her long blonde hair escaping the collar of her anorak and falling down over her face.

‘No.’ He was looking at her with narrowed watchful eyes.

‘Then you can’t expect me to go out in that again,’ she said in disbelief, pushing her straight hair back behind her ears.

‘I didn’t exactly say that, only that I don’t want you here.’

‘I’d never find my way back to the road,’ she insisted.

He shrugged. ‘You found your way here, you could go back the same way.’ He turned to stare morosely into the fire.

Sabina racked her brains to think where she had seen that face before—although not exactly that face. This stranger was too thin, his features too harsh, the hair too long and out of style. She jumped nervously as hard grey eyes turned to look at her.

‘Well?’ he rasped.

‘I didn’t find my way here, I got lost,’ she snapped. ‘Now do you have some antiseptic I might put on this?’ she indicated her ankle. ‘Your pet has hurt me.’

‘And so will I if you stay here.’ His voice was harsh. ‘So you stay and take the consequences.’

‘C-consequences?’ she quavered.

‘There’s only one bedroom,’ he drawled tauntingly.

‘So? I—I can sleep down here on the sofa.’ Although how she would sleep on all those lumps was beyond her. ‘I won’t be any trouble, Mr—er—really I won’t. If I could just stay here until the mist clears …’

The intentness of his gaze unnerved her even more than she was already. ‘Sometimes that takes days,’ he informed her.

‘D-days?’

‘That’s right,’ he nodded. ‘How will you like being stuck here with me for days, with no one to help you?’

‘Would I need help?’ Sabina threw her head back in challenge.

‘You might,’ he said tightly, his eyes on the golden blondeness of her hair.

‘From you?’ She was curiously breathless at the prospect.

‘From me,’ he nodded, his gaze still fixed on her hair. ‘I told you, women haven’t been too plentiful around here. I’ve been here almost a year now, and no woman has crossed that threshhold until today. If you doubt my masculinity …’ he lunged forward and pulled her ruthlessly to her feet, bending his head to grind his mouth down savagely on hers.

After her initial resistance Sabina felt herself begin to weaken, felt his hands move beneath her anorak, pulling up her jumper to mould her breasts in the palms of his hands, his thumbs teasing her nipples into throbbing life. She recoiled in shock, straightening her clothing as she backed away from him.

His face had darkened with cruel humour. ‘What’s the matter, Miss Smith?’ he taunted. ‘I thought someone like you would do anything for a story.’

‘Someone like me?’ she repeated dazedly, her senses still reeling from his onslaught. ‘And for what story?’

‘Oh, come on, Miss Smith, you know exactly what I mean.’

Sabina frowned. ‘Why do you keep saying my name like that, almost accusingly?’

‘Because I am accusing you, damn you,’ he was furiously angry now, the eyes she had thought cold burning with fierce anger. ‘I’m accusing you of coming here to spy on me, of using every trick you can think of to get me to talk, of—–’

‘Please,’ she put up a resisting hand, very pale. ‘Don’t say any more. You’re wrong about me,’ she said shakily. ‘I don’t even know who you are, let alone what you’re trying to hide.’

‘I’m not trying to hide anything! I’m just sick to death of reporters—nosy, prying reporters who keep trying to twist everything that happened,’ his expression was bleak.

Sabina shook her head. ‘I’m not a reporter! Whatever gave you the idea I was?’

‘You aren’t a very good actress, and you could have tried a more original name than Smith,’ he scorned.

‘But that is my name,’ she insisted. ‘I can prove it to you.’ She moved to the door.

His hand snaked out and caught her around the wrist. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To the saddlebags on my bicycle. I—I have identification there.’

‘I’ll bet you do. And I’ll also lay odds on you running like hell once you set foot outside that door. What’s the matter, Miss Smith, have you decided you can’t go through with it, that simply publicising confirmation of my whereabouts will be enough?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she shook her head. ‘Go through with what?’

‘Oh, I’m sure it all seemed so logical back in London,’ he sneered. ‘Someone tipped you off on my possible whereabouts and you decided to come up here and get the inside story, literally.’

‘Literally?’ She trembled as his hold tightened.

‘Literally,’ he nodded. ‘As inside my bed.’

‘Inside your—–! My God,’ she gasped, ‘you have a nerve!’

‘I have several hundred, and at the moment all of them are attuned to you. Your newspaper chose well, Sabina—I take it that at least that part of your name is true?’

‘All of it’s true,’ she said desperately.

He gave her a scathing look. ‘Your cover is blown, Sabina. It was blown the moment I saw your hair and those wide innocent eyes, so you might as well drop the act. You never know, if you play your cards right I could just give you that story after all.’ His hand moved up to touch the silkiness of her hair. ‘Yes, your editor chose well. I’ve always had a weakness for blondes.’ Once again his head lowered and he claimed her lips, gently this time, parting them persuasively as he deepened the kiss.

In that moment everything in Sabina’s life suddenly changed, became more ordered. This man’s lips searching and probing hers made any more thoughts of marrying Nicholas unnecessary. She couldn’t marry him now. A stranger, a cold hard man embittered by she didn’t know what, was making her his with the touch of his lips and hands, was arousing her as no other man ever had, and she couldn’t possibly marry anyone else but him.