When The Devil Drives

The car door refused to budge under her frantic fingers. It was clearly linked to some central locking system outside her control, trapping her there alone with him.

Shrinking into the corner of her seat, Joanna saw Cal Blackstone reach for her, felt her shoulders grasped without gentleness, and her whole body drawn inexorably forward towards him. The smile had been wiped from his face, and his grey eyes glittered with something far removed from amusement. Something she barely understood, but, strangely, feared just the same.

She said, on a little sob, ‘No—ah—no,’ then his mouth was on hers and all further protest was stifled.

Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for Cal’s kiss and nothing could have done. He held her ruthlessly, crushing her soft breasts against the hard muscular wall of his chest, twining his hand in her still-damp hair to hold her still, while his lips plundered hers, relentlessly, hungrily—and endlessly.

She couldn’t breathe. The scent of his skin filled her nostrils with a sudden and desperate familiarity. Tiny coloured lights danced frenetically behind her closed lids. She felt physically overpowered, totally at his mercy. She thought she might be going to faint, and with the thought came a surge of anger, and contempt for her own weakness.

He muttered against her lips, ‘Open your mouth,’ and in a flash she saw her salvation. Pliantly she obeyed. She felt his sigh of satisfaction, was aware of his clasp slackening slightly so that he could turn her in his arms, to hold her more easily against his body, and as he relaxed she bit him hard, sinking her teeth into his lower lip.

Cal jerked his head away, swearing, lifting a hand almost unbelievingly to his bleeding mouth.

‘You little shrew!’

‘Try explaining that to your latest woman!’ Joanna flung at him. ‘And, from now on, keep your distance from me.’

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood. To her fury he was grinning again.

‘Not now I’ve had a taste of delights to come, sweetheart.’

‘You’ll get nothing more from me as long as you live! You might have been able to take advantage of the situation today, but I’ll make sure it never happens again.’

‘Ah, but it will,’ he said softly. ‘I may have lost the first skirmish, Joanna, but the war’s only just beginning. And, I warn you, nothing but your complete surrender will do.’

She drew a swift, blazing breath, glaring at him. ‘You’re nothing but an animal, Cal Blackstone!’

He held out the bloodstained handkerchief, staring grimly back at her. ‘Then I’ve certainly picked the right mate.’

‘You’ve picked nothing and no one. From now on, keep out of my way!’ She turned to wrestle with the door-handle, and to her chagrin it worked instantly.

‘Our paths were made to cross.’ His voice followed her as she stumbled out of the car. ‘If you didn’t know it before, you know it now. So drive carefully, my hot-tempered vixen. When I finally get to unwrap my gift, I want it to be perfect.’

She got to her car somehow, and sat, shaking, in the driving seat, waiting until the Jaguar slid past, and was swallowed up in the mist and rain.

She put up a cautious finger and touched the swollen contours of her mouth. Her lips felt bruised, but the greatest wound she’d suffered was humiliation.

She stared at the grey-soaked landscape, and thought, I’m afraid of him.

Now, in the drawing-room of Chalfont House, Joanna found the same words rising to her lips. I’m afraid of him.

She shook herself irritably. That was what came of letting herself remember—relive things best banished from her mind for good. But oh, God, it had been so real. She could swear she’d almost felt the pressure of Cal’s mouth ravaging hers once more, tasted his blood …

Two years ago she had escaped him, but at what a price. She couldn’t run away again. This time she had to stand her ground and fight him. She squared her shoulders, glancing up again at her grandfather’s portrait.

‘The war’s on again, Grandpa,’ she said. ‘And this time I mean to win—for all our sakes.’

She had to. Because surrender on Cal Blackstone’s terms was unthinkable.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ebb4ea9f-b2f6-5c10-acf9-1b1c29ee5b60)

THE MIST SWIRLED thickly above the high road. Joanna was lost in the depths of it, the damp tendrils wreathing about her, stifling her, confining her so that her limbs felt heavy and incapable of movement.

Yet she had to move—to run, because somewhere in the fog Cal Blackstone was waiting, his predator’s hands reaching to stop her—to take her. She took one sluggish step, then another—and screamed aloud as a hand closed purposefully on her shoulder.

‘Why, Miss Joanna, whatever’s the matter with you?’

Perspiring, Joanna opened her eyes and found Nanny, comforting as the daylight pouring through the window, standing at her bedside with a cup of tea.

She managed a weak smile. ‘Sorry, Nan, I must have been dreaming. Did I startle you?’

‘It looks more as if you startled yourself, lass.’ Nanny scrutinised her austerely. ‘You’re white as a sheet! Drink your tea while it’s hot.’

A cup of tea, Joanna thought. Nanny’s panacea for all ills from a headache to bereavement. She sat up, punching her tumbled pillows into shape. ‘You’re spoiling me.’

‘Well, make the most of it. It won’t happen so soon again,’ Nanny said severely. ‘And I’ve a message from Mr Simon.’

‘Let me guess.’ Joanna looked up at the ceiling. ‘He’s won a million pounds on the football pools and all our problems are solved.’

Nanny snorted. ‘Since when has Mr Simon done the pools?’ she demanded. ‘I’m to tell you that Mrs Chalfont was taken badly in the night, and he’s gone with her to the nursing home.’

‘You mean Fiona’s started labour?’ Joanna sat bolt upright. ‘But the baby’s not due for another couple of months. Oh, that’s awful!’

‘Don’t waste your sympathy,’ Nanny advised tartly. ‘That baby won’t be born until the right time, take my word for it. Madam’s got indigestion, as I told her.’ She snorted. ‘What can she expect—sending Mr Simon into Northwaite at all hours for that tandoori chicken stuff?’

‘Oh, is that all?’ Joanna relaxed.

‘Anyway, Mr Simon said to tell you if he’s not back in time for the meeting this afternoon, you’ve to hold the fort. He said you’d understand.’

Joanna choked on a mouthful of tea. ‘He said what?’

‘You’re not deaf. And don’t spill that tea on your quilt.’

‘But he can’t do this,’ Joanna said, half to herself. ‘He’s got to be back here in time—he’s got to …’ She looked up beseechingly at Nanny. ‘The nursing home—they’ll send Fiona home straight away if it’s just indigestion, won’t they?’

Nanny sniffed. ‘The lord only knows. She might have discovered a few more symptoms by the time the doctor comes round. Madam’s not averse to a few days in bed being waited on.’

Nanny could never be described as the young Mrs Chalfont’s greatest fan, but Joanna had to admit she spoke with a certain amount of justice. Once in the luxury of the nursing home, with attentive nurses answering her every bell, Fiona might well be reluctant to return to Chalfont House where people were more likely to tell her to pull herself together and stop making a fuss about nothing. And she would certainly insist on Simon dancing attendance on her.

‘After all,’ Fiona had often pouted to him, ‘it’s your fault I’m feeling so ghastly. It’s your baby.’

Joanna groaned inwardly. Her plan to put several miles between herself and Chalfont House prior to Cal Blackstone’s arrival was now plainly inoperable.

I could always ask him to postpone his visit, she thought, but dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had formed. The last thing she wanted, after all, was Cal Blackstone to guess her deep reluctance to face him. And at a wider, less personal level, any attempt to put him off might be unwise at this juncture.

If Simon doesn’t come back in time, I’ll talk to him myself, she decided grimly. And I’ll let him know that though he may have conned Si into thinking he’s Mister Nice Guy, he’s got a fight on his hands with me.

‘Why, Miss Jo, you look really fierce. Whatever are you thinking about?’ queried Nanny.