Fated Attraction
Автор
Carole Mortimer
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PROLOGUE
IN THE gutter.
Incredible. She, who until very recently, although she had taken it for granted at the time, had lived in the pampered, indulgent lap of luxury.
In the gutter.
Among the accumulated paper and empty cans, rainwater rushing by on its way to the drain several feet away, the rain continuing to fall heavily in the dimly lit street.
She couldn’t even be bothered to get up. Her hip ached where she had landed on it heavily, and the throb in her ankle told her it was going to hurt too when she stood up and tried to put weight on it. So she wouldn’t stand up, would just lie here and let the world, a world that had proved itself hard and unrelenting this last week, carry on without her. It didn’t want her and, at the moment, she didn’t want it!
How Jordan would laugh if he could see her now, unwanted, useless, completely defeated emotionally, and lying in the gutter while the rain fell and soaked her. It wasn’t that he was a cruel man, it was just that his prediction that she would fail utterly on her own had proved correct. Even her suitcase had burst open when she had dropped it; all the beautiful clothes, that Jordan had told her time and time again that she spent too much money on, scattered over the road in the mud and the rain. So much for their ‘designer labels’ now!
She began to laugh, softly at first, and then more shrilly, laying back on the tarmac.
‘That’s all I need, a damned hysterical female!’ rasped a voice that sounded more than a little impatient. ‘Get up, woman, before another car comes along and finishes what I started!’
It was like having a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in her face, and she stopped laughing immediately, frowning up at the man who towered over her.
She had briefly forgotten, in her misery, the car that had turned the corner mere seconds ago, the suddenness of its appearance having been the reason she had stepped hurriedly back on the pavement, stumbling as she did so, the force of the water that sprayed over her as the wide tyres drove through puddles seeming to be the impetus needed to make her lose her balance completely, twisting her ankle as she landed heavily on her thigh.
The car had been brought to a halt some yards away, its back lights gleaming like red eyes in the darkness, the engine idly ticking over.
At least the driver had stopped.
Although there was no need for him to be so rude!
‘If I could get up I would have done so,’ she snapped. ‘But you seem to have incapacitated me—’
‘My car didn’t touch you!’ he bit out forcefully. ‘You stepped off the pavement without looking, and when you realised there was a car coming you slipped trying to avoid it.’
It wasn’t so far off the truth, but even so he didn’t have to sound so arrogant about it.
‘Your car hit her, anyone could see that,’ a voice accused.
Amazing. Seconds ago this quiet back-street of London had been empty; now a small crowd had gathered to witness what they obviously hoped was going to be a scene.
The driver of the car glared at the man who had just spoken. ‘As you were nowhere near the scene when the accident happened, I don’t think that anything you have to say on the matter is relevant.’
Heathcliff. That was who this man made her think of. Dark and saturnine, with over-long hair that seemed inclined to curl, although it was difficult to tell with the rain streaming down his face—a face that was all dark hollows and shadows, his eyes glinting with anger.
Was she delirious? What did it matter who he made her think of? He was arrogant and condescending, and she had had enough of both emotions to last her a lifetime.
She moved gingerly, pain shooting through her ankle, her hip aching abominably. ‘I don’t think I can get up.’ She gasped with the shock of the intensity of the pain.
‘She’s broken something.’ That same accusing male voice in the crowd spoke with gloom. ‘I don’t think you should get up, love,’ the man advised her confidingly. ‘Wait until the police get here is what I say, and let them—’
‘Police!’ the driver echoed with scorn. ‘There is no need to involve the police in this.’
‘Of course there is.’ The other man sounded scandalised—probably at the thought of seeing his evening’s entertainment being cut short! ‘You knocked this young lady down …’
‘I did not knock—’
‘Yes, you did!’
‘No, I—’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake!’ the ‘young lady’ cut in crossly, struggling into a sitting position to glare up at both of them, as no one actually seemed inclined to assist her. ‘As you so rightly pointed out,’ she snapped at the driver, ‘if I don’t soon get up off this road I’m going to be run over by other traffic and killed!’
‘Here,’ he bit out impatiently, his arms curiously gentle as he swung her up against his chest. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered as the movement caused her obvious pain. ‘I will be seeing to this young lady’s welfare,’ he informed the crowd with finality.
Much to their disappointment, the ‘young lady’ noted ruefully, before she was briskly carried away to be placed on the warm leather passenger seat of the old-design Jaguar.
‘My clothes!’ she protested before he could slam the door behind her.
Irritation furrowed his brow once again before he glanced back at the suitcase and the strewn clothing.
‘Hell!’ he muttered with suppressed violence, closing her car door with the same controlled emotion.
But he did go back and pick up the clothes and push them haphazardly inside the case.
She watched his impatient movements in the wing-mirror, sure that the more delicate items of clothing—her bras and briefs were made of the finest silks—would be beyond salvation after his rough handling of them.
But the crowd had dispersed now, much to her relief, even the dogged heckler having taken himself off now that there wasn’t any further fun to be had, at anyone’s expense.
But, as the boot of the car was wrenched open and her suitcase flung inside, she realised how very alone she was with this man—a man who hadn’t shown even a glimmer of a gentler side to his nature. He radiated barely controlled anger as he got in beside her, and she realised she couldn’t get out of the car and get away from him even if she wanted to because her hip hurt her so badly and her ankle refused for the moment to support her weight, slight as it was.
If the man turned out to be some sort of kidnapper she didn’t even think a ransom would be paid for her if it were demanded; she very much doubted that Jordan would pay to have her returned to him.
She might have been in the gutter a few minutes ago, filled with frustration and despair, but now she had a feeling she could be in danger!
