When The Devil Drives. Sara Craven

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.