Fated Attraction
Carole Mortimer
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
Table of Contents
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