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found her, she was going to have the devil's own time losing him again. She couldn't

remember when she had last been so intensely irritated with a man.

'Your pack was well within reach from up here.' He dangled it briefly over the edge to

show her. 'And as far as locating you goes, I just happened to be taking a stroll around

this side of the lake and followed the sight of this sapling's spasms and the sound of your

charming curses. Are you hurt?'

The last had been asked without a change in his calm expression, but the light tone in his

voice had gentled so unexpectedly that she felt those stupid, irrational tears prick at the

back of her eyes again.

'No,' she replied grudgingly, 'only shaken. Go away.'

He shook his head and a black lock of hair fell into his eyes. 'Not until I see that you're

safely out, and soon. In case you hadn't noticed, it's about to rain and, when it does, that

ravine is going to fill up with water.'

She tilted back her head and a large raindrop fell on the side of her nose, to trickle tear-

like down her cheek. Clenching her teeth, for he was right, she said between them, 'All

right, all right. But as soon as I'm out, will you for God's sake leave me alone?'

His expression revealed absolutely nothing. 'If that's what you want,' he agreed equably.

'If you can climb part-way up, I'll lift you the rest of the way out '

'The thing is, Francis,' she said, her gaze dropping doubtfully to the crumbling wall in

front of her, 'I'm not entirely sure it's possible '

'Of course, if you're not up to a little effort, I can always go back to the cabin for a length

of rope,' he added.

'I'll be right up,' she told him grimly, and started to climb.

The first three feet were easy, but it had begun to rain in earnest. Not only were all the

available handholds becoming slick, but the footholds were rapidly dissolving. She

managed to scrabble up another half-yard before risking a glance at Francis. He had

swung his strong legs over the edge, braced one foot at the base of a young tree that was

growing out of the side of the gorge and was leaning over with his hand outstretched.

'Come on,' he encouraged, 'almost there.'

Hot and panting, Kirstie longed to tell him to speak for himself but she didn't have the

breath. She peered past a dripping fringe of blonde hair to work out her next handhold. If

she went left, then right to the tree Francis was using, she should be able to reach those

long, inviting fingers.

The first part of the plan was no problem. She stretched out, arm shaking, tendons

straining. Her hand clutched the trunk by Francis's foot; she trusted her weight to her

grasp.

'Well done!' he said and reached for her wrist.

But the rain had already done its damage. The tree came loose from its weakened

foundation and shuddered forward. Francis rocked off balance. Flat against the side of

the gorge, she felt a tiny shower of dislodged dirt and pebbles against her neck as she

slipped downwards two feet.

'Look out!' she shouted warningly. He made one more attempt and lunged desperately

for her hand. With a creaking and a snapping of roots, the tree broke free. She

instinctively ducked her head into her arms as she fell for the second time, crying out as

her bruised shoulder connected hard with the ravine floor.

Francis twisted as hard as he could to avoid the impact with her slight-boned body, but

he still landed half on top of her. She grunted and he rolled away immediately to come

up on his knees and bend over her.

'Dear God,' he said, in a shaken voice quite unlike him. Her eyes flew open, for she had

never heard him sound like that before. 'Are you all right?'

'I—I think so,' she whispered, staring up at him.

'Are you sure?' He ran his hands up her legs, probing with care, then checked her arms.

Icy shock from both her falls had set in, and the warm, sure touch of his fingers brought

a languid, blood-red tide of heat washing over her so that she shivered in convulsive

reaction.

Rain had plastered his black hair to his head and ran in rivulets down the side of his

neck. He slipped one gentle arm under her shoulders and lifted her against his chest.

Turning his vivid green eyes down to hers, he splayed one hand along her side. 'What

about your ribs?' he asked.

The ball of his thumb collided with the swell of her breast and, betrayingly, he caught

his breath. Electric sexuality crackled through her body as she stared at him, helpless,

caught by the wild race of her heart. He had to feel it. It thudded against the palm of his

hand. His eyes flared with green fire, and with a tiny clenched shift he cupped her

breast.

Her whole body arced in shocked pleasure and as her face tilted upwards he made some

small sound at the back of his throat and kissed her, soft as the rain, like the last time,

but then his head slanted sideways and he drove between her lips with his hot, seeking

tongue, and the last time was banished forever into the past as he hungrily invaded every

part of her mouth.

A moan broke from her at the piercing, darting sensation, and he drank the sound away,

then unabashedly, voluptuously sucked her tongue into his mouth. She shuddered all

over, her one free arm sliding up around his neck, her hand seeking the evocative curve

of the nape. It brought him down on top of her, sliding the heavy weight of his torso

along hers, an unbearable friction that brought them hip to hip.

His fingers slid over the top of her breast and slowly, tightly raked across the raised

nipple he felt through the soaked fabric of her top. Rampant fire shot through her so

sharply that her mouth moved, but his was the groan that vibrated through both of their

chests. With abrupt urgency, he left her mouth, ran his tongue down the length of her

pale, exposed throat and bit at the nipple thrusting so tantalisingly against her T-shirt.

She cried out, twisting underneath him. She was so achingly hot, she felt as if clouds of

steam should be rising off her body. His head pulled back up to her face where the skin

was tautened over the delicate bones, and as he bent to lick her lips he thrust the bulky,

hardened weight between his hips against hers in an ancient communication of desire. It

pressed her on to the uneven ground, upon which the rain was pounding, and she lifted

her own hips in silent, hungry answer.

And opened her eyes at the same time. And looked at his darkened, heat-flushed face.

Realisation, like a lightning bolt, was fatal in this climate.

Dear God. She looked up and saw Francis Grayson. What was she doing? How could

she act like this? A simple touch, a single kiss, and she would have lain back on this

fern-filled bed and let him take her. To go from heated passion to being stone-cold sober

was as agonising as coming down from a drug. She pulled away from his kiss. His

black, wet head reared back. He opened brilliant eyes, but they were blind.

She said stiffly, 'If you're quite through, perhaps we should try that climb again.'

Slowly expression came back to him. She turned her face away from it. 'What

happened?' he asked.

'Nothing. Do you mind getting off me? Thank you.'

'What do you mean, nothing happened?' Francis sounded very odd. He sounded too

patient, as if he were humouring a recalcitrant child. 'One moment you're with me all the

way, and the next it's switched off. What flipped the switch, Kirstie?'

Kirstie pushed herself up on hands and knees, her short hair darkened and plastered flat

to her head. 'I'm tired, and this mud feels foul, and all you want to do is sit in a puddle

and argue,' she gritted, near to tears, she was so upset with herself. 'Well, argue with

yourself. I'm getting out of here.'

The tree she and Francis had dislodged had wedged itself about halfway into the gorge.

She scrambled on to it, stood, and swung herself on to the edge at the top. Then, without

waiting to see Francis emerge, Kirstie fled—she couldn't kid herself, she knew it— back

around the lake towards the cabin.

She got as far as the fishing-hole. At that point she heard Francis behind her. His was a

body well trained in short bursts of speed and manoeuvring. Even as her head turned, he

scooped her up in both large hands. The impetus of his dash sent them over the edge of

the rock.

They hit the lake together. Kirstie screamed in surprise at the chilly water that closed

over her head. All the breath left her body in a choked gasp. She fought to get to the

surface as Francis grabbed hold of her again and pulled her head out of the water.

The water was five and a half feet deep at the spot where they had fallen in. Francis

could easily stand, whereas Kirstie couldn't touch the bottom. His hands went to her

waist and he pulled her against him as she gasped and sputtered.

'Why did you go and do that?' she cried furiously.

His own eyes glittered hot and bright with anger. Water cascaded down his neck and off

broad shoulders, and more was falling into his eyes from the sky. He gave her a grim

smile. 'Took care of the mud, didn't it?'

Out of sheer temper she splashed his face in retaliation, an action so ridiculous that he

laughed, which made her even angrier. 'Let ' kick '—go ' kick '—of me!' In the lake she

wasn't able to do much damage, but the last kick against his shins was violent enough to

loosen his hold on her waist.

Awkwardly she splashed to the tangled, overgrown shoreline and tried to drag herself

out, but the muscle in her left thigh protested against all the abuse she had heaped on it,

and cramped. 'Ah!' she cried, doubled up. 'Oh, ouch!'

At once Francis was at her side. As soon as he had climbed out of the water, he reached

and picked her up. She was tempted to lash out at him again, but the cramp in her leg

was too absorbing. She couldn't even straighten her knee. Evidently he had no desire to

rile her further, for when he had reached dry, solid ground he dropped her and strode

towards the cabin. She immediately crumpled into a heap, wrapped her arms around her

body and shivered.

Francis glanced over his shoulder. When he saw her crouching, bedraggled figure, he

walked back to stand in front of her with hands on hips. 'Since you were the one who

was so uncomfortable, why aren't you getting up?' he asked suspiciously.

She glared at him through the wet strands in her eyes. 'I would if I c-c-could,' she bit out.

'I've g-got cramp.'

'Heaven give me strength!' He scooped her up again as easily as if she were a ten-pound

sack of potatoes and once more strode for the cabin.

Kirstie considered the shape and grace of his collarbone directly in front of her face,

bracing herself as well as she could against his chest as she ground her teeth at the

painful muscle spasm. The downpour had become a torrent, and the clearing was almost

totally dark. So was the cabin as they entered.

'Where's the light switch?' he asked shortly. It was right by his shoulder. She reached out

and flicked it on by way of answering.

He crossed the room, set her gently on the settee and started to shove logs from a well-

stocked bin into the empty fireplace. A large box of matches was on the mantel. After he

had placed logs in a compact, well-designed stack, he lit both ends and soon had a fire

going well. The first welcome hint of heat licked across his skin.

He looked at her. Kirstie sat hunched and grimacing over her awkwardly doubled legs.

'I'll go get blankets. Can you strip off those wet clothes by yourself?' he asked.

'I can try,' she muttered, shooting him an annoyed glare.

She managed to unzip her jeans but couldn't get them down her legs when he knelt,

dripping, in front of her. 'Look, I'm sorry,' he said when she tried to push his hands away.

'I lost my temper. It was a stupid thing to do. But you've got to get out of those jeans

before the heat will do your leg any good. Let me help.'

If looks could kill, God would have had the grace to sizzle him by now. She gave up on

her fit of pique, lifted her hips and hissed as he eased the wet denim down both slender

white legs. Then she grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around her torso.

Francis knelt by her leg and contemplated it with a frown. The muscle spasm was visible

to the eye under the velvet skin. 'There's no other way to do this,' he warned. Before she

could stop him he had taken firm hold of her thigh and massaged the length of it for

several minutes. Kirstie squirmed a frantic protest against the pain, but eventually she

was able to uncurl enough to straighten the leg properly.

How strangely comforting, she thought as she watched those long fingers curl around

the back of her knee. He was still dripping wet, yet the touch of his hands was warm. As

the muscle unclenched, his massaging grew lighter. Seen from that angle, the line of his

jaw was beautiful.

What had made him so angry?

'Better now?'

'Yes.'

He looked up and into her open eyes. This time the sexual voltage was so leaping, it

seared her to the bone. Her expression filled with dismay; she drew back.

But Francis was already rising smoothly to his feet. 'Fine,' he said, his voice carefully