Season of Desire: Complete Edition (11 page)

But the image of Miles alone, in danger, in the snow, is too much for me. I pull on my jacket and zip it up with one determined movement. I’m going to go out there, just to take a look. I can’t stay here imagining the worst. Besides, what are my chances of surviving without him? I might get through another day or two but without Miles’s expertise, I’m not likely to make it.

As I prepare to go outside, it strikes me what a fool I’ve been.

What the hell was I thinking, talking to him like that?

I know suddenly that if Miles had given in to my commands – if he’d ever obeyed me in the way I insisted that he did – my desire for him would have fallen away. The antagonism between us, the way it keeps flaring up – it’s important. I think I understand that now. We’re working each other out. Or maybe I’m testing him.

And I’m giving him every excuse he could possibly want to hate me.

I shudder inside suddenly at the memory of how I spoke to him earlier, how I must have looked, the way I used my empty threats to try and manipulate him.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to learn to conquer my tendency to act like a spoiled brat when I feel at my most vulnerable but, maybe, if I can persuade Miles to give me another chance, I can make things right again.

That’s if I can find him
.

There’s no way I can go far, but I need to check he’s not somewhere nearby. If he were just a metre or two from the hut, unable to make it back alone, how could I live with myself? I’ll do a circuit of the hut, I decide, and see what I can find. If there’s no sign of him, I’ll come back inside.

Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door. I’m ridiculously ill equipped for this. My clothes are laughably inadequate – I look down at my high-heeled boots, the black leather marked with grey ripples from yesterday’s snowy walk, and look quickly away again. I’ve never considered myself a heroine, but I’m about to venture outside anyway.

I open the door to a howling gale of snow and wind, and gasp at the intensity of the cold that instantly engulfs me.

These conditions are deadly. Only an idiot would go out into this weather.

I won’t get lost,
I tell myself.
It’ll be okay if I stay close to the hut. I just have to make sure he’s not nearby.

Then I press my hands into my pockets, lower my chin into the puffy collar, and head out into the white maelstrom.

Chapter Six

I haven’t gone very far before I know beyond all doubt that this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Forget trusting Jacob, this wins first prize in the numbskull stakes. Going out into the storm is sheer foolhardy madness. Almost instantly I’m blinded by snow, stumbling forward into a wind that cuts into my face like hundreds of tiny knives. How will I ever see Miles in this? He could be anywhere.

I have to try. I can’t just abandon him.

I keep going, forcing myself forward against the grim strength of the wind that buffets and batters at me. It almost floors me with its punching gusts, but I manage to stay upright and stagger on for a few more minutes before I come to a halt. I try to shout for Miles but my voice is a tiny reed-like sound that is lost instantly in the squalling wind and my mouth fills with snow the moment I open it.

It’s no good! I’ll have to go back. I won’t be able to do a circuit in this.

Fighting to stay on my feet, I turn back the way I’ve come – and then realise to my horror that I can’t see the hut. I can’t have walked more than a few metres from it, but I can see nothing in the whirling snowy air. I wonder if I’ve turned exactly 180 degrees to face the way I came, so that if I go straight on I’ll just get there somehow – and immediately lose all sense of direction. I have no idea how far I’ve turned.

A cold, clammy realisation comes over me. If I’m facing the wrong way and begin to walk, I’ll be walking to my death. Without a doubt.

I feel desperately afraid. Everything hinges on what I do next. A surge of anger at myself washes through me before I banish it resolutely. I can’t waste time on regretting things. I’m here now and I have to deal with it. I take a step forward into the storm, with the sure certainty that my fate is now decided, and there’s no way of knowing yet if I’ve made the right choice or not. I take another step and then another. I’m committed now. I can only go on.

I begin to pray.
Are you there, Goddess Freya? If you are, I’m in a sticky situation and I need your help. Please, please guide me to where I need to go. Please . . .

My arms are stretched out in front of me, my fingers, ice-cold, reaching for the stone of the hut wall that could be mere metres away – or in another direction entirely. I blink away the blinding snowflakes, trying desperately to see something, anything, that isn’t whirling and white.

Then I see it. My prayers have been answered. A dark shape is emerging from the storm. It must be the hut. I stagger forward to meet it, and it resolves not into the stone wall of the hut but into a figure and I’m falling into a pair of strong arms.

Miles!

Deep gratitude and relief rise up inside me and I send up a heartfelt thank you to the goddess.
He’s here. It’s going to be all right.

He’s shouting something in my ear, but I can’t make out what it is. Then he wraps one arm around me and turns me slightly to the right. We begin to stumble forward together, only able to concentrate on pressing into the force of the buffeting wind. It’s only a few minutes before the dark bulk of the hut shows through the storm but it feels like much longer, and another age seems to pass before Miles is yanking open the door and we are falling into the blissful quiet and relative warmth of its interior.

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ Miles yells, his angry voice ripping through the silence.

I jump, startled. I’m so happy and relieved to be back that his fury shocks me. ‘What?’

‘You fucking stupid child! Why the hell did you go out into that? Are you suicidal or something?’ His dark hair looks white, it’s so thick with snowflakes. They hang on his eyelashes and frost his cheeks. His shoulders are coated with a layer of snow and he begins to brush himself off, while still berating me. ‘You have to have a brain like a peanut to take such a crazy risk. How on earth am I supposed to protect you if you indulge in such stupidity? Christ!’ He looks seriously angry.

I’m indignant at the injustice and try to shout back but my chattering teeth and violent shakes mean I can only say in a quavering voice, ‘I’m not stupid, I was c-c-coming to look . . . f-f-for
you
.’

He stops brushing off snow and stares at me in contemptuous disbelief. ‘You were trying to look for me in
that
?’

‘B-b-because . . . I thought you were . . .
hurt
!’

He frowns, bewildered now.

‘I was . . . trying to help you.’ I sink down on to the planks nearest the fire. It’s died down to a glowing heart, but there is a good heat coming from it.

When Miles speaks again, his voice is softer. ‘Well . . . all right. I appreciate your concern. But it was sheer madness. Don’t do it again! You were heading off course. You’d have missed the hut and could have plummeted down the mountain.’

‘Where were you? You were gone for so long, I didn’t know what to think!’

He looks a little sheepish. ‘Okay – maybe I did take longer than I should have. The storm hadn’t started in earnest when I set out, and I went further than I intended. The conditions changed so fast, I could only get back slowly.’

My shakes are subsiding a little. ‘But how did you get back?’ I ask. ‘It was impossible to see anything.’

He makes an impatient expression at me as he takes off his jacket and lies it on the planks to dry. ‘I’m trained for this kind of survival. I’ve got ways of orienting myself. And, more importantly, I’ve got this.’ He rolls back his jumper sleeve and I can see a black chunky watch on his wrist. I noticed it earlier, I realise, when he took off his shirt: a particularly masculine kind of watch, multi-faced with dials and gadgets. ‘It’s got a compass,’ he explains, and smiles suddenly. ‘I wouldn’t really think about venturing out in dodgy conditions without one.’

‘I’ll ask for one for Christmas,’ I return.

He laughs. ‘You should. Maybe I should teach you a bit about survival. Then you’ll think twice before going out into a storm like that with no equipment.’

I say softly, ‘I’m sure there’s lots you could teach me.’

The atmosphere is instantly charged and he goes very still. He looks away and says in a terse voice, ‘I’m not sure you’d like me teaching you anything. You prefer giving the orders, from what I’ve seen.’

I gaze at him, willing him to look at me. The snow is gone from his dark hair now but it’s left it damp and I have a wild desire to run my fingers through it. The expression in his eyes is hidden from me by the hoods of his eyelids and the shadow cast by his strong brow. He sits down opposite me, planting his feet firmly down, and clasping his hands. His mouth has turned into a straight serious line and he’s looking anywhere else but at my face.

I feel nervous and shaky inside. I’m about to do something that doesn’t come naturally to me. ‘Miles . . .’

‘Mmm?’ He’s still not looking at me, gazing instead at the dirt floor of the hut, frowning.

‘I . . . I want to say something—’

He begins to talk briskly. ‘You know what, we ought to be thinking about lunch. And I’ll need to get some more wood in. We can safely say that there won’t be a rescue today so we’re going to be here until tomorrow at least. If the weather doesn’t improve after that, we may have to think again about our options. Now – I’ll get the wood if you look through that chest and see what’s on the menu.’ He stands up, still not meeting my eye.

‘Miles – please look at me,’ I say beseechingly, stretching out a hand towards him. ‘I have to say something, please let me . . .’

Miles turns his head slowly and looks down at me. I can’t read the expression in the blue eyes but they look darker somehow, the iris and the rim almost the same shade of navy. His lids are more hooded than ever as though he’s determined to keep his innermost thoughts hidden from me. ‘What is it?’ His voice is low, his tone short.

I realise that there’s a huge distance between us. All the intimacy we shared yesterday, the relationship we built up, is all gone. And that’s my fault. I wish so much I didn’t sabotage everything that matters to me. But I have a chance to put it right. In this situation, no one can jump on a plane and fly across the world because they’re offended. There’s no huge mansion to keep the warring factions apart. We’re together with nowhere else to go. We can’t hide from what’s gone wrong and we have to put it right, or coexist in miserable enmity.

‘Miles, I want . . .’ There’s that nervous fluttering in my stomach. I’ve said sorry before but this is a little different. ‘I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you earlier. It was awful and you must despise me for it. I know I shouldn’t throw my weight around and give orders, and behave so childishly, most of all to you when I owe you for saving my life. So . . . I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Can you forgive me?’

He takes all this in impassively.

I watch him, anxious. Is he going to accept my apology or not? He probably doesn’t realise how rare it is for me to humble myself in front of someone else – especially not an employee.

‘Of course I forgive you,’ he says at last, his voice gruff. ‘Thank you, Freya. I appreciate it.’

‘Are we okay again then?’ I say, venturing a smile at him.

He lets the corners of his mouth turn upwards a little, and something in the set line of his shoulders relaxes a little. ‘Yeah. Sure. Of course we are. Now – will it be stew again or do you fancy minestrone instead?’

Despite my apology, the atmosphere is still a little awkward and we busy ourselves with activity to get over it. Miles brings in the logs he left near the door and sets them to dry, and we heat up an unidentifiable casserole for our midday meal, following it with a cup of instant black coffee. Miles talks a lot, telling me what he discovered on his recce earlier and what conclusions he’s drawn about how our rescue might be effected.

I listen, taking comfort from the soft burr of his voice and the pleasure of having him near to me. His solid masculinity is reassuring, and the way my body constantly responds to his presence, my skin prickling and tingling whenever he gets close, is something I can’t help enjoying. I won’t be so stupid as to command him to give me pleasure again, but I can still take it even if he’s unaware that he’s giving it.

When Miles speculates about the rescue attempts, I wonder what’s happening back at home. It’s a full day since I walked into that garage with Miles, and the car purred out to head down the mountain. The two of us have disappeared without trace as far as the outside world is concerned. Has anyone noticed? Does anyone care? I imagine Summer sending me a message and wondering why she hasn’t heard back. She’ll be looking at my networking feeds, to see what I’m saying about LA, and there’ll be nothing. Maybe Flora has sent emails and is surprised I haven’t replied.

I imagine everyone going about their daily lives without worrying about me, oblivious to my plight. Then I catch myself up. It’s just self-pity talking. I know very well that my father will have been told within a very short time that I didn’t make the plane. The fact that Miles didn’t return will have alerted the house to something out of the ordinary, if nothing else. I can picture my father now, in a fury of panicked activity as he tries to find out where I am. The thought is comforting. I want him to care about me.