A Lesson of Intensity: Season of Desire Part 2 (Seasons Quartet) Page 2

  ‘Let me make something clear to you, Freya Hammond. I’m not your slave, for sex or anything else, and I’m not here to service you, like some pathetic gigolo. No one can ever order me to sleep with them, and certainly not you.’ He lets those words hang in the air for a moment before adding, ‘I’m going out now to assess the weather and scout out the area while it’s clear. You’d better get dressed. You’ll freeze your arse off dressed like that.’

  With that parting shot, he opens the hut door, letting in a gust of freezing air, and is gone in a moment, leaving me standing open-mouthed, staring after him, speechless with impotent fury.

  At first, I’m glad Miles has gone. I pull on my jeans, buttoning them up furiously.

  He drives me crazy! I knew from the moment I met him he had attitude and I was right! Well, as soon as we get out of here, I’m going take great pleasure in sacking his ass.

  I imagine the scene. I’m standing at my father’s side as he sits behind that huge desk of his – a desk that shows who really wields the power round here. Together we watch as a thoroughly cowed Miles comes in and stands before us. He glances meekly at me. I know that he can see in my eyes that he’s about to get what’s coming to him.

  ‘Daddy,’ I say coolly. ‘This is the one. You must sack him at once.’

  ‘Anything you say, honey,’ responds my father. ‘If that’s what you want, that’s what you get. He’s toast.’

  I smile at my father. ‘Thank you, Daddy.’

  Miles stares down at his hands, his shoulders bowed. He’s utterly beaten.

  My father looks up at me, frowning a little. ‘Just one thing, honey. Why am I sacking him?’

  ‘Because…’ I falter a little. ‘Because…’ Then I say firmly, ‘He disobeyed my orders.’

  ‘Did he?’ My father looks grave. ‘Why, that’s awful. He must certainly be dismissed in that case. And what were your orders?’

  I blink hurriedly and say, ‘Well…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I…’ Even in my fantasy, I have no idea how to tell my father that I want this bodyguard sacked because he refused to have sex with me when I demanded it. It just isn’t the kind of father–daughter conversation I can envisage. My imagination fails and the picture in my mind disappears.

  I know what’s more likely to happen. Now I can see Miles sauntering in, his right eyebrow lifted in that arrogant way, a sardonic look in his eyes. He’s totally in control and completely self-confident. My father is asking him why he wants to quit, and Miles looks at me with a piercing gaze and says quietly, ‘Why don’t you ask Freya, Mr Hammond?’

  ‘Oh, damn it all!’ I say loudly, pulling on my boots. I can’t even successfully imagine a triumph over him. ‘And damn Miles to hell!’

  For a while, I let my anger stew, taking pleasure in thinking up ways that I might be able to bring him down and give him a little taste of the humiliation he’s given me. Once I’m dressed, I begin to warm up again and the little room is becoming quite cosy with the blaze from the fire. I pick up a log and throw it on, noticing that there’re only a few dry ones left. Miles will need to bring some more in from outside so that they can start steaming out their moisture in the warmth of the fire. I wonder where he is. He’s been gone a while. I lie down and try to imagine all the things I’ll do when I’m out of here, dozing and dreaming while I wait for Miles to come back. I spend a while trying to remember what was in my diary for next week, what my plans were. It’s strange how distant and unlikely they all seem now. Was there ever a time when I could do exactly what I wanted – walk out any door, go any place, please myself entirely? There’s a different reality now. What will it be like when I get back to my old life? I picture myself telling all my friends about this crazy adventure, all the drama of the crash and the luck of finding the hut, and the way we were rescued.

  Rescue? says a little voice in my head. What rescue?

  I jump up and look out of the little glazed window. Earlier the view was of complete glistening whiteness, pure in the morning light. Now, the window is filled with a yellowish-grey colour that seems to be moving. I realise that the snow has started falling again. The wind is picking up too – I can hear it battering about in the chimney. The storm is back. There won’t be any rescue while it’s raging outside and I have the distinct sense that it’s just getting started. It could last all day. We’ll be here another night at least.

  I sigh. A night. Memories of being close to Miles in the darkness flood back into my mind and set loose that powerful longing again.

  What the hell is that feeling?

  I’ve never known anything like it: this intense yearning for Miles’s physical presence. I thought I felt that way about Jacob, but what I felt for him was nothing like this desperate desire to be close to Miles. I could happily spend days away from Jacob, as long as we texted and emailed. But the magnetic pull towards Miles is something else: only being close to him will do. I want the nearness of his body so much.

  If only he weren’t so incredibly annoying… if only he didn’t take so much pleasure in pissing me off!

  Just thinking about him feeds my hunger for him but I suspect that whatever we had last night is unlikely to be repeated. After what just happened between us, is he likely to want to get close to me again? We had that incredible, delicious encounter and then he had to go and spoil it. I remember the taste of his mouth, the sensation of his lips on mine and those strong arms around me, and I realise that I’m moaning gently at the thought. One hand is rubbing at my shoulder, over my neck, down over my breasts. My sex gives a little judder to remind me that I’ve teased it horribly today. I’m on the edge of instant arousal. My hand plays over my thigh and I wonder if it would make things easier if I got rid of this troublesome need for Miles by unbuttoning my jeans and letting my hand slip inside to my white knickers. I could let my fingers play over their soft surface, tantalise myself a little, feel my bud swell up to meet my fingertips. It’s already tingling in anticipation, I can feel it. I imagine how I would caress it lightly, swirling my fingertips over it so that it buzzes with pleasurable vibrations. I’d feel the honeyed juices rise to meet me, taking a little on my fingertip to allow me to circle the bud all the more easily. I’d increase the pressure slowly, letting it harden under my teasing, and feeling the pulses of pleasure it sends out grow in power…

  Oh God, I want to do it… I need some relief from this hunger…

  But it wouldn’t be enough. He’d only have to walk through the door and I’d be enslaved by need again instantly.

  Then my lust dies away in a sudden sensation of unease. How long has he been gone? I’ve had such complete faith in him, and such trust that he’s indestructible, that I haven’t been worried. Now, though, I realise that he’s been gone for a long time, over an hour. Long enough for my rage against him to die down a little and for my desire to rekindle.

  I gaze out of the window again.

  It’s snowing hard out there. He said that there was almost no visibility when he went out this morning, and that was before it started snowing again. He can’t be scouting in this weather, he won’t be able to see a thing.

  Anxiety flickers in the pit of my stomach.

  What else did he say he was going to do?

  I can’t remember anything else. He’s been gone much longer than it would take to look around. My anxiety flares up into fear. What if something’s happened to him? Perhaps he tripped and fell, maybe he’s broken a leg. He could be lying out there alone in the snow…

  A mental image presents itself: Miles, pulling himself through a snow drift, in agony from an injured leg, his clothes no match for the fearsome power of the elements. He’s fighting it but it’s no good – he’s gradually freezing to death.

  Oh my God – what shall I do?

  I stand up, agitated, and begin to pace around the small room. If he’s out there, I’ll have to go out and find him. There’s nothing else for it.

  What good will it do if you both freeze to d
eath outside? asks the voice in my head. Besides, even if you find him, you won’t be able to carry him. He’s much heavier than you. You should wait here.

  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 shir
t: 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.