"No!" She renewed her struggles. "I'm not going to stay in that house with you!"

"d.a.m.n it, Tisha!" Water was pouring down both their faces, making spikes of their lashes and streaming down their necks. "I didn't put that tree in the road! You're acting as if I'd engineered the whole thing."

"It isn't so very far to Blanche's. I've walked farther," she insisted vigorously.

"What happens if a tree falls on top of you, or lightning strikes you?" he demanded.

"Anything would be better than...than...I hate you!"

If her own temper hadn't been driving her, Tisha would have seen the building anger in Roarke's face. She would have noticed the tightening of the muscles in his jaw instead of the artificial darkness of his hair glistening wetly in the rain.

With a brutal yank he pulled her against the slickness of his leather jacket. Her arms were pinned against his chest by the force of his hands at her back while her heartbeat tried to keep tempo with the hammering rain.

"You crazy little fool!" he muttered savagely. "Am I really more dangerous than the storm to you?"

"Roarke, let me go." It was a weak plea, almost lost in the crash of lightning, and Tisha couldn't tell the difference between the rolling thunder and the pounding of her heart.

"Not Mr. Madison?" His lip curled in sarcasm as his gaze flamed over her upturned face, frightened and pleading with him for mercy.

The denim material of her jeans was plastered against her legs, sapping them of strength with cold dampness, but the crush of his body against her was sending out heat-waves. Yet the violent a.s.sault of the elements couldn't match the destruction his embrace was having on her senses. In the midst of the storm, they were isolated from it.

Her lips moved to breathe his name again as she stared into the darkly burning eyes. A hand touched her cheek, pushing back the dark streaks of wet hair that had escaped her scarf before the fingers curled around the back of her neck and Roarke drew her head upward to meet the mouth descending towards hers.

Hungrily Tisha accepted his fierce possession. The bruising pain was no match for the flaming ecstasy that consumed her. There was nothing tantalizing about his kiss this time. He took her mouth with a complete sensuous mastery that turned her bones to water. A desire to be closer to the straining muscles of his body sent her fingers around the b.u.t.tons of his jacket, releasing them so she could feel for herself the throbbing of his heart. The rain seemed to increase the musky scent of his manhood as Tisha twined her arms around him to force herself closer.

With an agonizing moan Roarke wrenched his mouth away from hers and buried it in her neck, running a trailing fire along the pulsating vein in her throat. She trembled violently, understanding the driving need he felt for her because it was burning inside her, too.

"Roarke," she murmured achingly, turning her head to seek the hollow of his throat above the cream shade of his sweater.

But the movement of ultimate submission was rejected with a savagery that left her stunned as he thrust her away from him. Rain glistened on the parted sweetness of her lips still swollen from the raging pa.s.sion of his kiss. She couldn't believe the coldness in his eyes as he glared across the distance that now separated them. A knife of cold steel plunged itself in her heart as she realized he had felt none of the blazing desire she had known. For him the kiss had been a means of punishment for her insults. Only she had read more into it. Racking sobs tore at her chest as she spun around to flee.

"You aren't leaving!" His hand brought her up short again.

"After...after that, you expect me to stay!" Her voice pierced the night like the cry of a cornered animal.

"I don't expect anything. You're staying!" Roarke clipped out savagely.

"I'd rather be dead than be with you!" Tisha flung at him, tearing at the fingers that gripped her wrist with her free hand.

"You made that point clear before, and it's as meaningless now as it was then." He retained his grip with ease. "You're soaking wet. Let's get in the house before you catch pneumonia."

"No!"

This time she fought him like a wildcat, kicking at him, failing her arm about his head until he caught it in a vicelike hold. While aiming blows at his legs, she tried to sink her teeth into his hand. Finally he released her wrists and picked her up by the waist, carrying her under his arm like a sack of potatoes to the house. The insults she strung together went unheeded, as did her struggles. Roarke didn't put her down until they were in the foyer and the door was shut behind them.

Her eyes were smouldering dark fires of green as she faced him, her fists rigidly clenched at her side. He was between her and the door and Tisha knew she couldn't get by. Except for the water trickling from his sodden clothes on to the floor, he looked as unruffled as if he had just walked in from the kitchen, whereas she was panting from her exertions to be free.

"You pig!" she spat at him.

"Save your insults for the time when you're capable of defending them," he returned coldly, slipping off his jacket. "Give me your coat."

Tisha stared at him defiantly and Roarke took a threatening step towards her. She hesitated only briefly before angrily ripping the wet windbreaker from her back and throwing it at him. The thin knit top of olive-green was clinging to her like a second skin, accenting the rapid rise and fall of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath the scooped neckline.

"Into the kitchen," he ordered.

Pivoting sharply on her heel, Tisha stalked into the room, knowing Roarke was only one step behind her. She stopped at the table, her fingers closing over the back of a chair as she watched him walk to a cupboard and take out a bottle of drink and two gla.s.ses. The door leading to the garage was to her left. She could see it out of the corner of her eye and edged slightly towards it.

His back was still turned to her as he snapped, "Don't try it!"

"Try what?" Her gaze was defiantly innocent when he turned around.

The line of his mouth mocked her. "You'd never make it to the garage door and don't tell me that's not what you were planning, because we both know it was." He poured a shot of amber liquid into each gla.s.s, then emptied his in one swallow before picking up the other and walking over to her. "Drink this."

Roarke held the gla.s.s out to her, but she slapped it away, seeing the liquid slosh out of the gla.s.s on to the floor. The muscles in his jaw were working fiercely.

"Somebody ought to take you over their knee," he muttered.

"Do you always treat your women so brutally?" Tisha jeered.

His eyes narrowed. "Would you like to find out?" Pallor robbed her of colour at the undeniable threat in his voice, but she kept her gaze boldly riveted to his, her head tilted back defiantly.

"If you come near me, I'll scratch your eyes out," she vowed.

"You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?" he chuckled, his dark blond head c.o.c.king arrogantly at her puny attempt to threaten him.

"What's the matter? Don't you think I could do it?"

"I think you'd try," Roarke admitted, walking over to set the mostly empty gla.s.s on the counter. "But don't worry, the only thing I'm interested in is getting out of these wet clothes."

"Don't let me stop you."

"I don't intend to." His gaze lazily moved to her.

"Come on, you're going with me."

"Where?" Tisha took a hasty step away from him, "To my bedroom," he answered grimly. "That's where I keep my clothes. You need to get out of those wet things, too."

"Into what? Your bed?" she taunted him.

"That's where all little girls should be at this time of night," he replied complacently, noting the frightened gleam that appeared in her eyes.

"I'm not going!"

"Do you want me to pick you up and carry you there?"

Tension screamed around her, applying pressure on all sides until Tisha thought she would break in two from the strain. With hate eating away at her mind, her heart was leaping at his potent male virility.

"I want you stop trying to bully me. I want you to quit ordering me around. I want you to leave me alone!" she cried.

"Stop behaving like an outraged female and accept the fact that you have to spend the night here whether you want to or not!" Roarke retorted.

Tisha was unprepared for the quick movement of his arm as he reached out and pulled her away from the chair she had sought refuge behind. Before she could attempt to struggle free of the hold on her arm he was pushing her away and ahead of him out of the kitchen door, through the foyer, and into the living-room. The hands on her shoulders continued to propel her down the hallway to the door at the end. When she forced him to reach around her to open the door, she tried to bolt past him, but he caught her around the waist and flung her into the room.

Stumbling down the short flight of steps, she turned to face him like a wary animal. She moved hastily backward as he walked down the stairs, but he paid no attention to her poised stance of battle, his supple strides carrying him to the other side of the room.

"The bathroom is through that door behind you," he drawled, peeling off his sweater and shirt as he opened a set of folding closet doors. "A good hot shower will drive the dampness out of your bones."

"What are you going to do?" Tisha ventured in a guarded tone.

"The same thing." He glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow elevated in cold mockery. "Only I'll be in the spare bathroom."

Sinewy muscles rippled over his broad naked chest as he turned towards her, a pair of dry slacks over one arm. A shiver trembled over her as he came nearer, but again he went past her to a tall chest of drawers.

"There's clean towels hanging inside," he said. "I don't have any shower caps, but your hair is already wet, so I don't suppose it makes any difference. And here," a pair of cranberry silk pyjamas were thrust in her hands as he walked by. "They'll be too big, but at least they'll be dry."

"You wear them." She tried to hand them back to him.

"I don't mean to shock you, Red," he smiled without amus.e.m.e.nt, "but I don't wear pyjamas in bed. Now go and take your shower."

She coloured furiously. "I don't want to take a shower. I don't want your clothes. And I don't intend to go to bed!"

Roarke stopped and turned back to her, his jaw set in an uncompromising line. "Let's get something straight. You're going to take a shower if I have to strip you and shove you in there myself. And unless you want to walk around in a skimpy bath towel, you're going to wear those pyjamas. Lastly, you're going to go to bed. So no more arguments?

With his ominous decree ringing in the air, he walked over to a smaller chest and took out a pillow and some blankets.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Since I'm going to be sleeping on the couch, I thought I might like some covers," he answered shortly before a wicked glint appeared in his eyes. "Or were you going to offer to share the bed with me?

"You're disgusting!" Tisha declared vehemently.

"Am I?" Roarke taunted.

"You're despicable and arrogant!" she added.

"Is that all? Never mind," he waved off the words that had started to spring to her mouth. "Go and take your shower before you catch cold."

"I hope you get pneumonia and die!" she called after him as his long strides carried him up the steps to the hallway door.

But the door closed with a finality that left Tisha with the impression that Roarke was glad to get her out of his sight. For a moment she stood there, the silence of the room closing in around her, m.u.f.fling the growls of thunder outside the window. A shuddering chill quivered over her as the dampness of her clothes began to seep into her bones. However reluctantly, she had to admit that the tingling spray of a hot shower would feel good.

With the pyjamas still clutched in her hand, Tisha walked into the gold and blue bathroom, locking the door behind her. For several minutes she stood motionless under the biting spray as it beat out the embittered anger that had strained her nerves to the breaking point. When she finally stepped out of the shower stall and towelled herself dry, she was left with a self-pitying shame that she had responded with desire to the punishing pa.s.sion of Roarke's kiss.

Going through the motions of hanging up her wet clothes, she fought off the aching void in her stomach, telling herself she was glad he had rejected her advance before she had suffered the ultimate humiliation. If anyone had tried to tell her that she could feel such l.u.s.t for a man she didn't like, she would have called them a liar, but her own actions had proved her wrong. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wholly blame Roarke for the misery that was drowning her with its waves of self-sorrow.

Determinedly she brushed away the teardrops hovering on the tips of her lashes. She wrapped her long hair in a towel and piled it on top of her head as she reached for the pyjama top. The silk material felt cool and slippery against her skin, but sleeves hung far below the tips of her fingers. It took some time to fight the excessive length and roll them up to a point where her hands were free. With the b.u.t.tons b.u.t.toned, the ends of the pyjama shirt stopped a few inches above her knees. One glance at the pants and Tisha knew they were miles too long and too big around the waist, so she simply folded them back up and laid them on the counter.

Unlocking the door, she re-entered the bedroom and walked to the gold-covered bed. She ignored the invitation of its empty width to sprawl herself across it and cry out the misery she felt for herself. Instead she found a spot near the edge and sat in a cross-legged position with her back to the door. Unwrapping the towel from her head, she began vigorously rubbing her long hair dry.

A knock on the door was followed immediately by Roarke calling out, "Are you decent?"

"What do you want?"

But the door opened without an answer and Roarke walked in. He still wore only a pair of trousers, but they were wheat tan instead of the brown pair he had had on before. The light colour accented the dark tan of his chest. Tisha watched him from over her shoulder as he walked to the top of the steps.

"I brought you some cocoa to help you relax and get some sleep." His face wore an inscrutable expression as his dark eyes flicked over Tisha.

"How thoughtful!" she mocked coldly, turning away from him to continue rubbing her hair with the towel.

"There'll be a crew out in the morning to clear the road, and I telephoned Blanche to let her know I was putting you up for the night," he continued without the slightest pause at her sarcasm.

Tisha had been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she had completely forgotten that her aunt might be concerned about her prolonged absence.

"Thank you." Reluctant grat.i.tude edged her voice.

"Do you want this cocoa or not?"

She could tell that he was still standing on the landing. It would have been quite simple to walk over and take the cup from him, but she didn't care to meet the freezing indifference of his gaze.

"You can put it on the bedside table. I'll drink it later," she replied, keeping her head averted as she heard his footsteps moving down the stairs towards the bed. Through the shield of her long hair, she saw him walk by her without a glance. When he turned to retrace his steps, she asked, "Is there a comb I can use to get these tangles out of my hair?"

"There's probably one in the medicine cabinet."

"Thanks," she said shortly, uncurling a long leg from beneath her to slip off the bed.

She was half-way to the bathroom when his voice barked out at her. "Where's the bottoms of those pyjamas?"

She stopped and glanced back at him, surprised at the restrained fury on his face. "They were too big," she shrugged.

"Put them on," Roarke ordered.

"I told you they were too big!" she repeated angrily, bristling at his censorious tone.

"And I told you to put them on. What are you trying to do-look like some silly s.e.x kitten?" he jeered.

Bitter tears burned at her eyes as she glared at the tall figure halted just short of the steps. "The last thing I would try to do is entice you," she hurled back at him. "I told you they were too big for me, but don't take my word for it."

Spinning around, she stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door, grabbing the bottom half of the pyjamas from the counter. Fighting the long legs, she finally managed to draw the waist around her chest while her feet wiggled through the material folds to touch the furry carpet. She shuffled over to the door and swung it open.

"Do you see what I meant?" she demanded, looking from Roarke to the baggy material of the trousers lying in layers around her feet."

"Roll up the cuffs," he growled.

"Fine." A mocking smile of sweetness curved her mouth. "What do I do about the waistline? You're not exactly a size ten!"

"Improvise," he snapped.

"Improvise. You're absolutely impossible! What's wrong with wearing only the top? The darned thing nearly comes to my knees. What's so indecent about that?"