battle.
She moved, realised she was slightly off balance, and tried to recover herself, felt her foot slip on a stone, and fell sideways, crying out in terror as the dark waters closed over her.
Choking and gasping, she fought her way to the surface, trying to regain her footing, but it was impossible. The current had her, like a leaf caught in a millrace, and was sweeping her away. She struck out wildly. She had always thought of herself as a good swimmer, but these waters were too strong and angry for her, and she submerged again. Somehow she struggled back to the surface, eyes streaming, lungs bursting, half deafened.
A man's voice, hoarse and unrecognisable, was shouting, 'The tree—grab the tree!'
Dimly, Leigh was aware of a tangle of branches ahead of her, above her, and she reached up with a desperate strength she hadn't known she possessed, and caught at them with a force which threatened to wrench her arm out of its socket. Crying out with pain, she hung there one-handed, feeling the water tear at her, trying to drag her away.
She moaned, trying to draw air into her lungs, and heard Rourke's voice, impossibly near, say, 'I have you. Let go the tree!'
She obeyed, her bruised shoulder wincing at the movement. He held her against him, until she had regained her footing, then, very slowly, holding her clamped to his side, he began the journey to the other bank.
It seemed to take forever. Leigh kept her eyes tight shut, terrified that they would both be swept away, but somehow, agonisingly, they made it.
The roar of the water was muted now, she realised dazedly, and there was grass under her clutching hands. She collapsed, feeling weak tears squeeze out from under her eyelids, retching a little from the water she had swallowed. After a while the world stopped spinning sickeningly round her, and she sat up gingerly. Her body felt sore. There was a deep graze on her leg, and numerous scratches and abrasions on her arms and shoulders. She looked round for Rourke.
He was sitting a few feet away, his knees drawn up to his chin, his forehead resting on his folded arms, as he struggled to control his laboured breathing.
She thought, We could have been drowned—and it's all my fault, and a little sob rose in her throat, compounded partly of fear, partly remorse.
Rourke must have heard the little sound she made, because his head came up sharply, and he stared at her, almost as if he had never seen her before.
The sun was hot, but she was suddenly shivering violently. She said in a small half-strangled whisper, 'I'm so sorry—oh God, I'm so sorry…'
He got to his feet, and stood over her, the topaz eyes blazing.
'Sorry?' he repeated softly. 'Are you quite insane? You disobey me—you risk your life—both our lives, and you say you're sorry?'
'I know—I know.' The weak, shaming tears were back, pouring down her face.
He said something under his breath, and came down on one knee beside her. '
Diets
, Leigh, I should not have spoken as I did. Don't cry,
querida
.' Gently his fingers brushed her face. 'There's no need. By some mercy, we are both safe.'
Her hand went up and clasped his, pulling it down to her lips. He stiffened, trying to snatch it away, then paused, his eyes almost torturedly searching her face. His own hand reached out, reluctantly, to tangle in her damp hair, and then they were kissing, their mouths locked frantically together in a giving and a taking sharpened by the danger they had been in as well as desire.
Leigh was pliant in his arms, willing to follow wherever he might lead. There was no mockery in Rourke's kisses, no seductive beguilement, only a driving need which she recognised because she shared it.
She was aware in some strange way of every blade of grass touching her back, of every drop of moisture from her body mingling with his, as if until that moment she had only been half conscious of her physical being.
Now she was awake, and free, her hands restlessly shaping his broad
She moved, realised she was slightly off balance, and tried to recover herself, felt her foot slip on a stone, and fell sideways, crying out in terror as the dark waters closed over her.
Choking and gasping, she fought her way to the surface, trying to regain her footing, but it was impossible. The current had her, like a leaf caught in a millrace, and was sweeping her away. She struck out wildly. She had always thought of herself as a good swimmer, but these waters were too strong and angry for her, and she submerged again. Somehow she struggled back to the surface, eyes streaming, lungs bursting, half deafened.
A man's voice, hoarse and unrecognisable, was shouting, 'The tree—grab the tree!'
Dimly, Leigh was aware of a tangle of branches ahead of her, above her, and she reached up with a desperate strength she hadn't known she possessed, and caught at them with a force which threatened to wrench her arm out of its socket. Crying out with pain, she hung there one-handed, feeling the water tear at her, trying to drag her away.
She moaned, trying to draw air into her lungs, and heard Rourke's voice, impossibly near, say, 'I have you. Let go the tree!'
She obeyed, her bruised shoulder wincing at the movement. He held her against him, until she had regained her footing, then, very slowly, holding her clamped to his side, he began the journey to the other bank.
It seemed to take forever. Leigh kept her eyes tight shut, terrified that they would both be swept away, but somehow, agonisingly, they made it.
The roar of the water was muted now, she realised dazedly, and there was grass under her clutching hands. She collapsed, feeling weak tears squeeze out from under her eyelids, retching a little from the water she had swallowed. After a while the world stopped spinning sickeningly round her, and she sat up gingerly. Her body felt sore. There was a deep graze on her leg, and numerous scratches and abrasions on her arms and shoulders. She looked round for Rourke.
He was sitting a few feet away, his knees drawn up to his chin, his forehead resting on his folded arms, as he struggled to control his laboured breathing.
She thought, We could have been drowned—and it's all my fault, and a little sob rose in her throat, compounded partly of fear, partly remorse.
Rourke must have heard the little sound she made, because his head came up sharply, and he stared at her, almost as if he had never seen her before.
The sun was hot, but she was suddenly shivering violently. She said in a small half-strangled whisper, 'I'm so sorry—oh God, I'm so sorry…'
He got to his feet, and stood over her, the topaz eyes blazing.
'Sorry?' he repeated softly. 'Are you quite insane? You disobey me—you risk your life—both our lives, and you say you're sorry?'
'I know—I know.' The weak, shaming tears were back, pouring down her face.
He said something under his breath, and came down on one knee beside her. '
Diets
, Leigh, I should not have spoken as I did. Don't cry,
querida
.' Gently his fingers brushed her face. 'There's no need. By some mercy, we are both safe.'
Her hand went up and clasped his, pulling it down to her lips. He stiffened, trying to snatch it away, then paused, his eyes almost torturedly searching her face. His own hand reached out, reluctantly, to tangle in her damp hair, and then they were kissing, their mouths locked frantically together in a giving and a taking sharpened by the danger they had been in as well as desire.
Leigh was pliant in his arms, willing to follow wherever he might lead. There was no mockery in Rourke's kisses, no seductive beguilement, only a driving need which she recognised because she shared it.
She was aware in some strange way of every blade of grass touching her back, of every drop of moisture from her body mingling with his, as if until that moment she had only been half conscious of her physical being.
Now she was awake, and free, her hands restlessly shaping his broad
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