Escape for Easter. Trish Morey

her mouth fell open as she realised the action had been totally deliberate. Sam stared at him in disbelief. ‘I suppose you expect me to clear that up for you?’ If so he could think again.

      Teeth clenched, he glared at her, his face a mask of seething dislike. ‘I do not require your assistance. I am more than capable of…’ To emphasise his capability he brought the flat of his hand down on the dresser top.

      ‘Oh, yeah, it really looks like it…’ Her voice faded as he lifted his hand. Her stomach flipped as she saw the blood dripping from the jagged cut on his palm. ‘Oh, my God!’ she cried in horror. ‘You stupid man, what have you done?’

      His jaw clenched. ‘Nothing.’

      ‘You idiot—what did you think you were doing? You hit it directly on the glass…anyone would think you were blind.’

      ‘I am.’

      ‘Very funny,’ she began, tilting her head up towards his and finding him staring at the wall above her head. The exasperation on her face was replaced by the horror of realization. It wasn’t a sick joke; he was telling the truth.

      ‘You can’t see—you’re blind!’ Shame and shock in equal parts washed over her like icy water. Her lips quivered and inside her chest something tightened as she lifted a hand to her face and found it wet with inexplicable tears.

      ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise.’ Still not quite able to believe those beautiful eyes could not see her, she passed a hand in front of his face. He didn’t blink, but reached out with dizzying speed and caught her wrist in his uninjured hand.

      ‘Stop that. I’ve had enough empathy to last me a lifetime!’ he snarled. ‘I do not require your sympathy or your pity!’

      Sam looked at the blood dripping onto the floor and clenched her teeth. ‘I get it.’

      His lip curled contemptuously. ‘You get what?’

      ‘I get that you’re mad with me because I saw you being vulnerable. Don’t worry, I don’t feel extra special. You’re obviously mad with the world. The fact is you’re blind—’

      She stopped as she saw shock move at the back of his eyes. ‘You think I need some Mrs Mop to remind me of this fact?’

      Sam gritted her teeth and carried on as though the bitter interruption had not occurred. ‘So you can carry on ignoring it if you wish, but like the dirty dishes it’s not going to go away. So if I might make a suggestion, why don’t you stop acting like a gutless wonder and get on with it? Sure it isn’t fair, but—shock horror—life isn’t!’

      She saw the disbelief chase across his face and felt a surge of recklessness.

      ‘This is none of my business—’

      ‘No, it isn’t.’

      Again she acted as though he had not spoken. ‘Which is probably a good thing, because I don’t really care what you say to me. Unlike the friends and family out there, the people who love you and who are no doubt right now worried sick about you…’

      There would be a wife or a lover among them. A man who looked like him, a man who projected a force field of raw sexuality, would not live the life of a monk.

      She dragged her eyes from the widening scarlet stain on his sleeve and struggled to maintain the role of impartial stranger as she tilted her face up to his thinking how beautiful the woman in his life must be.

      The stupid man probably thought he was being noble and strong by going it alone up here in the castle. His problem was he was too stubborn and proud to admit he needed help.

      ‘Meanwhile,’ she continued, waving her finger even though he was oblivious. ‘You lick your wounds here like some…some injured animal.’ He’d be a wolf, she thought, studying his lean, handsome face and feeling the inevitable flip of her sensitive stomach. ‘My God, you’re selfish!’ she finished in disgust.

      There was a look of stark incredulity stamped on his hard patrician features as he tilted his head to one side, a nerve clenched in his lean cheek as those stunning dark eyes stared straight at her.

      It seemed impossible to Sam that he wasn’t seeing her.

      ‘Selfish!’

      There was a flat, eerie calm in the echo that sent a shiver down her spine and made her think of her recent analogy. Wounded animals of any variety were dangerous, especially wolves.

      Even when his temper wasn’t frayed to the point of snapping, there was something edgy, unpredictable and almost combustible about this stranger.

      If she had any sense she would be heading for the door, not standing here winding him up.

      Just why was she making this her business? The fluttering of excitement low in her belly and the light-headed recklessness born of the excess adrenaline circulating in her bloodstream might be a clue… Sam frowned, not liking the conclusions thrown up by her rapid self-analysis, not liking the feelings this man stirred inside her.

      Like and this man did not sit comfortably in the same thought. Like was tepid and he was a person who inspired the more extreme ends of the emotional spectrum!

      Sam stuck out her chin even though the defiant gesture was wasted on him. ‘It’s nothing to me why you’ve come here, but it doesn’t take a genius to see it wasn’t for the climbing or fishing, and you don’t look like someone looking for spiritual peace.’ If he was he’d taken the wrong turn somewhere, she thought, studying the uncompromising set of his jaw and the clenching nerve throbbing in his hollow cheek.

      ‘You speak with passion for someone who is so disinterested. You know, in my experience people who feel the need to sort out other people’s lives frequently have no life of their own.’

      ‘They do say that attack is the best form of defence. And actually I have a perfectly satisfactory life, thank you…not everyone needs a man to feel fulfilled.’

      She stopped, annoyance flickering across her face as she realised she had already said too much.

      ‘My life is not the subject here.’ She injected ice into her reminder.

      ‘But nonetheless fascinating.’

      The sarcastic drawl made her lips tighten. She fought to keep the antipathy—which was growing by the second—from her voice as she retorted bluntly, ‘If you carry on bleeding that way you won’t have a life either.’

      She frowned, finding it pretty hard to be objective as she looked at the widening scarlet pool on the floor. ‘Ian keeps a first-aid kit in the Land Rover. I’ll go and get it.’

      ‘I do not need a ministering angel.’

      Sam fixed him with a very un-angelic glare and promised, ‘Take my word for it, you do not bring out the angel in me.’

      ‘Who is Ian?’

      Her hand on the doorknob, Sam, surprised by the question, looked back over her shoulder. ‘He’s the man you rented this place from.’

      His darkly delineated brows set at an angle lifted towards his hairline. ‘You are on first-name terms with your boss?’

      ‘Oh, we’re a really egalitarian lot up here.’ The hauteur in his manner suggested he would not invite such familiarities with his subordinates. Despite his present dishevelled appearance, he acted like a man who was used to barking out orders and having people jump. ‘And you’d get on with Ian—he thinks I have no life either.’ Her blue eyes narrowed as she considered the well-meaning interference of her sibling.

      His matchmaking tactics were never very subtle, but what Ian and other concerned parties—she didn’t include this stranger among their number—didn’t seem to appreciate was that she hadn’t thrown herself into work because her boyfriend had run off with another woman.

      She threw herself into work because