Devil Lover. Carole Mortimer

changed into denims and a sleeveless vest-top for her climb. She would have to get out on the ledge first, the nearest drainpipe was a couple of feet away. Getting out on to the ledge was easy enough, but after that it wasn't quite so easy. A look down at the ground made her knees shake. It certainly was a long way down! If she should fall …!

      That just didn't bear thinking about. She made sure her balance was right before reaching out for the pipe, finding it was farther away than she had thought and having to make a grab for it at the last moment. It gave a terrific groan as it took the whole of her weight but didn't seem to be loosened at all. Its fastenings to the wall were her only footholds, and now that she was actually on it it was difficult to stop herself from falling.

      It was a slow climb down, but she seemed to be making it. All she had to do when she reached the ground was——

      ‘My God!’ she heard a male voice rasp beneath her. ‘What do you think you are doing, Regan?’

      She looked down over her shoulder, and the ground seemed to spin dizzily beneath her. Andreas Vatis—it could only have been her tormentor!—stood on the gravel driveway looking up at her, those luminous green eyes incredulous.

      She looked back at the wall, trying to stop the sudden spinning of the world. She was still about twelve feet from the ground, out of arm's reach and yet too far from her bedroom window to climb back. So much for her certainty that she would be able to climb down without a hitch!

      ‘What does it look like?’ she asked through gritted teeth.

      ‘You are either very stupid or very brave,’ he ground out angrily.

      ‘Or just desperate,’ she said shakily.

      ‘Come down from there,’ he ordered. ‘Now!’

      ‘What do you think I'm trying——’ That angry look round at him was her undoing. Everything started to spin once again, and at the same time her left foot slipped from its precarious perch. ‘Oh no——’ she had time to cry before she began to fall.

      The ground suddenly wasn't twelve feet away any more, it was painfully close. And she lay upon it like a broken doll.

       CHAPTER THREE

      AFTER that first moment of impact Regan prayed for oblivion, but it was not to be. She tried to land on her feet, a natural reaction, and the pain that shot up her leg from her ankle was excruciating. Her legs buckled beneath her and she landed with a crash of her left shoulder, the gravel cutting into her bare skin.

      Andreas Vatis was at her side in seconds, turning her over to face him, his anger evident by the grim tautness about that firm mouth. ‘You stupid child!’ He took hold of her shoulders and shook her. ‘You stupid, stupid child!’

      ‘My shoulder!’ she cried, her face paling even more. ‘Oh God, Andreas, please don't do that!’ She tried to push his hand away from her bruised and ragged flesh.

      His hand came away covered in blood and he gave an impatient exclamation before bending down to swing her up into his arms. ‘Surely you were not so desperate to escape my arms that you would rather die?’ he rasped curtly.

      ‘Yes,’ she groaned against his chest, aware, even in her pain, of the warm male smell of him, of the fine mat of dark hair against her cheek. ‘I—I wanted to get away,’ she admitted.