Satans Master. Carole Mortimer

been deliberate or merely the accident it appeared to be. Nicole Dupont had always said that Joel was a possessive man, that he would never let go what he thought was his. But as there had been no evidence to confirm that he had intentionally crashed, his name was finally cleared of all blame.

      A few weeks later Joel Brent had disappeared, seemingly off the face of the earth. And now Sabina had run into him in a remote Scottish cottage, a man who might have been responsible for deliberately taking Nicole Dupont’s life!

       CHAPTER TWO

      SHE had been staring at him for the last few minutes, unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Joel Brent, a man who oozed sex-appeal, whose husky voice seduced every woman who listened to him sing, a man always in demand by the eager public, his sales in records reaching the millions, was lying here on this bed beside her.

      She knew a little about him, knew that he was thirty-four, came from somewhere in Hampshire, that Nicole Dupont had been his girlfriend for six months before the accident that had killed her, and that he had no close family, although she doubted he was ever alone.

      But he was alone here! Why had he come to such a place? Could it be guilt about Nicole Dupont that had prompted this need for solitude, or could it be that he found life so difficult without the woman he loved that he had chosen to cut himself off from all other humanity?

      Sabina looked at the strength in his face, the bitterness, and knew that he felt guilty about nothing, and that strength would never allow him to give in to any weakness. ‘You didn’t do it,’ she said with certainty.

      He seemed to tense. ‘What did you say?’ His voice was low, dangerously so.

      Why hadn’t she recognised that attractive quality in his voice, that deep timbre that spoke of voice control? She moved uncomfortably as she realised he was waiting for an answer. Her words had been more of a thought, and not meant for him to hear. She bit her lip. ‘I said—–’

      ‘I know what you said!’ He sprang into action, looming over her, his hands trapping her in the confines of the sleeping bag. ‘What did you mean by it?’

      Sabina eyed him apprehensively. He might not be capable of murder, but he was capable of violence. ‘I just meant—– That crash—– You didn’t—–’

      ‘No, I didn’t!’ he cut in savagely, his eyes like chips of ice. ‘But I didn’t need you to tell me that. The subject was covered pretty comprehensively in the newspapers. Of course, no one bothered to ask for my version of what happened, but then the truth might not have made such interesting reading. Has your editor decided it might be a good angle after all?’ he asked angrily. ‘After a year someone actually wants to know the truth?’

      She wished he wasn’t quite so close, wished she could at least move her arms, but she lay there trapped beneath him, his bare chest only inches above her, his warm breath caressing her cheek. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell anyone the truth?’ she queried breathlessly, no doubt in her mind that whatever had happened in that crash it had not been Joel Brent’s fault.

      ‘Because no one asked me for it,’ he snapped. ‘And you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life, little lady.’

      ‘Wh-what do you mean?’

      He smiled, a smile that was mainly cruelty. ‘I mean I’d more or less decided to let you leave here in the morning.’ His mouth quirked. ‘I fell for that innocent look in your huge green eyes,’ his hand moved to touch her gently, causing her long lashes to flutter nervously. ‘You’re ideal for a reporter, Sabina Smith, you have the hair and face of an angel. An impression that’s totally deceptive.’

      ‘I’m not a reporter, Mr Brent. Please believe me,’ she pleaded.

      His harshness remained. ‘Who knows,’ he spoke softly to himself, ‘I might get to like having you around,’ his hand smoothed the hair back from her temple, moving to cup her cheek. ‘Yes, I think I could get to like it very much.’

      ‘But I—I’ll be leaving tomorrow.’

      ‘Would have been leaving tomorrow,’ he corrected. ‘But not now, not when you know who I am, and would very much like to know what I’m doing here.’ He flicked the ring as it lay against her partly revealed breasts. ‘He’ll have to learn to do without you for a while. At the moment my need is greater than his.’

      Sabina swallowed hard. ‘What do you mean?’

      Joel Brent swung away from her, laughing softly. ‘Not what you think I mean—not yet anyway. But you see I happen to like living here, and I’m not ready to move on. So for the moment you stay with me.’

      ‘Stay here?’ Sabina sat up to look at him, looking away again as she saw the bedclothes had almost fallen back to his hips, revealing his flat, taut stomach. ‘I can’t stay here,’ she protested. ‘I’m getting married in eight weeks’ time.’

      ‘Are you now?’ Joel got out of bed, moving to pull on his cords. ‘Now that is interesting.’

      Sabina turned around just in time to see him zipping up his trousers. ‘Why is it interesting?’ Thank God it was dark in here! This man seemed to care nothing for the fact that he was walking around half naked. Oh she had seen men wearing less at the beach, but the confines of this bedroom could hardly be classed in the same light. Although Nicholas had often pressurised for a closer relationship between them she had always refused.

      ‘Who’s the lucky man?’ He ignored her question.

      ‘Um—his name is—er—Nicholas.’

      His eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Nicholas what?’

      ‘Er—’ she shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’ She would only be damning herself more by revealing who Nicholas really was.

      ‘It didn’t,’ Joel Brent said slowly. ‘Not until you tried to avoid telling me. Hmm,’ he gave her a studied look, his head tilted to one side. ‘Let’s look at this logically. You have an engagement ring with a diamond the size of an ice-cube, you work for the Daily News, and you’re engaged to a man called Nicholas. Putting all that together I come up with—Nicholas Freed!’ He seemed to pounce on her, crossing quickly to the bed and wrenching her chin round to look at him. Her high colour told him what he wanted to know. ‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled tauntingly. ‘What some girls will do to get to the top!’

      Her colour deepened. ‘It isn’t like that! I—–’

      ‘How did you get him to propose marriage to you?’ he mocked. ‘That isn’t his style at all. Did you hold back this lovely little body of yours until he waved a wedding ring in front of your nose?’ His hands were roughly caressing the hollows of her throat.

      ‘No, of course not! He—–’

      Joel flung her away from him in disgust. ‘You mean you’ve let him make love to you?’ he said with distaste, rubbing his hands down his cords as if the touch of her revolted him. ‘Good God, the man must be at least thirty years older than you.’

      ‘Twenty-six,’ she corrected huskily. ‘I’m nineteen.’

      ‘And he’s forty-five? It’s disgusting!’

      Sabina swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. Actually, I—I’m not going to marry him now, I’ve changed my mind.’

      ‘Why?’ he sneered. ‘Couldn’t you take the weekly beatings you would be expected to endure?’

      Her face was white, her eyes huge. ‘B-beatings?’

      Joel Brent gave a harsh laugh. ‘Don’t tell me he hasn’t hit you yet? His second wife couldn’t take those beatings, but perhaps you’re one of those women who enjoy that sort of thing.’

      ‘Of