‘Because you want to prove how big and tough and macho you are?’ she accused in a trembling voice.
‘Because I’ve done enough survival training to know what I’m talking about and you’ve never been in a situation like this before.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Listen, I know you’re in shock and I know the landing can’t have been easy for you, but you need to take my advice.’
‘Why should I? Twenty-four hours ago you were a total stranger to me—yet now I’m expected to depend on you for life and death decisions?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
But maybe he registered the fear which was still trembling her voice because he reached out and pulled her towards him again and Bianca felt herself sinking into the hardness of his body. And she wanted this. Needed this. She wanted him to continue to hold her tightly because he felt warm and strong and dependable. As if he were her rock. Her anchor. And he was neither, she reminded herself severely, as she resisted the stupid desire to reach up and rest her cheek against his. He was someone she didn’t particularly like and the feeling was obviously mutual.
‘Let me go,’ she said, without any real conviction.
He did exactly as she asked—and she was annoyed with herself for missing his touch—but when he next spoke, his voice had gentled by a fraction. ‘You’re going to have to trust me on this, Bianca. Do you think you can do that?’
Bianca chewed her lip, the irony of the situation not escaping her. One of the reasons she’d instinctively disliked Xanthos Antoniou was because she preferred men who were safe and she’d decided he wasn’t. Yet right now she couldn’t think of anyone safer, or anyone else she’d rather be with.
Wordlessly she nodded and began to follow him towards the small building which, on closer examination, appeared even more inhospitable than it had done from a distance. The stone walls were as grey as the darkening sky and she watched as he began shoving his shoulder against the wooden door in a brutal display of strength, until eventually it gave way with a damp-sounding creak and splintering noise. Cautiously, he entered the building with Bianca right behind him—not wanting to let him out of her sight. Her cheeks were burning with cold as she half stumbled into the welcome dryness and a huge cobweb floated onto her face. Instinctively, she brushed it away, her heart pounding with terror.
It took a moment for her eyes to become accustomed to the light. Not that there was much to see. The room obviously hadn’t been used for a long, long time and had a damp, stale air about it. There was an empty desk with a wooden chair on either side and a battered armchair beside an old fireplace, which was lined with dust and ancient embers. The walls were bare, with pale rectangles where maps or photos might once have hung. In one corner, a narrow single bed was shoved up against the wall. In the other corner, a door led into a tiny room containing a toilet and a sink, above which hung a rusty mirror not much larger than a grapefruit. And that was it.
‘What is this place?’ she breathed.
‘Obviously some kind of caretaker’s hut which certainly won’t be a match for the kind of luxury we experienced in Monterosso,’ he observed drily. ‘But we’ll be protected from the elements, at least.’
Bianca began to shiver, realising that there’d been no time to grab her coat and that her sweater offered little protection against the clawing insistence of the icy temperature. ‘Now what?’ she whispered.
‘You stay here. I’m going back to the plane—’
‘No! Please.’ The words sprang from her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Don’t leave me!’
His black eyes gleamed. ‘A couple of hours ago you couldn’t wait to see the back of me.’
‘Don’t remind me. Maybe if I’d listened to my instincts, I’d be safely back in London by now!’
‘Good to see you’re reverting to type, Bianca. We stand a much greater chance of survival if you’re back to being your usual combative self—rather than some wilting little flower which needs tending all hours of the day and night.’
‘I can assure you that wilting has never been part of my make-up.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it. But you’re cold. Look at you. You’re shivering. You need warmth and so do I. Stay here,’ he commanded softly as he pulled open the door. ‘I’ll be as fast as I can.’
She didn’t know what made her say it. Was it the sudden tight clench of apprehension as she saw the forbidding bleakness of the winter landscape outside, or the fear of how she would cope if he didn’t come back? Or was it the way he’d noticed that she was shivering and had ordered her to stay put, which seemed to introduce a level of intimacy which hadn’t been there before?
‘Be...careful.’
His mocking smile was unexpected and, again, she was reminded of its potency.
‘How touching you should be so concerned for my welfare.’
‘It’s actually my own I’m worried about.’
The door slammed behind him and Bianca peered out through the window, watching him make his way across the airfield towards the crashed plane, his powerful body etched darkly against the bleached landscape as he negotiated the icy ground. It had started to snow again and already the light was beginning to fade. Soon it would be dark and at some point they would be expected to sleep. Her gaze swivelled to the narrow bed and ropey-looking mattress and she swallowed down the sudden lump of anxiety which had risen in her throat. How could two people possibly sleep on that?
She paced around the small room—mostly in an attempt to keep herself warm but also to try and make some sense of the thoughts which were spinning like cartwheels inside her head. As Xanthos had instructed, she’d left everything behind—but she dragged her phone from the back-pocket of her jeans, her heart sinking when she saw there was no signal. What a nightmare. She hadn’t even asked any sensible questions about what their chances were, or whether anyone would ever find them.
And if they didn’t?
She swallowed.
She wouldn’t let herself go there.