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‘How do you know what I should do?’
‘I read it in a first-aid book. And if you’re hurt—which clearly you are—then I could go and get help. I think you should stay put. I’ve got my mobile, I can ring for an ambulance. You might have broken something.’
Impatiently, he shook his dark head. ‘I haven’t broken anything. It’s probably just a strain—and certainly nothing to fuss about. Wait a minute.’ At this, he tried standing again, and then groaned.
Ashley didn’t move as he gathered his breath, taking the opportunity to have a closer look at him. Because he was the kind of man who made you want to keep on looking.
Even his current crumpled stance couldn’t hide his impressive height, the broad sweep of his shoulders or the powerful, denim-clad legs. His windswept hair was raven-black and his eyes looked blacker still. At some time he might have been in a fight—or perhaps an accident—for there was a tiny scar by the side of his lips. Sensual lips, Ashley found herself thinking—though their cushioned curves were outlined by a hardness which seemed to have been stamped on them indelibly. Perhaps because they were twisted in pain from his fall.
His features were too rugged to be described as conventionally handsome—but something about his presence made him seem compelling. He exuded a rampant masculinity which should have unnerved her—but oddly enough, did not. Because in that moment—wasn’t he injured, and therefore a little vulnerable?
‘I can’t possibly think of leaving you—not like this,’ she said stubbornly.
He shook his head. ‘Of course you can! It’s getting late and these lanes aren’t good to walk on in the dark. Especially when the cars come speeding along.’ Granite-hard eyes bored into her curiously. ‘Or maybe you know the area well?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all well.’
‘No, I guess if you did you’d have realised you shouldn’t stand motionless in a blind spot in the path of a galloping horse,’ he said drily, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he flicked her another look. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Actually, I’ve just moved to the area today.’
‘Oh?’
It seemed foolish in the light of his accident and the fact that she was crouching rather uncomfortably in a damp lane to be discussing what she was doing there. But there was something so insistent about the way he was looking at her—those hard black eyes firing out a question—which made it impossible for her not to answer. And impossible for her not to feel a little dizzy. as if he were sucking all the strength from her with that strange, searing gaze of his. ‘To Blackwood Manor,’ she said.
Black brows arrowed together and his lips quirked into an odd kind of smile. ‘Ah. So you live there, do you—the grey house which overlooks the moorland?’
Ashley nodded. Strange to think that the imposing manor was now her home. ‘Yes.’ She gave a little wriggle of her shoulders. ‘It’s not mine, of course. The house belongs to my new boss.’
‘Really?’ he mused, his black eyes flicking over her. ‘And what’s he like, this new boss of yours?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t met him yet—he was out when I arrived. I’m his new PA—well, I’m more of a secretary really. He’s.’ She was about to start telling him that she’d been employed to type his novel for him but suddenly Ashley halted, feeling a fool—and wondering why on earth she was telling this complete stranger her business. Was it something to do with that intense way he had of looking at her? Or the fact that it seemed easier to talk than to focus on the odd prickling of her senses, which seemed to stem from his rather daunting proximity.
She began to scramble to her feet to put some distance between them. Discretion was a necessary part of being someone’s personal assistant—and what if Mr Marchant got wind of the fact that she’d been blabbing indiscriminately to someone she’d just met? ‘Actually, I’d better get going, if you’re absolutely sure there’s nothing I can do,’ she said hurriedly. ‘He might be back by now and I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.’
‘Hold on a moment,’ he said suddenly as he prepared to stand up. ‘You can help me if you want. Just catch hold of my horse, will you? ‘
It was the first time that Ashley had even considered the riderless horse and now she glanced over at it. A great big powerhouse of a beast—it was even more intimidating than its rider. Standing a little way down the lane, it was stamping its hooves in turn and snorting great clouds of smoky breath into the chilly atmosphere.
‘Or are you afraid?’ he questioned silkily, his gaze running over her face and lingering there.
She felt more fearful of that brilliant black gaze than of anything the horse could throw at her—but Ashley knew enough about self-preservation to realise when it was necessary to admit ignorance.
‘I don’t really know anything about horses,’ she confessed.
He nodded. ‘Then don’t go near him. I’ll manage,’ he said. ‘Hold still.’
Placing his hand on Ashley’s shoulder, he rose slowly to his feet and she experienced the weirdest sensation as his fingers pressed into her flesh. Was it because she had so rarely been touched by a man that it felt suddenly intimate? As if that brief touch had scorched through her clothes to the chilled body beneath—setting her skin on fire. Little flames of something unfamiliar licked at the pit of her stomach and she swallowed as he steadied himself.
In the cool of the darkening afternoon, their eyes met and Ashley felt as if she were melting beneath the scorching impact of his gaze. Was it her imagination or did his mouth tighten and a little nerve begin t
o flicker at his temple? Was she alone in the bizarre thought that somehow it felt as if the most natural thing in the world was for him to take her in his arms? And to then crush her against that hard, powerful body of his. She felt her mouth dry and then, abruptly, he pulled away and began to walk slowly towards his horse, making small crooning noises beneath his breath as he approached it.
Mesmerised, Ashley watched him as he sprang onto his horse—the way she’d seen it done countless times on TV. And it was as if his fall and the fact that he’d been temporarily winded had been nothing but a figment of her imagination—for he made the movement look completely effortless. It was poetry in motion, she thought as he leaned over and patted the animal’s flank and then glanced up to find her eyes still fixed on him.
For one insane moment she wanted to beg him not to go—to stay and make her feel properly alive again—so that she could experience that strange and disconcerting clamour of her senses once more. But the insanity passed as she looked up at him.
‘Thanks for your help,’ he said abruptly. ‘Now go. Quickly. Before it gets dark and you startle some other hapless person with those big, wide eyes of yours. Casey! Here, boy!’ The dog came running up and the man tightened his knees around the horse’s sides—sending Ashley one final mocking look before he began to canter off down the lane.
