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'If you intend to sling mud like that you can do it in a court of law, and back it up with more proof than just your avaricious insinuations,' he grated rawly. 'You know damned well that the coroner's report stated that your grandfather died of a heart attack before that electrical fire ever started. Or are you going to suggest that he was in on a conspiracy to murder?'
'I... I...' Francesca licked her lips, knowing he was due an abject apology for her unwarranted bitchiness, but choking over the words. She strained against the iron fingers, breaking the grip only when he let her.
'If I had doubts about keeping this place, you've banished them,' he told her grimly. 'Ian said that you never pretended to like coming back, and that you were bound to sell out to the highest bidder. Have you thought what that'll mean to the people who live here? No? He shrugged contemptuously at her flush. 'I thought not. Well, I can't stop you turning over the top twenty acres to some greedy, get-rich-quick developer, but I can sure as hell stop you getting your hands on this beach.'
'We'll see about that!' Fran turned on her heel and marched unsteadily towards the bedroom. She wanted a fair price for her land, but she wasn't out to rape the environment, for goodness' sake!
'Where are you going? This fish is nearly done.'
Jolted, Fran turned and stared. Did he really expect her to sit down and share a meal with him, after what they'd just said to each other? 'I'm going to get dressed. If you won't leave, I will. I'll get a room at the Bay Hotel until I can get an eviction notice.'
'My lease isn't up yet, Princess, and you're not going anywhere at this time of night, in your frame of mind, with a storm settling in. That's a treacherous road back down the cliffs. You'd be over the side in no time.'
'You can't stop me!' Fran's anger overrode her normally strong common sense.
'Can't I?' There was a chink as he dangled her car keys from his hand. He must have picked them up from the top of the fridge where she had tossed them when she had arrived.
'Give them to me, please,' she said firmly, resisting the urge to dash over and wrest them physically from his taunting fingers.
'In the morning, when you've calmed down.' He grinned at her fury and pushed the keys into his jeans pocket, sucking in a breath to get them past the straining denim hip. 'Of course
, if you're determined to get them...' He trailed off suggestively, and Fran swallowed her rage as she toyed with the idea of accepting the challenge.
But, eyeing the outline of her keys so close to the zip-pered fly of his jeans, she knew she didn't dare. She imagined having to thrust her hand into the tight pocket and wriggle it down the angle of his groin to reach the keys. Oh, he would love that! And it would remind her of that other time she had struggled with his tight jeans, of his groans of delight and her illicit sense of power. Oh, damn this weakness! She could feel her limbs trembling with fatigue and it galled her to admit that he was right, it would be foolish to try and leave now.
'I'm not eating with you,' she said flatly, as a feeble attempt to reassert her authority, and his grin widened. He shrugged and thick, mahogany lashes screened the blue eyes as he slid the crisp, golden fillets of fish from the pan on to a platter garnished with lemon slices and bread and butter. Fran felt her mouth water treacherously and her nostrils twitch at the tempting aroma as he carried the platter over to the kauri slab table that dominated one half of the living-room. She noticed that his movements didn't have quite the old fluid grace. He must be just over thirty now, perhaps he was beginning to pay for the many follies of his youth... and probably his adulthood, too!
He sat and began to eat hungrily, ignoring her hovering figure until he had finished his first two pieces of fish. It flaked gently as he ate, lemon juice glistening on the crusty surface.
'Come on, Princess,' he jeered softly, when her hunger became embarrassingly obvious. 'Come down off that high horse and eat.'
She could have gone out and got her own carton of food supplies from the boot of her car, but Francesca found herself sitting down opposite Ross and allowing him to dish up a second plate.
The fish was juicy and tender and meltingly good, but although Fran ate hungrily she was too furtively aware of her companion to enjoy it. Just being in the same room with him made her feel like a gauche fifteen-year-old again, and that led her on to remember the last time they had been alone together, in the cramped back seat of a car...
'No!' Fran clenched her teeth in an effort to keep the heat from her face as she realised that she had yelped the denial aloud. She stood up hastily and carried her plate to the kitchen, avoiding his gaze as she cleared her throat. 'I... I'm tired... I think I'll go to bed now.' She was too nervous to care about being rude. Let Ross do the dishes—he had been the one to insist on making the mess!
He studied her agitation curiously for a moment then shrugged. 'Suit yourself.' He began to swab up the juices from his plate with a folded piece of bread.
'I've been using the bed by the window,' he added as she crossed the room with jerky steps, 'so I'll keep it if you don't mind.'
Sleep in the same room? Fran felt her stomach knot. She opened the bedroom door and paused as she noted the sturdy lock on the inside. She turned, and gave Ross a primly triumphant smile. 'As a matter of fact, I do. Since you're the temporary guest, you can sleep out here.'
She leant against the locked door and grinned at the memory of his disgusted expression. The wisdom of years might have dictated that she forgive Ross Tarrant for the adolescent humiliation she had suffered, but that didn't mean that she had ever forgotten it!
She froze as the doorhandle twisted experimentally against her back. 'It's locked,' she said unnecessarily, her voice high-pitched with apprehension. What did she really know about the man out there?
An exaggerated sigh buffeted the door. 'Well, at least pass out some blankets for me. It's going to get a lot colder out here before the night's through, and we've only got a limited amount of firewood left.'
Fran chewed her lip as a distant roll of thunder backed his claim. He sounded resigned, but...
'Promise you won't come in if I open the door?'
'Francesca—' He sounded more impatient than an-
noyed, and Fran decided to risk it. She opened one of
the divan drawers and took out three thick blankets, then added the pillow from the window bed to the pile. She unlocked the door and thrust the blankets at Ross. His sudden move to take them made her shy nervously. The blankets fell between them, pushing the door open.
