Chapter 6
DARCY
How dare he!
Darcy couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Not only had Devlin practically thrown her into a helicopter and crashed her into a mountain, but now here he was trying to get her to undress. She threw him a look that she hoped he’d feel like a slap around the face, happy to see that it wounded him. His smug smile vanished.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just mean that it can be dangerous to sit in wet clothes. It can be fatal. Trust me, I’ve had hypothermia twice and once it very nearly killed me. I need to change too.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow, feeling her cheeks heat. The idea of Devlin undressing made her brain stutter and heat pool in her, fierce enough to melt all the snow in the Alps.
“Uh . . .” she stuttered, hoping he’d blame her hesitation on her chattering teeth. “Change into what? I didn’t see any closets.”
“I’ll do a thorough search in a minute,” Devlin suggested. “There must be something we can use. I’ll get that fire lit as well. I saw some logs back in the room we came through.”
That thought was a welcome one, too, and Darcy nodded.
“I’ll have a look for some food,” she said. “If this place used to be a science outpost, then there must be something here.”
“Good,” Devlin replied. “Like I said, we’re going to be fine.”
She wished she could be as sure as he was. Through the single small window she could see that the storm was even more furious, snow hurling itself against the building as if the mountain had fists. The sound of the wind was like an army of ghosts, and it sent chills through her. With no food, no clothes, a small amount of wood, and no radio, they’d have to head back out there sooner or later.
“The reports we were getting said the storm is a big one,” she pointed out, panic bubbling in her chest. “It could be days before it blows over. We could be buried alive in here.”
“We won’t be,” he said. “Trust me.”
“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you,” she said. “What were you thinking, bringing us up here? Does anybody even know where we are?”
Devlin shook his head, running his good hand through his fair hair.
“The airport will radio when we don’t arrive, probably within the hour. The chopper has a tracking beacon which should still be operational.”
“Should?” asked Darcy. “This gets better and better.”
“If it isn’t,” he went on, ignoring her. “Then the authorities will realise what’s happened and will send out a rescue team. They’ll have helicopters in the air tonight.”
“No, they won’t,” Darcy said. “Not in this storm. They wouldn’t risk it.”
“Not for you, perhaps,” he agreed. “But for me they will. You know who I am.”
“I know exactly who you are, Devlin Storm,” she said. “An arrogant, self-centred, pompous arse, who is one hundred percent an only child.”
She bit down on her tongue. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to get upset. She needed to conserve her energy for what really mattered: staying alive.
Devlin was grunting in pain as he tried to pull off his jacket. She decided that she wouldn’t help him because he certainly wouldn’t have helped her. But his face was knotted with agony, and he was really struggling. After thirty seconds of watching him struggle, her resolve melted. She went to him, taking a sleeve and pulling slowly.
“Gently,” he groaned.
“I am being gentle,” she said. “Can you stop being a baby about it?”
She dropped the snow jacket to the floor, then helped Devlin take off the suit jacket underneath. She offered to help him with his shirt, too, but he shook his head.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, a shade paler than he was before. “Go check for food.”
Darcy arched a brow. The arrogance of this man. She best to ignore it, not even his muscles were worth putting up with that. Walking out of the living room and into the storeroom next door, Darcy counted to ten. It was so cold in there, she was worried her eyeballs were going to frost up, and it took her a moment to remember how her arms should work. There were five boxes — a stack of three on one side of the room and two more by the window. She walked to the nearest box and fumbled at it with her gloves until the flap finally came free. Inside was a bunch of glass beakers, pipettes, and other scientific equipment, all utterly useless under these circumstances. Lifting it off the stack, she opened the next one and found a bundle of linen that looked like it might have been about a hundred years old. She pushed it to the floor then opened the third, finding more cloth.
It was too hard to examine the contents with her gloves on, so she took them off and emptied both boxes. There were clothes inside, a handful of thick, starchy shirts, Gor-Tex-type trousers, woollen jumpers, and a pair of snow boots that clattered loudly to the floor. There were hats and scarves, too, as well as some ancient underwear that she kicked away with a shudder.
Behind her, she heard Devlin muttering to himself as he walked past the door. She left him to whatever he was doing, turning to the last two boxes. Inside one were three huge books about mountain wildlife.
Come on , she said, praying that the final box would be stuffed full of chocolate and coffee. It wasn’t, but to her relief, there were some foil-wrapped protein bars and a small, half-empty first-aid kit. She checked the date on the food bars, seeing that they had expired three years ago. She was fairly sure they would still be edible, though, and if not, they’d have to risk it anyway. Taking them out and stuffing them in the pockets of her coat, she scooped up the bundle of clothes and carried them back through to the living room.
She laid the old clothes out on the sofa, shivering uncontrollably as she tried to find the least uncomfortable looking ones. Devlin wasn’t there, so she shrugged off her jacket and kicked off her shoes and trousers, her feet red hot and burning. Her shirt was soaked through from the snow that had fallen down the back of her jacket, so she unzipped it and wriggled out of it, standing there in her underwear. She’d just picked up a pair of grey snow trousers and a thick sweater when she heard a noise at the door. Turning to see Devlin standing there, a couple of logs under his good arm, Darcy felt her whole body heat with the strength of the glare he was giving her. He gave a single shake of his head and averted his eyes. Darcy felt it like a slap in the face. She knew she wasn’t model material, especially standing sopping wet in old underwear and with bright-red frost-bitten skin, but for Devlin to make it so obvious was just cruel.
“Excuse me,” she cried, throwing the dry jumper on as quickly as possible. “A little privacy would be nice.”
“I didn’t know,” he replied, still looking the other way. “A little warning would have been good.”
“Says the man who crept down the corridor like a ninja,” she said. “Why are you still standing there?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, turning. One of the logs dropped out from under his arm and landed on his shoe. “Ow!”
“Go!” Darcy yelled, and he limped out of sight.
She quickly scrambled into the trousers, which were way too big for her. Luckily, they had a drawstring, and she pulled it as tight as it would go. The clothes could have fit a sumo wrestler with room to spare, but they were dry and warm and she shivered contentedly as she pulled on a pair of thick socks.
“Are you decent yet?” Devlin called out. Darcy tied her hair into a bun to stop the water dripping from it. “I’d like to make a fire before I freeze to death out here.”
“Yes,” she said. “Completely and utterly clothed you’ll be pleased to hear. Not a shred of naked skin unless my face is going to cause you discomfort?”
Devlin hobbled back into the room, his own face steely.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you adding peeping Tom to your complaint about me.”
“I’m sure,” she replied, almost smiling. “And peeping Tom makes what you did sound sweet. You’re more of a voyeuristic weirdo. I’ll add it to the list, along with unhinged and dangerous.”
She didn’t mean to sound unkind, but the way he had turned so quickly away from her undressed form was still poking her incessantly between the ribs.
He walked past her, opening the door of the wood burner and throwing in the logs. There were firelighters next to it, and he threw a couple in, sparking them up with a lighter he pulled from his pocket. Within seconds, the flames were roaring, the logs crackling. The room filled with soft firelight and welcome warmth, and suddenly the storm outside didn’t seem so scary.
Devlin tried to get up, groaning in pain and almost falling. Darcy ran to him, her annoyance momentarily forgotten, taking his good arm and helping him up. His shirt was drenched, patches of skin visible beneath it.
“You can’t stay in that,” she said. “I found some bits and pieces that should fit you.”
“I can manage,” he said, his voice cool.
He blatantly couldn’t. He was so pale she thought he might fall over. Trying not to think too hard about what she was doing, she unbuttoned his shirt. It took some effort to pull the wet cotton from his skin, and when it finally came free, it was Darcy who felt like she might pass out.
“There you go,” she said, not sure where to look. “You know, I once entered a wet T-shirt competition by accident. My shirt looked much like yours just did, all stuck to my skin and see-through. I only wanted to go for a walk in the park — how was I supposed to know there was a film crew from some dodgy cable channel? A guy came running at me with a hose and, bam, soaked right through. If I’d known half the town was going to see my bra that morning, I’d have worn a nice one.”
She winced, willing herself to shut up. There was no need to draw Devlin’s memory back to the grey monstrosity he’d witnessed moments earlier. Devlin blinked at her, his body tensing at her touch. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe it was Darcy’s mind playing tricks. She was tired and hungry, and her thoughts were fuzzy around the edges as she tried not to look at Devlin’s rounded swimmer’s shoulders, or the bulging muscles of his arms, or the wide expanse of his chest, or the clearly defined washboard abs. There wasn’t an inch of fat on him, his body as sublime as if it had been sculpted by Michelangelo. Only his right arm looked out of place. The lower part of it had turned an ugly shade of yellowy purple.
“I could have done it,” Devlin argued, his voice weaker now. He looked at his arm, and once again she thought she saw a chink in his arrogant exterior.
“It looks broken,” she said, and he nodded.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
He was trying to undo his trouser button, and Darcy felt her face burn even hotter. He swayed, looked as if he might fall, and before she could even think about what she was doing, she pulled down on the waist band of his trousers and lowered him onto the sofa. Working the dripping suit legs over his shoes, she tossed them next to the fire and stood there staring at the flames, at the wall, at the sofa, at anywhere that wasn’t a half-naked Devlin Storm.
“Um . . .” she said, flapping like a landed fish. “Try these.”
She grabbed an old grey shirt from the sofa and eased it over his head. He pushed his left hand through, before gingerly manoeuvring his right, billowing the material as large as it would go. The dry trousers were like something from a museum, complete with braces, but she helped him into them, pulling the braces over his shoulders. He winced, then sat back without so much as a thank you.
Darcy ran from the room, ridiculously hot and flustered. Out in the corridor, she pressed a hand to her burning face, exhaling sharply. Devlin Storm, half-dressed and looking like every bad decision she’d ever been tempted to make, was not what she needed right now. She shook out her hands, willing away the heat creeping over her skin. No big deal. Just a man. A very unfairly built, infuriatingly attractive man.
“What are you doing out there?” he called through, some of the strength back in his voice. She didn’t reply. All she could think about was that despite the way his body made her feel in heat, it was going to be a long night trapped here with a man as awful as Devlin Storm.