CHAPTER THREE

AFTER that first moment of impact Regan prayed for oblivion, but it was not to be. She tried to land on her feet, a natural reaction, and the pain that shot up her leg from her ankle was excruciating. Her legs buckled beneath her and she landed with a crash of her left shoulder, the gravel cutting into her bare skin.

Andreas Vatis was at her side in seconds, turning her over to face him, his anger evident by the grim tautness about that firm mouth. ‘You stupid child!’ He took hold of her shoulders and shook her. ‘You stupid, stupid child!’

‘My shoulder!’ she cried, her face paling even more. ‘Oh God, Andreas, please don't do that!’ She tried to push his hand away from her bruised and ragged flesh.

His hand came away covered in blood and he gave an impatient exclamation before bending down to swing her up into his arms. ‘Surely you were not so desperate to escape my arms that you would rather die?’ he rasped curtly.

‘Yes,’ she groaned against his chest, aware, even in her pain, of the warm male smell of him, of the fine mat of dark hair against her cheek. ‘I—I wanted to get away,’ she admitted.

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