When the Devil Drives

than ever now, and the damp was beginning to penetrate right throughher layers of clothing to her skin, making her feel clammy anduncomfortable.'You don't seem to be getting on very fast,' the hated voicecommented at last.'I don't like having an audience.''I can believe you don't like having me as an audience.' She wasn'tlooking at him, but there was something in his voice that told her hewas grinning. 'Come on, Miss Chalfont, why don't you swallow yourdamned pride and say, "Help me"?''I didn't ask you to stop.''You wouldn't ask me to throw you a rope if you were drowning. Asyou probably will if this rain keeps up—that, or die of pneumonia.'He walked to her side, put his hand under her elbow and yanked herto her feet, without ceremony.'Leave me alone!' She wrenched herself free of his grasp.'Willingly—once this wheel of yours is changed.' He was fitting thejack into place with a deft competence that made her want to kill himand dance on his grave. 'Go and sit in my car, and dry yourself off alittle,' he directed over his shoulder. 'If you look in the sports bag onthe back seat, you'll find a towel.'Instinct prompted her to reply haughtily that she preferred to remainwhere she was, but common sense intervened, reminding her that inthis weather she would simply be cutting off her nose to spite herface, and that she was only laying herself open to further jibes.The interior of the Jaguar smelt deliciously of leather upholsterymixed with a faint tang of some expensively masculine cologne.