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      CHAPTER ONE

      AMBER moved restlessly, trapped in a half-world between sleeping and waking. ‘I’ll find him for you, Mum,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll find him.’

      It was a troubled sleep, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it was important that she wake up…there was something she had to do, wasn’t there? But when she tried to open her eyes, her eyelids were heavy, as though they were weighted down, and her limbs felt like lead.

      In the end the effort was all too much for her. She gave up the struggle.

      If only the hammering would stop. It was there in the background, banging, banging—no, it was pounding in her head, clouding her mind, stopping her from thinking. She needed to think, to concentrate. There was something she had to do, but the continuous thump, thump refused to go away, and she couldn’t clear her head enough to think what it was. Something to do with her brother, but it was all hazy in her mind.

      Then there was a cracking sound, a shattering, and thankfully the banging at last stopped. She revelled in the peace, but not for long, because now there was another noise to take its place, an incessant droning sound that went on and on irritatingly.

      Amber frowned. Her head hurt, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. She started to cough, harsh, racking coughs that left her drained of energy.

      ‘Come on,’ a deep, masculine voice said. ‘We have to go now.’

      Amber paid him no attention. She wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how authoritative the voice sounded. She was having enough trouble getting her eyes open, let alone even beginning to contemplate the thought of moving from this cosy bed. Was the man mad? And anyway, what was a man doing in her room?

      She blinked, screwing up her eyes, and then finally managed to wrench them open. Looking around, she made a bleary survey of the room, and saw a dressing-table-cum-work surface and a chest of drawers. There was a chair, with some clothes draped over its back. She stared at them, and vaguely recognised the dress. Hadn’t she’d been wearing that?

      ‘I said we should go now.’ It was the man’s voice again, more demanding this time, as though he was beginning to lose patience. She decided to ignore it. There weren’t any men in her life that had any say over what she did or didn’t do and, besides, right now she was in no state to get up and go anywhere.

      Another coughing spasm caught her unawares. Once it had passed, she tried to drag air into her lungs, but it was a struggle. What was happening to her? Was she ill? Her chest felt heavy, and every breath she took was laboured.

      She stared about her once again. Where was she…? What was this place? It looked like students’ accommodation, like a bedsit of some sort. What was she doing here?

      Casting her mind back, she vaguely remembered a party. Had she had too much to drink? Was that why she was feeling so out of sorts?

      Suddenly, strong hands gripped her, and she realised that she was moving, that she was being lifted off the bed. Her eyes widened in shock, and she stared at those hands, at the powerful arms, and finally at the man they belonged to. His jaw was angular and hard boned, and his hair was black, crisp cut. His eyes bored into her, grey with a hint of blue, all-seeing and unrelenting. He was purposefully taking her away from where she had been comfortable and she resented his intrusion.

      ‘Leave me alone,’ she said tightly, aimlessly swatting at those imprisoning hands. ‘Was it you who was doing all that banging while I was trying to sleep?’ She broke off to cough and clear whatever it was that clogged her lungs. ‘I don’t want you here. Go away.’

      She might as well not have spoken, because he didn’t take any notice at all of her complaints. He simply pulled her up off the bed until she was in an upright position and she glared at him, her blue eyes sparking angrily.

      Why was he here? She didn’t know him. She had never seen him in her life before, but he seemed to tower above her, his whole image conveying strength and determination. How was she going to be able to fight him off?

      Perhaps she could brace herself and use all her strength to resist him? A moment later her feet made contact with a rug, and somewhere in the back of her mind she had the idea that something was missing. She stared down at her feet and realised what was wrong. They were bare.

      There was a faint sense of satisfaction in the discovery, because at least it meant that part of her brain was working. She tried to twist around, her gaze searching the floor.

      ‘What are you looking for?’

      ‘My shoes,’ she started to say, but her voice sounded cracked and hoarse. She coughed, and tried again. ‘Why are you still here?’ She frowned, and then looked around again. ‘I need my shoes.’ A grey mist seemed to fill the room, at low level, grey, turning to black, and she couldn’t