Hot Surrender Page 10

  'Maybe he'll cancel it?'

  'No, he talked to Mark this morning and said it was still on. He asked how you were, too.'

  Trying to look indifferent, Zoe raised her brows. 'Oh?'

  'That's one reason I came over this evening—Connel asked Mark if I was checking up on how you were.'

  'And Mark said?'

  'He said yes, and told me I'd better come over today because if you had died without anyone finding you, Connel might sack him.' The glint of amusement in Sancha's eyes made it clear she didn't mean that seriously.

  Crossly amused, Zoe said, 'Oh, that's marvellous! And I thought you came because you loved me!'

  Sancha grinned at her. 'You know I do. I'd have come anyway, if Mark hadn't insisted. I just thought you'd like to know Connel was still taking an interest in you.'

  'Why should I care what he takes an interest in?'

  Her sister gave her a wry look as she opened the front door, then shivered as a gust of cold night air hit her. 'There's a wind getting up; the weather's turning cold. It will be winter before we know it Mark was talking about a skiing trip after Christmas—now that Flora's older we can take all the children. Why don't you come? We could all share one of those chalets with a maid— no housework or cooking for me, and the après ski is such fun.'

  Zoe grimaced. 'With Flora around? Do me a favour.'

  'She's growing up, Zoe! She's changing every day.

  Playschool has made a big difference to her. She's learnt to share with other children and she doesn't have tantrums any more.'

  Zoe looked disbelievingly at her sister and Sancha had the grace to laugh and admit, 'Well, not as often, anyway.'

  'Only once or twice a day now, you mean?'

  'No, once or twice a week! And when she does get into a tantrum it's nowhere near as earsplitting!' Sancha looked round with bright eyes. 'And Connel might come, too; Mark mentioned the idea to him and he seemed really keen. These chalets usually have half a dozen bedrooms so it works out cheaper for a big group of us to go.'

  'Goodnight, Sancha,' Zoe said tersely, giving her a little push through the door.

  'Think about it,' Sancha called, running to her car, her hair whipped into tangles by the wind.

  Not answering, Zoe waved as her sister drove off, then thankfully shut the door on the chill of night and went up the stairs to bed.

  Her sister was at her favourite game—matchmaking! For years she had been trying to find Zoe a husband. Why did married couples feel this urge to get their unmarried friends and relatives paired off? Presumably they couldn't stand to see other people free and happy!

  Well, Sancha could forget it No doubt it seemed a wonderful idea to match her with Mark's boss, but it wasn't going to happen. No way. Zoe didn't want to get married, for a start, and if she ever did so much as consider the idea the man would not be anything like Connel Hillier. He was exactly the type of guy she most disliked.

  Interfering, domineering, high-handed, far too sine of himself, with the fixed idea that women were frail, delicate creatures who needed to be protected from themselves as well as other people.

  True, he was more domesticated than she would ever have guessed he might be. She had to admit he could cook pretty well, and he was good at housework too. The man had depths to him she found surprising; he could be gentle, thoughtful, soothing. He had made an excellent nurse.

  If she was honest, she would have to admit that she had missed him over the days since he went to London. He was good company, he made her laugh, which was something not many men did! And he's sexy, her conscience made her add No denying that! That long, muscled body did something drastic to her heartbeat.

  He's not just sexy, she thought He's gorgeous, with those dark eyes, and that mouth…

  Oh, stop it! she told herself, hurrying into the bathroom. She should be thinking about tomorrow's schedule, not Connel Hillier. Noisily splashing her face, she dwelt on what she would be shooting tomorrow.

  Climbing into bed a few minutes later, she put out the light and yawned. What was Connel doing in London? she wondered, then caught herself at it and groaned aloud. She must stop thinking about that man. He turned up in her head far too often; it was time to evict him from her mind.

  She dreamt about him instead.

  In the morning as she was showering she tried to remember those dreams, but they had faded already. All she retained of them was a dim memory of Connel. It was probably just as well she had forgotten what he had been doing, she decided, viciously brushing her tangled red hair. And stop thinking about him! she told her flushed reflection.

  By Friday her energy level was totally flat, and it began to show by lunchtime.

  'Take the rest of the day off,' Will quietly said as they shared a tasteless cheese salad in her caravan. 'I can manage on my own this afternoon. You look as if you've reached the end of your rope.'

  She put down the forkful of soapy cheese she had been about to put reluctantly into her mouth.

  'Oh, Will, that would be such a relief!' Picking up her schedule, she considered the two short scenes they would be shooting later. There should be no problems in either of them for someone as experienced as Will. 'I must admit, I'm feeling terrible. My battery just ran out. If you're sure you don't mind?'

  'Why should I mind? You know my ambition is to direct! I'd jump at the chance to practise! And, anyway, those two scenes are pretty straightforward The actors know their words and their marks; we'll skate through them, no worries!'

  She gave him a warm hug. 'You're a real mate! Thanks, Will.' Before leaving, she spoke to the rest of the crew and the actors; nobody voiced any objections to Will taking over. Ten minutes later she was on her way home.

  It was a cold, bright day, troubled only by gusts of wind. Gutters at the side of the roads were filling up with russet, brown and orange leaves from the stripping trees, which tossed and swayed like dancers, while curls of blue-grey smoke twisted up from the gardens of cottages, giving a nostalgic scent to the autumn air. It was a pity to spend a day like this in bed, but Zoe was too tired to do anything else.

  On reaching her cottage she read her post, discovered there were no messages on her answer-machine, made herself a cup of tea and a slice of toast and peanut butter, took them up to bed with her, took off her jeans and shirt and got between the sheets. She ate her toast, drank her tea, yawning, with heavy lids, then gratefully lay down and five minutes later was fast asleep.

  It seemed seconds later when she was woken up by a loud, persistent ringing.

  Heart thumping, flushed and off balance, Zoe sat up, believing at first that the noise was her alarm going off and reaching to switch it off only to realise as she took hold of the clock that the sound came from elsewhere. From downstairs, in fact.

  It was now dark outside; looking at the green-glowing hands of the clock she was startled to see it was nine in the evening— she must have slept for six hours! And someone was ringing her doorbell.

  Who would come visiting at this time of night? Sancha? The ringing was still just as shrill, just as insistent. She stumbled out of bed, ran to the window and looked out. It wasn't her sister. That was a man, tall and unmistakably male in jeans and a sweater.

  Not Larry? she thought, heart sinking. She hadn't heard from or seen him since the last time he was here. Optimistically she had begun to believe she would never be bothered by him again.

  She opened the window, and at the sound of the latch grating backwards the tall, dark figure at the front door stepped back at the sound of the window being opened wide and stared up at her.

  Moonlight fell on Connel's face, carving strange, shifting patterns across the familiar angles of cheeks and nose, mouth and temples, making his black hair silver, glittering in his eyes.

  Breathless and weak with excitement, Zoe clutched the windowsill for support.

  'Are you naked?' Connel asked, shattering her mood in an instant.

  'No, I'm not!' she crossly denied. Not quite, anyway. 'I was i
n bed, as it happens. What are you doing here at this hour?'

  'I just got back from London so I came to see how you are.'

  'I was fine until you woke me up!'

  'Sorry, I expected you to be up because I could see lights on downstairs in your kitchen.'

  'Lights? I didn't put any lights on. I wonder if Sancha has come round?' Zoe turned and Connel urgently called out to her.

  'Wait! Don't go down there; you could have burglars. If it was Sancha I'd see her car out here, and I don't. It could be your ex-boyfriend and we know he's violent. Chuck me down your key and I'll let myself in and deal with whoever it is.'

  Zoe hesitated, but it was common sense to do as he said, so she looked in her handbag, found her front door key and threw it down. As Connel began to open the door she hurried to dress in her jeans and sweater, pulled a hairbrush over her hair, and was on the small landing at the turn of the stairs when she met Connel coming up.

  'Where are you going?' she sharply asked as he ran an all-seeing gaze over her.

  'To check the upstairs rooms—there was nobody on the ground floor.' He looked up into her eyes. 'You got dressed.'

  Ignoring the comment, pink and suspicious, she demanded, 'How do I know there were lights on in the kitchen before you got into the cottage? I didn't see them, I only have your word for it, and as I came home in daylight I certainly didn't switch on any lights.'

  Coolly, he told her, 'There's a note from your sister propped up on the table—she came round at six, found you asleep and tiptoed off again. Now, let me pass and I'll just look in the rooms up here. There's no point in not making sure nobody has got in, is there?'

  She stepped sideways, squashing herself against the wall to let him pass. As he joined her on the narrow landing their bodies almost touched; Zoe was abruptly deafened by the violent racing of her blood in her ears and her pulses everywhere else, in her throat, at her wrists, deep inside her body. She had never been so physically aware of anyone in her life and it scared her, scared her senseless.

  She couldn't meet his eyes, looked downwards, but through her drooping lashes watched him, taller than ever in black jeans and a dark grey silky cashmere sweater which clung to his strong chest His was an intensely physical presence, making her body clamour and her senses burn.

  He made no move to go on up the stairs. Instead, he leaned slowly towards her, as if in slow motion, giving her plenty of time to escape, a chance she could not take because his deliberate, almost taunting, slowness made her mouth dry and chained her to the spot. Connel put both hands on the wall on either side of her, and softly asked, 'Missed me?'

  Her breathing seemed to stop, as if she had died; desperately she snatched at air, refusing to let him send her into this spiral of desire and panic and helplessness. No man had ever done this to her. She wasn't going to let Connel Hillier drown her mind and bewilder her body.

  Hoarsely, she lied, I've been too busy to miss anybody! Have you been away? Anywhere exciting?'

  He put a finger under her chin and tipped her head back before she could stop him, forcing her to look up into those mocking, narrowed eyes.

  'What a spiky little hedgehog you are, aren't you? Every time I try to get any closer, you roll yourself up into a ball and I find myself impaled on your sharp prickles.'

  'Better stay away from me then, hadn't you?' she breathlessly whispered, fighting not to stare at his mouth. Why did it have this hypnotic attraction for her? Okay, it was beautifully shaped, but so what? In her job, she met terrific-looking actors with sexy mouths every day. Not one of them had ever had this irresistible lure! In fact, if asked, she would have said she was immune to good-looking men. Some of them she positively disliked because their looks made then vain; some of them were as thick as fog. Look at Hal Thaxford! For her a man needed a lot of other qualities—a sense of humour, kindness, honesty, brains, integrity, common sense. If he was attractive physically too, great, but looks weren't a vital part of the package for her. So why couldn't she stop gazing at Connel like some star-struck kid?

  He took a step closer, so that their bodies almost touched. 'I gather that despite everything the doctor said, you've worked every day. Mark told me his wife was very worried about it.'

  Her eyes flashed. Mark had no business discussing her with him! 'I'm fine,' she said crossly. 'Look, are you going upstairs or not? Because if you're not, let me pass. I want to go and make some coffee and something to eat.'

  'Do you know what I want?' he whispered, and her heart turned over.

  'No!' she lied, slid under his barring arm and began to hurry downstairs, only to have her feet skid underneath her.

  Gasping, she found herself tumbling forward and reached for the banister, but in the same second Connel caught her by the waist and yanked her back upwards.

  Instinctively, Zoe clung to him, still off balance, trembling, realising how nearly she had fallen down the steep stairs.

  'You're the most accident-prone female I ever met,' Connel muttered, his lips brushing the pink, whorled folds of her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

  She hadn't been, until she met him, but she wasn't telling him so; the admission was far too betraying. He had disrupted her entire life since the minute they met. At times she even wondered if her immediate uneasiness and distrust when first setting eyes on him hadn't been her instincts warning her, telling her he could be trouble and she would be well-advised to steer clear of him.

  Her whole body jerked in shock at that instant as Connel's mouth began wandering down her throat, a warm, gentle exploration which frightened her because she liked it far too much.

  'Stop that!' She pulled her head back but that didn't stop him; it merely gave him further to travel along her exposed throat. His mouth reached her sweater neckline and nuzzled it back to let him kiss her shoulders, and lower to the smooth rise of her breasts.

  Zoe grabbed his thick black hair to drag his head away. 'No!'

  His face was very close; she stared into his dark, glittering eyes. 'No!' she said again.

  'Yes,' he breathed, then his mouth closed over hers, and Zoe was swallowed up in a wave of fierce pleasure. There was suddenly no distance between them at all. Connel's body touched hers from shoulder to knee; you couldn't have got a piece of paper between them. His arms clamped her to him so tightly she could only just breathe. His mouth had forced her lips apart, or had she simply opened her mouth without knowing what she was doing? Probably. She was out of control; she couldn't deny it. She wasn't some helpless victim. She wasn't fighting him off. No.

  She was kissing him back. Groaning. Was that her voice, moaning as if she was drowning far out? Was that her saying his name over and over again?

  Connel. Connel. Connel. That was her voice, wasn't it?

  His hands were wandering up and down her back, as if playing music on her spine. She trembled, sighing. Yes, Yes, Yes.

  Was she saying it aloud or just thinking…

  Yes, kiss me…touch me…Connel, yes.

  One of his hand slid caressingly down over her slim buttocks in the tight jeans, taking all the time in the world, while the other took hold of her waist.

  She didn't understand what he was doing until she realised she was being lifted off the ground and carried. Not downstairs. Back upstairs. To her bedroom.

  That woke her up, fast. She began kicking, pummelling him; startling him so much he dropped her before he reached the bed.

  Glaring, Zoe faced him, hands screwed into fists, eyes hard. 'Oh, no, you don't, mister! I'm not that easy. Get out of my house, and I mean now!'

  He stood there, measuring her thoughtfully, feet apart, poised as if for a fight.

  'What changed your mind?'

  'Just go, will you?'

  'You were saying yes a minute ago.'

  'No!'

  'You said yes. Not just once, either, over and over again!' His eyes gleamed at her, sensual enjoyment in them. She knew what he was remembering, she was remembering it, too, but she wished s
he could forget what she had said, how she had kissed him back.

  Angrily she broke out, 'Look, I've had enough of this argument—will you please leave?'

  'Not yet I want you to admit how you felt You know you were giving me a green light.'

  She threw caution to the winds. Chin up, she defiantly muttered, 'Well, I changed my mind!'

  His mouth twisted ironically. 'Well, at least you admit it now. You told me you were prone to changing your mind about men—I had no idea you did it so fast One minute you were as hot as fire. The next you turned into a wild cat. Why, Zoe? What changed your mind?'

  She hesitated, then decided to be completely frank. 'You went too fast. I hardly know you and I don't believe in sleeping with strange men. I may have dated a lot of guys, but I rarely sleep with them. These days, it's asking for trouble. I don't believe in sleeping with a man on the first date. Or the second or third, come to that I don't believe in promiscuity, full stop. I'm terrified of getting Aids or some other sexual disease. I like to know the man pretty well before I risk my life on him, and I don't know much about you, do I?'

  He went on watching her, his face coolly unreadable, but she heard him breathing rapidly, thickly, as if he had just run a marathon. 'Okay, I take your point Same here, in fact I'm not promiscuous either, for much the same reasons.'

  Her green eyes flashed at him. 'Yet you tried it on with me just now! How can I believe a word you say when you tell me one thing and do another?'

  He grimaced. 'You're right, of course. It was reckless and stupid.' His voice dropped, deepened, his breathing still rough and uneven. 'You went to my head, Zoe. I lost control. Don't you know how sexy you were when we were kissing? You suddenly seemed to have no bones, and you were making the sexiest noises. You were white-hot, and you turned me on.'

  She was hot again right now, her face burning, her body shaking as if in fever. She yelled at him in shame and humiliation. 'Shut up. Shut up, will you? I don't want to talk about it any more. I just want you to get out of my house and leave me alone!' She ran over to her mobile, which lay on the bedside table, picked it up and began clicking in numbers. I'm calling the police. You've got ten seconds to get out of here.'