Hot Surrender Read online

  'If you like that sort of thing.' Zoe gave her a teasing look. 'Just imagine Flora in this room, chucking toys about, not to mention her lunch! How elegant would it look after Flora got to it?'

  In the middle of sipping her Buck's Fizz, Sancha snorted with amusement, then began to cough. Zoe slapped her on the back.

  'Are you okay?'

  'The drink went up my nose!'

  'Flora gets up my nose!' Zoe laughed, then stopped as she saw Connel, across the room, in profile. Something disastrous happened to her heartbeat If she had been drinking her Buck's Fizz at that instant she might have choked, too.

  Sancha's eyes followed the direction of her gaze. 'Doesn't he look gorgeous?'

  Without replying Zoe agreed, absorbing with her eyes and heart what he was wearing: an elegant dark wool suit, beautifully cut and fitting him like a glove, with a waistcoat which emphasised his slim waist, a crisp white shirt and a dark red silk tie. Yes. He looked gorgeous; even sexier than usual. She remembered the sinister, brooding look he had had the night they met in the rain, and smiled to herself. You wouldn't know it was the same man, would you?

  Her gaze travelled on to the woman with him, her face raised towards Connel's, her blue eyes smiling into his. 'Who's that he's talking to?' she asked her sister flatly and, she hoped, unrevealingly.

  'I've no idea,' Sancha slowly told her. 'She's…pretty, isn't she?'

  'Pretty' was hardly the word. The woman was riveting a lot of men's eyes and no wonder. Slender, with a smooth, perfect, golden tanned skin, blonde hair swept up into a chignon, she was wearing white, a sort of Grecian goddess dress, clinging to her in soft silky folds from halfway down her breasts, cascading down her body to her feet.

  'How does it stay up?' muttered Sancha.

  'Will-power,' Zoe coldly said. She looked as if she had lots of that Her pink mouth smiled widely, but there was determination in her beautiful face and in every angle of those glittering blue eyes, the perfect butterfly mouth, the rather formidable jaw.

  'I wonder who she is?' Sancha thought aloud.

  'Maybe she works for him?' They seemed to know each other pretty well. Maybe they were lovers? Or had been?

  There was an intimacy in the way the girl looked at him that suggested they were more than acquaintances. Zoe's throat felt as if she had just swallowed broken glass. Unlike Larry, Connel hadn't insisted on telling her about his past love life. He hadn't mentioned other women at all. Somehow she had got the impression he wasn't seeing anyone, and as he had been abroad, on this exploration trip, for a year, she had assumed there hadn't been anyone all that time.

  'She's Bianca Green,' said Mark, joining them, an amused look on his face, as if he had been eavesdropping before they'd noticed him. 'She's the interior designer who did the house. Looks as if you've got competition, Zoe.'

  She gave him a disdainful glance. 'I never compete for men!' On an afterthought, she added, 'And I'm not interested in Connel Hillier, anyway,' and hoped her face and voice were convincing.

  'Oh? I had the idea you sounded a trifle jealous!' mocked Mark, and her teeth met.

  'No,' she said through them, but the word emerged squashed and rather forced.

  'Sure?' asked Mark, and actually laughed.

  She glared. 'Quite sure, thanks!'

  'Well, I certainly suspect Bianca has her eye on Connel. She's clever and ambitious, but it isn't easy to make money in her business. She needs backing, someone with money behind her.' Mark grinned. 'Of course, she could fancy Connel, too. No doubt she does. Very convenient, falling for someone who is just the backer she needs, but then I have the feeling Bianca would be lucky that way.'

  Yes, Zoe had that feeling, too. She had taken an instant dislike to the blonde woman with that beautiful, enamelled, hard-baked face. But she didn't want to give Mark any more reasons for teasing her, so she looked away, as if bored, and was relieved to spot Hal Thaxford on the other side of the room.

  He was wearing an unbelievably over-the-top red velvet jacket; a frilly white silk shirt, a red velvet cummerbund and black satin trousers which made him look like a band leader from the nineteen thirties, although Hal probably meant to look like a top sex symbol. He was chatting up a wide-eyed girl of about nineteen, who clearly thought he was God's gift to women. So did Hal, of course. Most of his fans were either teenagers or middle-aged women. Anybody with any brains and experience saw past the dark, brooding facade to the dummy underneath.

  'Excuse me, there's Hal. I must talk to him about work,' Zoe coolly informed her sister and Mark, and walked off, keeping her eyes averted from the sight of Connel flirting with the blonde harpy.

  As Hal saw her coming he took on a wary, uneasy look. He had learnt to expect trouble from her on a film set and they were about to work together again, unless she was coming over to tell him she was dropping him.

  'Oh, hi, Zoe.'

  She smiled brightly, and he flinched, not used to smiles like that from her and immediately expecting the worst.

  'Sorry to interrupt, Hal, but I want to talk to you about work.' She turned her smile on the girl, who visibly hated her. 'Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?'

  'This is Zoe. She's directing me in a film next week,' Hal told the girl, making it sound as if he was the star instead of just playing a small part 'Zoe, this is Cherie Lewin. She's at drama school.'

  And wearing what looked like a deckchair, thought Zoe, still smiling. What gave the poor girl the idea that a tunic dress striped in bright yellow and green would do anything for her?

  'An actress? Which school are you at?'

  The girl told her, staring back and bitterly absorbing the way Zoe's black dress revealed her figure.

  'I'll look out for you when you leave school. I like to use new talent,' Zoe said, trying to be kind, although privately feeling the girl had all the charisma and sparkle of a dead lightbulb. Then, turning to Hal, she slid her hand through his arm and drew him away. 'We'll go into the garden and get some air, shall we, Hal? It's a lovely night.'

  She headed for the French windows and he went with her meekly, saying over his shoulder, 'See you later, Cherie.'

  The paths were well lit by Victorian standard lamps set at intervals, almost turning night into day out there. There was a faint scent of roses from a sunken garden built in the centre of a wide lawn; Zoe wandered towards the red brick steps leading down into it, inhaling the perfume of the roses.

  'I thought roses only bloomed in summer; these are flowering late,' Hal said, bending towards a white standard rose-bush in a graceful pose she recognised as that of an actor trying to impress a director. Hal was always conscious of what he looked like. His body was one of the tools of his trade; he took care of it, loved and cherished it.

  'I sometimes have roses in bloom in December, in my garden,' Zoe told him. It depends on the type of rose you plant. Some are early, some are late. You can have roses throughout the year if you buy the right ones.' She walked on, staring around her. 'This looks like an old rose garden to me—there's so much moss growing on these brick walls. Maybe it's Victorian. They were very keen on sunken rose gardens.'

  'They're very romantic, aren't they? A great place for lovers to meet.'

  Zoe's eyes narrowed. 'Hey! You've given me a terrific idea. There's a very romantic scene in the film…'

  'The one between me and Lindsay?' Hal's interest, as always, brightened when anyone talked about him.

  Nodding, she murmured, 'A sunken rose garden would make a great setting for that scene, don't you think? Just imagine it.'

  'Wow. Yeah,' said Hal breathlessly, imagining like mad as far as his own part was concerned. 'I could kiss her hand…that always gets the women…'

  Zoe gave him a look through her eyelashes. He was so transparent. 'Do you think you could persuade your cousin to lend us this garden for a day? That's all it would take. The scene is only a couple of minutes, but the setting makes all the difference. You and Lindsay could sit on that seat over there—behind you
the climbing roses on the pergola… It would be perfect, don't you think?'

  'Oh, yeah, I can see it now.' Hal gazed at her, sighing. 'Hey, I just noticed—in that dress you look wonderful, really sexy, Zoe. You should have been an actress yourself, you know.'

  She opened her eyes wider. 'Me? An actress?' Was he kidding? Who would rather he an actress than a director? Who would rather be a doll than a dollmaker? 'I couldn't… I can't act.'

  'You wouldn't need to, looking the way you do.' Hal's eyes ate her, from her bare shoulders down over the clinging dress to her long, slim legs. Time to change the subject, she decided. She didn't want to have problems with Hal Thaxford.

  'Could you talk to Connel tonight?' she pleaded, fluttering her lashes. 'While he's in a good mood, get it fixed up? I'll bring the scene forward so we can do it here on Tuesday.'

  'Yeah, sure, I'll talk to him.'

  'Good boy,' Zoe said, in the warm, firm tones she might use to an obedient dog, and turned to hurry away before he tried to take liberties. Unfortunately, in her hurry, on those delicate high heels, she tripped on slippery paving stones.

  Hal jumped to catch her. 'Steady!'

  She looked up, laughing. 'Thanks, Hal. Apparently I'm accident-prone, ever since my car crash. I never was before.'

  'Maybe the crash had a psychological effect on you?' Hal seriously suggested, still holding her by the waist 'Made you nervous, so you keep having accidents?'

  'Maybe,' she said, wondering if he had hit a nail on the head. Then she felt his hand sliding up her spine and had the strong suspicion he was about to make a pass. Just as she was about to move away from him a chill voice from the brick steps behind them made them both start.

  'Rehearsing? Or is this romantic scene for real?'

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hal let go of her and spun round, relaxing with a grin as he recognised his cousin. 'Oh, hi, Connel—we were just talking about you!'

  'Oh, were you?' Connel drawled, staring fixedly at Zoe, those hard, glittering dark eyes sliding over her red hair, faintly dishevelled by the night air and by almost falling over. His gaze moved on to study her full red mouth, like a policeman looking for evidence—of what? she thought—before travelling slowly, with invasive intensity, over her body in the black dress as if he could see her naked.

  She felt her throat flutter with awareness and nerves; now he looked the way he had the night they met in the rain: dangerous, sinister, smouldering. He was obviously angry—but why? What was he thinking, staring at her like that? His eyes accused, as if she had committed a crime.

  'I didn't notice you doing any talking,' he bit out. 'I got a very different impression of what you were doing.'

  Hal looked flattered, preening like an idiot parrot. His conceit was incredible. He probably believed he had cracked her at last; she was falling for him, the way so many women did! Zoe could have hit him.

  She wasn't flattered. She was insulted. Did Connel really think she had been flirting with Hal, inviting him to make a pass at her? After everything she had said about the man?

  'You were right the first rime,' she coldly said. 'We were talking about work.'

  'Oh, sure you were! How could I have thought otherwise? Of you of all people! As if you'd be out here in the moonlight…' He paused, his mouth cynical, and looked her up and down again. 'In that dress…' he enlarged, making it sound like an insult, 'doing anything but talk about work!'

  She went scarlet with rage. 'It's the truth! I had an idea for a scene Hal's going to be doing next week! I'll leave him to explain. I might hit you if I stayed here.'

  She walked off before either man could stop her, but all the way back to the house she could feel Connel's hostile eyes boring their way through her back. Well, it had been a great idea to shoot that scene in his garden, it would have lifted the whole film, and it often gave a film more depth to have a wide variety of backgrounds, but he would probably refuse. That stare was not the look of a co-operative man who would listen to suggestions. Connel was about to be difficult She was glad it was Hal who was facing that icicle of a face, not her, and after the way he'd preened himself just now she had no sympathy for Hal at all. Let Connel bite his head off. She should care.

  Her sister caught her eye as she appeared back in the party. Zoe got the feeling Sancha had been watching the French windows, waiting for her while pretending to listen to the group she stood with. Zoe couldn't escape, either, because the instant she set eyes on her Sancha wiggled her way through the crowd to meet her, bursting out as they met, 'What on earth have you been up to out there with Hal Thaxford? I thought you couldn't stand the man!'

  'Not you too!'

  Sancha fixed her eyes on Zoe's face. 'What does that mean? Who else said something about it?'

  'Oh, never mind!'

  'Connel?' guessed Sancha, eyes very bright. 'I saw him go out into the garden. What did he catch you and Hal doing?'

  'Nothing! Not a thing. He just has a nasty mind, that's all.' Seeing her sister smile, Zoe snapped, 'And so do you! Hal's working on my film and I wanted a chat with him about his scenes, that's all.'

  'At a party!' Sancha didn't buy it, any more than Connel had. They didn't understand how much a film could obsess you—to the point where you weren't interested in anything else.

  Furiously, Zoe explained. 'There's never any time to talk to actors unless you catch them in Make-up. I have so much craftwork to do…checking the set, the costumes, blocking in…'

  'What?'

  'Making sure the light's perfect! It takes an age because the light changes all the time—well, you know that; you're a photographer yourself. It's boring for the actors, just taking up their position, so we use extras to stand in for the stars on their mark, so we can judge the way the light hits them, how they look through the lens, if there's a shine off their make-up or something they're wearing, like earrings.'

  Sancha was listening intently. They rarely discussed filming; there was never time when they were alone. One or other of them always wanted to talk about personal problems, usually Sancha. Zoe had never had any serious personal problems. Until now.

  She pulled herself up. What did she mean by that? She had no personal problems. Connel was not a problem. Nor did she intend him to be. She was staying as far away from him in future as she could.

  She went on, trying to sound calm. Technical stuff like that is vital, but the trouble is actors always want you to tell them how to say lines, where to look, how to look. They're always asking…should I smile, should I frown? Do you want me to do this or that? Especially actors like Hal Thaxford. He constantly needs help, and then he stands there glowering in exactly the same way every time.'

  'He is sexy,' Sancha said absently, but did not appear to be interested in Hal now; she seemed to have something else on her mind. Sighing she said, 'You know I'm beginning to wish I'd gone to film school instead of taking up photography. I might have been good. But it's too late now. You can't swap careers at my age.'

  'Don't be so defeatist!' Zoe told her crossly. 'I hate the words "too late". It's never too late until you're dead. If you really want to be a cameraman, investigate the film schools, have an interview to see if they'll give you a place.'

  Sancha shook her head wryly. 'You're forgetting—I have three children! I can't combine taking care of them with full-time training, especially as I would probably have to go to a city—London, probably—and live there while I was at college. I couldn't make that trip every day; I'd spend my life in the car or on trains.'

  Zoe gave her a cynical smile. 'And, of course, Mark wouldn't hear of it!'

  'I don't suppose he would, but even if he encouraged me I know I'd feel guilty about leaving the children with someone else day after day. They need me. Don't try to blame Mark, Zoe. I'm realistic about it. I can combine my local college training with looking after the kids, but if I had to travel a long way to college it would make my life quite impossible. I couldn't turn my back on them. And if I did it wouldn't make me
happier, because I'd always be worrying about them. No, I'll settle for running my own business. It's exciting for both Martha and me to be taking on new responsibilities, taking a gamble. Dreams are all very well, but it's better to enjoy what you can get rather than yearn after something out of reach.'

  'I suppose you're right, put like that. But I'm glad I don't have any kids! Or a husband to tell me what he thinks I should do.'

  She felt a movement behind her and saw Sancha's eyes flicker, her face startled before she pulled herself together and smiled brightly.

  'Oh, hallo, Connel! What a lovely party. You have a very beautiful house, too—I was saying to Zoe how much I'd love to have a room like this. It's so serene and calming.'

  'Zoe didn't seem to agree,' Connel said mockingly, and she felt his warm breath drift past her bare arm. He was bending over her, his mouth almost touching her skin; she prickled with awareness. Was he going to kiss her? In front of the whole room? Her skin burned.

  Sancha was staring at her; she couldn't meet her sister's eyes and looked down. What on earth must Sancha be thinking?

  'I want to talk to you,' Connel said. 'Excuse us, will you, Sancha? Your sister and I have a business matter to discuss.'

  What business matter? Zoe tried to think clearly but he was standing far too close. She couldn't think at all, which was increasingly disturbing. She had always prided herself on having a cool head. Now she was beginning to wonder if she had a head at all.

  'Right, of course,' Sancha answered, sounding bewildered, incredulous, curious, all at once. Zoe knew how she felt. She had been feeling like that whenever Connel was around for days. Weeks. It was beginning to feel like years. Time no longer had any meaning; her memory wouldn't stretch further back than the day she first met Connel.

  He took her bare arm, his fingers firm and insistent, and guided her through the other guests, who watched them both with expressions rather like Sancha's. A faint buzz ran round the room; people were talking about them.

  What were they saying? she wondered, flushed and self-conscious, and then, as they neared the door out into the hall, they were faced by the elegant blonde, whose long-lashed eyes swept over Zoe without warmth or friendliness.