Hot Surrender Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  The following Saturday Zoe wasn't working—she often worked seven days a week, but officially it was six days. The film unions wouldn't permit their members to work all week without a day off, not that that applied to a director, who could work whenever she chose, planning, rewriting, working out shots in a model of the set. Without her film crew, of course. They usually crashed out for hours, so sleep-starved after working long hours every other day that they rarely surfaced again until the evening when they headed for bright lights and some fun.

  Zoe got up at eleven that Saturday, had a real breakfast for once, a bowl of fresh fruit and a boiled egg with toast, listening to local radio. Someone had rung her a couple of times without leaving a message on her answer-machine. Who had that been? she wondered, and hoped it hadn't been Larry again. He was becoming a nuisance.

  Her sister's voice came on next. 'Aren't you ever at home? Look, tonight, six o'clock, don't forget, or else! Oh, and bring a bottle, preferably red wine. It goes so well with steak.'

  After tidying the kitchen and making her bed, Zoe went to the hairdresser, then ate lunch in the local pub, which did a wonderful mushroom risotto, played a concentrated game of dominoes with friends. At two-thirty she drove to the local supermarket and did her weekend shopping, then went home to put it all away before doing an hour's housework. She enjoyed Saturday; it was peaceful and restful not to have to tell anyone else what to do, and to be able to sleep as late as she liked and be as lazy as she chose.

  At four she stripped down to her bra and panties and went back to bed for an hour, setting her alarm to make sure she woke up in time to go to her sister's barbecue.

  The alarm going off was a shock to her system. She was dragged out of a dream, her nerves jangling, but that was normal to her. Eyes still shut, she groped her way to the clock, to push down the button, then swung her legs out of bed to make sure she didn't fall asleep again.

  Yawning and flushed, she stretched, stood up, opened her eyes and made her way to the bathroom to shower before getting dressed. The lukewarm water was refreshing, cooling down her skin, waking her properly. Standing by the window later, she saw that the wind and rain had passed. The weather had warmed up, the late-evening sun was shining, the sky was blue and clear, not a cloud in sight. It could be summer instead of autumn. A perfect evening for a barbecue.

  She put on her favourite casual outfit, a jade-green trouser suit. Under the jacket she wore a bronze silk sleeveless tunic so fine it could be drawn through the exactly matching bronze Celtic bracelet she wore on one arm. She had bought this replica at the British Museum shop; it was inscribed with runic writing.

  It was nearly six-thirty by the time she got to her sister's house and the barbecue was already crowded and noisy, mostly with children, Zoe was sorry to see. Her nephews rushed at her, pink and excited.

  'A balloon landed on the barbie and blew up!'

  'Dad went crazy!'

  'You should have heard him shouting!'

  They both giggled, looking at each other. 'It really made him jump!'

  Zoe eyed them shrewdly. 'It wouldn't have been you two who lobbed the balloon on to the barbie, by any chance?'

  'Us?' The eldest, seven-year-old Felix, said innocently, his eyes reminding her of his father. You could see already what Felix would look like when he was Mark's age—he was going to be tall, dark, bony, very attractive.

  'It just blew down from a tree, honestly!' six-year-old Charlie said, but a dimple in his cheek and a chuckle in his voice gave him away. He wasn't yet quite out of babyhood, face and body still soft and downy, but he tumbled in his big brother's wake everywhere, falling over, bruising himself, but determined to do everything Felix did. He wasn't as much like his father. Zoe saw her sister in him, Sancha's warmth, her tenderness, her sensitivity. No need to worry about Felix; he was as tough as a tree and full of confidence. But Charlie was different. Zoe knew Sancha worried about him.

  'Oh, there you are! I said six, not half past!' Sancha gave her a quick hug, then looked her up and down, making a face. 'You look as if you're dressed for a nightclub. I suppose you bought that outfit in Paris when you went there last month?'

  'No, London, and it's a year old! Sorry I'm late. I had so much to do. My one day off! I've been rushing about, shopping, doing housework. Here, my contribution to the bar!' Zoe handed her sister the two bottles of red Chianti she was carrying.

  'Chianti! Lovely. Thanks. It will remind us of our wonderful Tuscan holiday—it was quite a wrench to come back. We loved it, didn't we, boys?'

  'Yeah,' Charlie said blissfully. 'I drank lots of wine.'

  'You had a sip from your father's glass once or twice!' Sancha rephrased, smiling indulgently.

  'It was really cool!' Felix said nostalgically. 'We had a pool and swam every day. I taught Flora to swim.'

  'To float, anyway.' His mother nodded. 'She looked so sweet, paddling around in a plastic duck boat. Did I show you the photos, Zoe? I must get them out later.'

  'I can't wait. Talking of monsters, where is she?' Zoe looked around warily.

  At once alarmed, Sancha looked around too. 'Boys, where is she? I told you to look after her.'

  'Under that bush,' Charlie told her, pointing a stubby pink finger at a blue hydrangea covered in great, lacy heads of sky-blue flowers. Flora, in pink dungarees and a pink sweater, her red hair tousled and stuck with several of the bright blue flower-heads, lay on her back under the branches, fast asleep, her mouth open, snoring loudly, a piece of doughnut clutched in one hand.

  Sancha's face glowed with mother love. 'Doesn't she look adorable?'

  'That's not a word I'd ever apply to Flora, but that's how I like her best, fast asleep and not doing anything,' Zoe admitted. 'It's when she wakes up and starts getting about that I get nervous.'

  The boys grinned. 'Me, too,' Charlie agreed.

  'She always wants to play with us,' Felix complained. 'And she's too little and keeps falling over, and screaming, then we get blamed.'

  'You're the oldest; you should take care of your baby sister,' their mother scolded, and the boys grimaced at their aunt.

  From the barbecue site Mark waved, calling, 'Come and help, boys!'

  'We have to be waiters,' Felix gloomily said. 'And give out the food to people. It's boring.'

  'Off you go,' their mother insisted, however, so they trudged off reluctantly, as if there was lead in their shoes.

  'So what's the great news you mentioned?' Zoe asked her sister, and Sancha beamed.

  'I'm going to start my own firm!'

  Amazed, Zoe asked, 'Doing what?'

  'Photography, stupid! I've taken a lease on a shop in Abbot Street, just behind the High Street. It will take a couple of months to make some essential changes to the shop fittings, so I'll open up around Christmas, specialising in children and make-overs.'

  'Make-overs?'

  'Oh, you know—a woman comes in wanting a photo that makes her look better than she usually does! Martha is going to do the hair and make-up; we're going into partnership. When she's transformed the client I take a series of soft-focus shots.'

  'You should make millions,' Zoe said, laughing.

  'You may laugh. You don't need a helping hand— some women do! I did myself a year ago, remember.'

  'Well, you don't need one now; you look terrific!' Zoe said, smiling at her. 'And I'll keep my fingers crossed your new venture is a huge success. Is Mark okay about it?'

  'Very supportive—in fact, he put up half the money. He insisted. He thinks I've had a brilliant idea and he wanted to back me. Mark's very shrewd, too, so it was very encouraging to know he approved of my concept.'

  'Amazing,' Zoe murmured. 'The man surprises me sometimes. But then all men give you surprises, not all of them pleasant.'

  'Talking about men, where's yours?' asked Sancha.

  'Who?' Zoe stared at her in bafflement.

  'Whoever you're seeing at the moment—I told you to bring a guy.'
<
br />   Zoe shrugged. 'I'm not seeing anyone. I'm too busy for a social life.'

  'What happened to…was it…Harry? No, Larry? He was the last one I met.'

  'He turned out to be a bit weird, so I broke it off.'

  Sighing heavily, Sancha told her, 'Zoe, if you keep dumping men like this you'll end up a lonely spinster!'

  'I've heard that a hundred times! And I'm not lonely, nor do I spin. Or sew, come to that. Women don't have to marry these days to enjoy life. I've got a career that's more important to me than any man I ever meet. I earn a lot of money and have a lot of fun, and above all I love my work. I enjoy men's company when I'm in the mood but I don't need a man to make my life complete.'

  'One day you'll want children, Zoe! Don't leave it too late.'

  'You mean a brat like Flora?' Zoe said scathingly. 'Do me a favour! I'd rather have a cat!'

  'You don't mean that!'

  'Oh, yes, I do! You can put a cat out at night and it amuses itself. They're clean, too. Kids are far more trouble and make far more noise and mess. I won't pine if I never have one. Come on, open this wine and pour me a glass, then I'll get some food out of Mark. I can smell steak and onions cooking—and I'm starving!'

  When she walked over to the barbecue, a glass of red wine in her hand, flame-red hair ruffled by the evening breeze, startlingly vivid in the jade-green suit, Mark raised his brows at her in that macho, sardonic way that made her teeth meet.

  'No man tonight, Zoe?'

  She glanced over the loaded barbecue. Have you got one ready to eat?'

  'Well, I had heard the rumours that you eat men for dinner, but I didn't realise it was true!' Mark said dryly. 'Sorry, we're just serving steak, lamb chops, gammon chops or sausages.'

  'Steak will do, then—and some of those onions, please, the ones that haven't burnt black yet.'

  'No criticisms of my cooking, please!' Mark's lean body bent to scoop up the food while she watched him critically. She wasn't Mark's type any more than he was hers. She found his manner to her sister far too overbearing. Why did Sancha put up with it?

  Everything about him was too much:—he was too tall, too powerful, too energetic, too demanding, too masculine, had too much ego, was too good-looking. He made Zoe's hackles rise as soon as she set eyes on him, and she knew he had the same reaction to her. Mark preferred his women ultra-feminine: soft, gentle, warm and tender, preferably submissive. Sancha fitted the bill exactly.

  A year ago they had gone through a bad patch and Zoe had thought for a while there would be a divorce and her sister might get a life at last, but they had somehow worked out all their problems, and she had to admit that they seemed happy together now. Their lives had changed considerably since Mark got a new job; he didn't earn as much but he had more time off, and Sancha said he enjoyed his work more. He had had to spend most of his time in an office in his last job—with this one he spent a lot of time on site. A civil engineering company, his new firm were building a bypass around an ancient town so choked with traffic as to be a nightmare both for the people who lived there and anyone visiting it, and Mark could drive home in half an hour. He saw far more of Sancha and the children and had plenty of time off to spend at home.

  All of which made it astonishing that he was backing Sancha in her new project, but then Flora went to playschool every morning now she was three, which meant that Sancha could work part-time without interfering with Mark's life, especially if Martha was going to help in the shop. One of them could pick Flora up from school and take her back to the shop each day. Being able to get away from Flora for a few hours had put the life back into Sancha's brown eyes. She no longer looked exhausted, thank heavens; she was vibrant and cheerful whenever Zoe saw her now.

  Having her own business and being able to give free rein to her creativity and common sense would make her even happier.

  'Help yourself to salad.' Mark gestured, handing her a plate with her steak and a heap of fried onions on it.

  As she turned Zoe bumped into a man waiting behind her, automatically muttering, 'Sorry,' although it was really his fault for standing so close.

  'That's okay, I'm getting used to you knocking me about!'

  The deep voice made her start and look up in amazement For a second or two she stared blankly, until she suddenly recognised Connel Hillier, now minus his black beard, clean-shaven, his hair brushed back from his hard-featured face, showing her that he was far better looking than she had realised. It was a strong, tenacious face, with high cheekbones and a wide setting to those liquid dark eyes, his mouth wide and beautifully shaped.

  'What are you doing here?' Zoe demanded, scowling. He was wearing skin-tight dark blue jeans and a black shirt which lay open at his tanned throat, tie-less, making you immediately conscious of his masculinity, the wide shoulders, slim waist, lean hips and long legs. He certainly wasn't a wallpaper person, she thought, watching him with hostile eyes.

  'I invited him,' Mark said. 'Do you two know each other? I had no idea.'

  'No,' Zoe denied.

  'Yes,' Connel said.

  Mark looked from one to the other with a coolly curious expression. 'Which of you is lying, I wonder?'

  'Which do you think?' Connel grinned at him. 'Women always lie at the drop of a hat.'

  'We don't know each other!' Zoe snapped. 'We simply met Once. And once was enough for me. How on earth do you know him, Mark? I thought he'd been out of the country on some sort of exploring trip for years.'

  'He's my boss,' said Mark, and her mouth opened in a gasp.

  'Your boss? He can't be! He told me he was an explorer!' She turned on Connel, bristling. 'You lied to me!'

  'No, I didn't. I have spent the last year with an international expedition to South America, exploring the mountain ranges. But I'm also managing director of a civil engineering firm. I took a sabbatical while my father ran the business for a year.'

  Her mind ticked busily, remembering things he had said to her the night they met.

  'And you said you lived in London!'

  'I have a fiat in London—I inherited it from an aunt and haven't got around to selling it yet.'

  He'd claimed to have heard about her from Hal Thaxford, but maybe Mark had talked about her, too. What had Mark said about her?

  She looked at her brother-in-law suspiciously. Mark had an amused look now. 'Your food must be getting cold—get some salad and eat your meal before it's ruined, Zoe!'

  'I'll talk to you later,' she threatened him, and turned to grab a pile of salad, then went to find her sister, who was sitting on the grass talking to a neighbour, Martha Adams.

  Sprawling beside them, Zoe said, 'Hi, Martha—how are you? You look terrific in that outfit; red really suits you.'

  'Thanks. You look great, yourself; I love the suit.' Marsha smiled. Barely five foot, she was as slim as a girl, despite being in her early forties. 'Bet I can guess who made it,' she added, naming a world-famous designer.

  'I'm impressed—you're absolutely right. You've got a good eye!'

  'I just remember when you bought it,' confessed Martha.

  'Cost me an arm and a leg!'

  'It was worth it I love the cut, only wish I could afford it.'

  'It's a classic design—I've had it for a year and I shall wear it until it falls to pieces. The style won't go out of fashion, so it was worth the money. But your red jeans are beautifully cut, too.'

  Martha gave her a delighted smile. 'I made them myself.'

  'You're kidding!' Zoe slowly examined the older woman's clothes. 'Did you make the grey shirt, too?'

  'No, that was a Christmas present, from Sancha and Mark! I love your brown top, by the way—it's so sleek and yet it almost glitters like gold.'

  'It's not brown; it's bronze,' corrected Zoe. 'Yes, I love it, too. I hope that will last for years, too.' She glanced at her sister. 'How long have you known Connel Hillier?'

  'I don't know him at all. He's the head of Mark's new firm.' Sancha stared curiously. 'Do you know him?
You never mentioned him. Don't tell me he's your new guy? That's amazing!'

  'He's nothing of the kind! I only met him once, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. Remember that terrible storm we had earlier this week? I was driving home after a very long day filming, and while I was waiting at the crossroads to turn down my lane he tried to get into my car.'

  'What do you mean?' Startled, Sancha and Martha both watched her incredulously.

  'Tried to get into your car?' Martha asked.

  In between eating mouthfuls of her food, Zoe told them what had happened that night, and they listened open-mouthed.

  'He actually broke into your cottage?' asked Sancha in disbelief.

  'Yes, I was just about to get into bed when I heard him creeping about downstairs.'

  Martha murmured, 'Seeing you here tonight must have been a big shock for him!'

  'He didn't turn a hair! The way he acted you'd have thought we were old pals. He actually made fun of me for being offhand with him.'

  Sancha said uneasily, 'The trouble is, Zo, Mark loves his new job. I don't know if he would tell him to go!'

  'Tell who to go?' enquired Mark, and they all looked round at him as he joined them with a plate of food and curled his tall frame up on the grass beside them.

  'Connel Hillier!' Sancha said anxiously. 'I know you think he's a great guy, but wait till you hear what he did to Zoe! Zoe, tell Mark what you just told us.'

  Zoe looked past Mark at Connel Hillier, who had just strolled up, a glass in his hand, and was eying her with sardonic amusement.

  'Yes, do tell us, Zoe,' he drawled.

  'You've got a nerve!' she snapped at him, her hands screwing into fists. 'Coming here, laughing at me, after what you did to me!'

  'I'm still waiting to hear exactly what he did do!' Mark said, fork poised to put steak into his mouth, and clearly not at all worried by the threatened disclosures.

  Darkly flushed under Connel's mocking gaze, she snapped, 'He broke into my cottage…'

  'I walked in after ringing the bell; the front door was unlocked.'

  'You picked me up and carried me forcibly upstairs! Then locked me into my own bedroom!'