Out of Control Page 5

  'How are you going to get away?' she asked Keir Zachary, who was cooking in the kitchen. He had found a tin of ham and one of tomatoes, and he was making one of his extraordinary meals. Liza wished she wasn't hungry, but she was; emotion made her hungry. She stood there looking at his hard profile and hating him. If he hadn't been there in his car in the mist she wouldn't have run into him and he wouldn't be here, cluttering up her life.

  'They'll get tired of waiting,' he said, with an optimism she could not share. 'But we may run out of food in the meantime.'

  'If you stop using every tin in my larder, we may manage,' Liza said bitterly.

  'There's some flour and a packet of yeast—you could make some bread for tea,' he said cheerfully and she wailed in fury.

  'You aren't going to be here for tea! You're leaving here soon, even if I have to put a paper bag over your head and make you run for it.'

  'It won't come to that,' he said. 'Lay the table, this is nearly ready.'

  'What do you call that concoction?' Liza asked as she obeyed him.

  'Ham and tomatoes,' he mocked, sliding her a sideways grin, but she was not in a mood to be friendly to him. He was the cause of all this hassle; why hadn't he left before that photographer arrived?

  'I normally eat just a grapefruit for breakfast,' she said gloomily as she sat down with a plate of food in front of her.

  If it hadn't been for the mist and the accident, she would have gone out last night to the village shop and bought supplies—fresh bread, fruit, salad, eggs. It wasn't far in a car, just five minutes away, but she wouldn't care to walk it in a thick river mist; it would be easy to miss a turning or walk off the road into the low-lying fields or even into the river.

  'You're in no danger of putting on weight,' Keir assured her and she bristled at the way he was eyeing her.

  'Keep your eyes on your breakfast!'

  He laughed. 'Can't I even look?'

  'No,' Liza said with a bite, her eyes serious, and he stopped smiling, his face tightening. She heard him draw an angry breath, staring at her, his eyes blindingly bright and icy.

  'You're beginning to annoy me. Miss Thurston! Stop picking me up on every word. Have you got some sort of hang-up about men? You seem very touchy—mustn't touch, mustn't look! What's your problem, Miss Thurston ?'

  You, at the moment, Mr Zachary,' she told him coldly, 'I wouldn't have to tell you not to touch if you kept your hands to yourself, and as for looking, it all depends on the way you do it, doesn't it? Some stares can be an insult.'

  He didn't like that; a dark flush crept up into his face and his eyes narrowed dangerously on her, threat in them. He expected every woman he made a pass at to swoon into his arms, no doubt. He wasn't used to getting a red light—but he was getting one from her, whether he liked it or not. Liza lifted her chin and glared back at him.

  'Afraid your boyfriend will be jealous?' he asked and the sneer made her angrier. 'Leave Bruno out of this!'

  'Bruno!' he repeated, his mouth twisting. 'What sort of name is that for a man? It's a name for a teddy bear!' 'I like it!' she snapped.

  Are you in love with him?' he asked curtly, watching her closely.

  She didn't answer, beginning to eat, and he waited a minute before he concentrated on his breakfast too. It was good; Liza had to admit that. She wasn't sure how he did it with such unpromising materials, but she ate every scrap on the plate and enjoyed every mouthful, even though she was in a very bad temper by then.

  'If there was any justice, you'd have indigestion for hours," Keir told her as he got up from the table. T probably will! Eating when you're furious is a mistake.'

  'When are you leaving?' Liza merely asked, although she knew she ought to tell him how good the meal had been. She should, but she couldn't because Keir Zachary made her feel aggressive. The sideways glance of those blue eyes made her blood run faster and hotter and did something drastic to her peace of mind. The only way she could handle the way he made her feel was to lose her temper. Ever since she'd met him in the mist her temperature had been rising and she had to have some safety valve.

  'As soon as I can, don't worry!' he snapped back, dumping the dishes into the sink and running hot water on them.

  'Leave that, I'll do it,' Liza said.

  'I can walk out now, if you don't mind the vultures getting a shot of me leaving the house,' he said nastily, and she felt like hitting him because he knew very well that she did not want a photo of him appearing in the papers.

  'Maybe they've gone,' she said optimistically and went into the sitting-room to peer out through the curtains, taking care not to be seen herself.

  The car was still there, but she couldn't see anyone in it. Perhaps the two men had gone off to the pub to check on the fishing contest? It was far too early for the bar to be open, but perhaps they were eating breakfast?

  'They've gone. Hurry!' she told Keir, who joined her and studied the empty car thoughtfully without seeming in much haste.

  'Will you be OK on your own? ' he asked, without moving.

  'Yes, don't just stand there—get moving!'

  'I'll have to collect my case,' he said, wandering away, as if he had all the time in the world.

  They may be back any minute,' she pointed out, then remembered something. 'We didn't exchange addresses

  when your car has been fixed, send the bill to me. I've got a card in my wallet. Hold on, I'll get it for you from my bag.' He might not feel any sense of urgency, but she did. She ran all the way, and was breathless when she got back from her bedroom.

  It was the agency business card, not her private address; he studied it when she handed it to him and his brows curved upwards in that dry, sardonic way of his.

  'The Gifford Building? You must make a fortune to be able to afford offices in that.'

  'We're successful,' she admitted with quiet pride, because when she set up the agency nobody had believed in her ability to run a company. She had been risking her own money; no bank would lend her any then, although now she could walk in anywhere and be sure of a warm reception and a loan. When you had money it was easy; it was when you didn't that problems started.

  'You must be,' Keir drawled. 'And if you're dating one of the Giffords you're moving in the big league, too. They built that block a few years ago, didn't they? One of the new monsters on London's skyline; all that glass and concrete—there was quite an outcry, I remember. Do you like it?"

  T do, as it happens, but this is no time for discussion on architecture,' Liza said furiously. 'Are you going or not?'

  He put the card into the top pocket of his jacket and walked down the hall towards the front door. Liza followed close on his heels and was taken aback when he swung suddenly and dropped his suitcase, caught hold of her shoulders in a tight grip, bent his head and kissed her.

  She was too surprised to evade that kiss; her mouth had already parted in a gasp of surprise at his swoop. His lips hit hers fiercely, but the first bruising impact softened a few seconds later; his hand closed on her waist and drew her up against him, her body helplessly yielding because her mind hadn't started working yet, she was too shaken. Her hands closed on his shirt, her eyes shut, her mouth taken and coaxed, warmly caressed.

  The pleasure was unexpected, a sensual sweetness that made her weak. A tremor ran through her from head to foot and then she dragged herself out of the physical trance, pushing him away.

  He had his eyes shut, too; as she looked up at his face his lids slowly lifted and she saw the brilliance of his eyes—the excitement in them made her shudder with shock. Was that how she looked? She was feverish, angry, dismayed. What had happened to her? What had he done to her?

  Blindly she reached for the door, opened it, muttering something thickly. "Please go,' was what she tried to say, but she didn't know if he would understand the incoherent noise which she had made.

  Whether he did or not, he walked past her without a word and she stared after him as he reached the hire car parked outside, unlocked i
t, got behind the wheel and drove off without looking at her once. She closed the door and leaned on it. If she hadn't, she might have fallen down. Her legs were like water. Her body was trembling violently. She was in shock.

  It was a very long time since a kiss had had any real effect on her. Years, she thought, closing her eyes and trying not to remember. She had been badly hurt and she had been too young to cope with it. She had come out of it scarred, and determined it would never happen again. You couldn't get hurt if you didn't run any risks, and so she picked her men carefully from then on; she didn't go out with a man if she didn't like him, enjoy his company, of course, but at the same time she froze off anyone who might get to her, anyone she might fall for. If she had met Keir Zachary at a party or on a blind date she would have avoided him instinctively.

  She had known last night, even in the mist, even when he was in a black rage, that he was dangerous to her. Right from the first moment there had been that prickle of electricity, a heightening of awareness, not only of him but of everything around her. She had come alive and Keir Zachary had been responsible, but now she felt sick and she was terrified. She remembered how it had felt before and she knew she could not bear to go through that again. It had been wonderful at first, falling in love ii«.s wonderful—the air sparkled, your feet hardly seemed to touch the ground, you felt like laughing and singing, as if you were crazy, out of your mind!

  But however high you floated, you always had to come down, and the descent broke you.

  Keir Zachary hadn't given her his address, she realised. Maybe he didn't intend to send her that bill, or maybe he didn't want her to know where to find him— with any luck she might never see him again. If she did, she would have to make it clear she was otherwise occupied; there was no place in her life for him. He was too dangerous.

  The police drove up half an hour later. One of them knocked at her door and asked if she had had any more bother from the reporter. 'His car's there but he seems to have vanished," admitted Liza, looking past the broad, uniformed shoulders, across the road.

  'At the river," the constable nodded.

  'At the fishing competition?'

  'He'll be back when the pub opens,' said the policeman, grinning. 'If you get any more hassle, give us another ring and we'll stop on our next drive around and give him a few words.'

  'Oh, thank you,' Liza breathed, opening her green eyes wide and smiling very gratefully. 'You are kind. It was scary having them hanging about, banging on my door and shouting.'

  'Don't you worry,' the constable said, admiring her tight-fitting white jeans and the casual white and black shirt she wore with them. 'We'll sort it out for you.'

  Liza thanked him again and he left, waving as he drove away. He was a very big powerful young man and she thought he would throw a scare into the reporter, which would mean she need not leave and drive back to London, as she had decided to. All the same, her tranquil life and the cottage had been wrecked for the weekend. She felt as if she had been invaded—trampled underfoot.

  As she passed the telephone, still off the hook, she heard the high-pitched signal it was making and sighed, replacing it on the stand, then dialled the local garage and asked them to come and tow her car away for repairs.

  'Have you got a car I can hire?' she added and the garage manager said he had and he would bring it along while his mechanic drove the break-down truck, then he asked for directions. Liza told him the address, then remarked, 'But you've been here once this morning, already, haven't you? Didn't you pick up the other car?'

  'What other car?'

  'The one I crashed into!'

  'We haven't had any other repair jobs today—the break-down truck hasn't been out for a couple of days, in fact,' he said, sounding irritable.

  'Oh, it must have been some other garage then,' Liza said and the man asked, 'Which one? Around here?'

  She had no answer to that because she couldn't think of another garage for a mile or so, and that one didn't deal with repairs, it merely sold petrol.

  The men picked up her car and delivered the hire car, and the manager told Liza that her own vehicle shouldn't take too long to repair as he had no other jobs on at present. When he had left, she went out shopping and stocked up with fresh supplies: bread, eggs, orange juice, milk, salad and cheese. On her return to the cottage she had to run from the car to the cottage because the reporter was back with his photographer. Liza dropped her carton of eggs and heard them smash. She was so angry that she turned round and pelted the gentleman of the Press with a large, red tomato which hit his forehead and burst, running down his face. The photographer took running shots of her, but she was an experienced hand with cameras and managed not to be full face every time he snapped. She got her door unlocked and ran in and the reporter put his foot in the door, talking fast.

  Liza grabbed an umbrella from the tall, Chinese jar behind the door and brought the spike of it down on his foot.

  He gave a yelp and jumped back and she slammed the door and then stood there, breathing hard and laughing. She was still angry, but it had been fun. She wondered what sort of pictures would surface in the papers and didn't care.

  The phone was ringing. Warily, she picked it up. 'Hello?'

  'Liza?' It wasn't anyone from Fleet Street, it was Bruno, sounding stiff and on edge.

  'Bruno?' she asked, wondering if he had had a rough ride from his family. He probably had; he sounded upset. Poor Bruno, she thought, grimacing, perhaps he had been ordered to stop seeing her—was he ringing to tell her that?

  'Who is he?' Bruno asked, the words shooting out of him like bullets, and she stiffened. 'What? Who?'

  'The guy down there with you!' Bruno's voice was raw and she frowned, a pang of compassion shooting through her. He was jealous, he had been hurt. Liza wasn't in love with Bruno, but she was fond of him and she had been there—she knew how he was feeling. Love was a killer, it tracked you invisibly and pounced from high places when you weren't expecting it, like a tiger in the jungle, and like a savage animal it tore you limb from limb and you were helpless to save yourself. She should have warned him off long ago. She shouldn't have gone on seeing him, kidded herself that he was just a friend, it was platonic, he wouldn't get hurt any more than she would.

  'It's a long story,' she said, trying not to sound guilty or defensive, although that was how she felt because she should never have encouraged him to think they might be anything but friends.

  'Is he your lover?'

  'No! Of course not, Bruno, and how did you hear about it, anyway? It only happened last night.' 'What did?' He sounded bewildered. 'The crash.'

  'Crash?' His voice changed. 'What crash? Liza, are you hurt? What happened? I opened the papers this morning and there was a gossip item about you and some man staying at your cottage—a mystery man, they called him, the bastards, and there was some stuff about us, about you and me.' Bruno's voice deepened, roughened. Yes, he had been hurt, she recognised, sighing. 'So what's all this about a crash, and what's it got to do with this guy at your cottage?'

  'He isn't, not any more.' Liza explained and Bruno listened, breathing audibly. She didn't know if he was believing her or not because she couldn't see his face, but when she paused for breath he spoke, sounding less distraught.

  'Is he still there?' Bruno sounded suspicious even now and Liza sighed.

  'No, he left early this morning. The garage came and towed his car away. I hope the bill isn't going to be too enormous, as I'm going to have to pay it.'

  'Was it your fault? Can't you say it was all due to this fog?'

  'Mist, river mist—and no, Bruno, I can't say that because it wasn't really true. I wasn't looking where I was going, I had too much on my mind."

  'Yes,' he said with a groan, then asked, 'This guy . . . does he live near there?'

  'I'm not sure. He looked like a farmer; muddy boots, shabby old clothes—but then he said he was a psychologist.'

  'A psychologist! Sounds to me as if he was fantasising.'
Bruno sounded worried. 'You know, you should never have let him stay the night. You took an awful risk. He could be a dangerous lunatic'

  'Well, he wasn't and he's gone now, so everything's OK.'

  'No, it isn't,' Bruno gloomily told her. 'My mother read the gossip in the paper.'

  'Oh, dear," Liza said weakly, an inadequate response to news that had clearly disturbed Bruno.

  'She can be very unreasonable!' he said. 'Now I know

  what happened, I can tell her about the mist and the crash, but...'

  His voice trailed away hopelessly, and Liza could tell that he didn't think his mother would believe a single word of her story. 'Look, Liza, I've had an idea,' he said suddenly. 'If you and my mother could meet, she'd see what you're really like, and she'd stop believing everything she reads in the papers. What are you doing on Sunday afternoon?'

  'I'll still be down here. Why?'

  'Could you come back to London earlier than usual? On Sunday morning, for instance?'

  'I suppose I could—why?'

  'On Sunday afternoon we're going to watch a polo match at Windsor. Could you come?'

  'Polo?' Liza was intrigued; she had never seen a game of polo. It could be fun, but if she turned up his family were going to believe it was serious between her and Bruno, and what was worse, Bruno would think so too and she did not want that. She did not want Bruno getting any more deeply involved with her; she had to start withdrawing from him, keeping her distance.

  'I'm sorry, Bruno, I don't think that's a good idea,' she said. 'I've got to go, Bruno, sorry. I'll see you when I get back to town.'

  She said goodbye and ignored his hurried, 'Liza, please come tomorrow, just for an hour.'

  'Goodbye, see you,' were her only words before she hung up, then felt mean as she stood there in the silence. She wished she had never let Bruno take her to dinner in the first place; she wished she had never let him into her life, even as a friend, because this was a stupid mess she had got herself into, and it wasn't going to be easy or painless getting herself out.