Hot Surrender Page 6

  Zoe closed her eyes and sulked Why did it have to be Connel Hillier who found her? He was the last man in the universe she would want to see her in this condition. She had never felt this weird before and it scared her. What was wrong with her? Was he right? Did she have concussion? Or was this simply shock?

  The car was doing a speed that made her heart stop. She had never been bothered by fast driving before, but suddenly she was terrified.

  'You're driving too fast!'

  His voice seemed to come from far away. 'We have to get you to hospital as soon as possible. Shock can be dangerous.'

  'W…w…who s…said I w…was in ssshhh…shock?' she managed, despite her chattering teeth. 'I…I'm j…j…just c.c.cold And stop driving so fast!'

  'Okay, I will. Don't get upset, just lie back and keep warm,' Connel soothed.

  The car slowed and she closed her eyes again. The rug was warm, and she could feel the car heating building up, but she was still shivering as Connel drove into the nearest town, some quarter of an hour later. Zoe heard the noise of traffic, sensed that they were out of the country and into busy streets, but she didn't want to open her eyes even when they turned off the road and slowed to a stop.

  Connel got out and came round to help her out, but her legs had become rubbery. They gave under her, and Connel picked her up into his arms and carried her inside the building. Her head lolling on his chest, she drifted in and out of awareness, but she knew they were in a hospital by the smell—disinfectant, polish, flowers.

  The next couple of hours passed in a sort of daze. She had an X-ray, saw a doctor, had lights shone in her eyes, was examined from head to toe, and told she had a seat belt burn across her body, but she was very lucky the belt had not given way or she might have been killed.

  The tired young Casualty doctor smiled at her. 'The cuts and bruises aren't a problem; they'll heal quite quickly. In a few days you won't know they were there. I don't think you have concussion. There are no signs of internal injury in the X-rays, or fractures or brain damage. We don't need to keep you in overnight, but if you get headaches, or problems with your eyes, come back at once. They will be a sign that you may have a problem. When you get home, go straight to bed, take some pills I'm going to give you, and rest for a few days. You're in mild shock, but it doesn't seem serious to me. Your friend will take care of you, will he?'

  Friend? she thought vaguely, but nodded, not sure who he meant.

  'I'm just going to give you an injection,' the doctor added, and Zoe jumped as he stuck a needle into one of her arms. 'Did that sting? Sorry about that,' he cheerfully said.

  'You need to go back to medical school and get some more training,' she muttered, and he laughed as if she had intended to be funny.

  She hadn't.

  When he showed her out of his consulting room she realised which "friend" he had been talking about as she saw Connel, who sat outside, reading a newspaper.

  'Everything okay?' he asked, getting up. I've managed to find a wheelchair—you aren't really heavy, but carrying you about like this is seriously damaging my muscles.'

  The doctor laughed.

  Zoe's teeth grated. 'I can walk. I'm not a cripple.'

  'Nonsense,' both men said together, and between them lifted her into the wheelchair. Her dignity would not let her struggle. Connel wrapped his tartan rug round her again, as if she was a baby, then he moved away a little and stood talking to the doctor in tones too low for her to hear what was being said, not that she cared. She was yawning, and dying to go to sleep.

  Connel seized the wheelchair a moment later and began pushing her through the long, dull corridors. There was a surreal feeling to the place, to her mood; she half believed she was already asleep and dreaming.

  Afterwards she never remembered Connel putting her back into his car. She slept throughout the journey home to her cottage, slept as he picked her up, still wrapped in her rug, and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom.

  Only as he put her down on her bed did she surface, briefly, to stare up into his face, confused for the first second and wondering where she was and why Connel was with her. As her memory came back she scowled at him. 'W…what do you think you're you d…doing?'

  'I'm going to undress you and put you to bed,' he coolly informed her, unbuttoning her jade jacket. 'And I've done it before, so don't make a fuss. I'm not going to get over-excited so don't you!'

  She pushed his hands away. 'I c.can…'

  'No, you can't You're barely conscious. Just go limp and pretend it isn't happening, and it will be over in a minute.' He unzipped her pants and began pulling them down. 'I'm afraid this suit may never be the same again even when it has been cleaned—it's flecked with mud and broken glass and specks of your blood.'

  She shuddered, peering down at the pants. He was right; they were a mess. 'This suit cost a fortune!'

  'Never mind, at least you're alive. Now, where will I find clean pyjamas?' he asked, gently lifting her with one arm behind her back to remove her jacket.

  'Never mind pyjamas,' she hurriedly said, dangerously aware of his powerful body close to her, feeling his chest lifting and falling as he breathed, inhaling the scent of him, musky, male, memorable. I'll sleep like this.' Something was bothering her. 'How did you get the front door open? And this time don't try and tell me I left it open because I know I locked it!'

  'I found the key in your handbag, of course,' he casually said, then laid her down as carefully as if she was made of china, and drew the sheet over her, then the thick, comforting duvet.

  'You…you…' she spluttered.

  'Yes?' he asked, smiling.

  'You had no right to go through my handbag!'

  'What was I supposed to do? Sit out there in my car with you all night? Don't be a stupid woman. Try to use the brains God gave you. Now, is there anything I can get you? Milk? Water? A cup of hot chocolate or some tea?'

  'No, thank you,' she said through tight lips. His excuse was unanswerable, but then it always was! The man was too clever—how did you cope with a man with a mind like his? She found it hard to believe he was Hal Thaxford's cousin—they were miles apart.

  The light went out and she lay in the dark, thinking about him drowsily. She had never met a man like him. He constantly surprised.

  With a start she heard him tiptoing across the room and tensed, her pulses jangling.

  'What are you doing?' she demanded, ready to fight if he tried to get into bed with her.

  'Sorry, did I wake you? I was trying not to make a sound. I suddenly realised you might need a drink of water in the middle of the night so I brought up a jug of water and a glass.' He audibly put them down, the glass clinking against the jug. 'There you are. Anything else you want?'

  'No,' she said, still tense. Was that a straightforward question or some sort of proposition?

  'Okay. I rang your sister, and she's coming over first thing in the morning.'

  'You shouldn't have! Sancha has enough to do already, and she'll bring Flora with her to drive me crazy.'

  'She insisted. She would have come tonight, but I told her there was no need to as I would stay with you. You must have somebody here, looking after you, until the risk of concussion is over, and I have to go to work.'

  'Did I ask you to stay? I don't need anybody. I can take care of myself.'

  'Not in the state you're in! Now, shut up. Go to sleep—if you need me, I'll be in the next room. I found this brass bell in your sitting room—ring that' She heard it softly chime as he put it down on her already overcrowded bedside table.

  He was gone before she could protest and she felt too odd to move. For a few moments she lay there, brooding over his high-handed, infuriating behaviour, but she was too exhausted to stay awake for long. Five minutes later she was fast asleep, and when she woke again it was to find the bedroom full of morning sunshine and a smell of coffee which made her nose twitch. Coffee! Wonderful. That was what she needed.

  Gingerly she sat up. Movement
still made her wince, but her head wasn't going round and there was nothing wrong with her vision; she could see Connel Hillier perfectly clearly as he walked into the room. Her nerves jumped—freshly shaved, in what was obviously a clean shirt and jeans. How had he managed that? Had he got a travelling wardrobe in his car? And why was he so tall? Every time she saw him he seemed to be taller.

  He stopped in his tracks, staring at her, face surprised. 'Oh, you're awake! Why didn't you give me a shout? I would have brought your breakfast up earlier.'

  'I only just woke up.'

  He was carrying a tray, which he put down across her knees. 'Here you are—orange juice, coffee, boiled eggs and toast. Or do you prefer cereal?'

  'No, that looks wonderful,' she said huskily, watching him pull back the curtains to let a sunlit autumn morning into her room. He turned to skate a glance over her and she suddenly realised she was only wearing her bra and panties, and hurriedly pulled the bedclothes up to her neck.

  He laughed, giving her that wicked look she remembered from the first time they met, his lashes sweeping his smooth, tanned cheeks. Mockingly he asked, 'Now, what prompted that? Come off it, Zoe—are you trying to convince me you're shy? You of all people?'

  Head averted, face cold, she looked at the tray, inhaling the rich odour of the coffee, and said stiffly, 'It's very kind of you to bring me breakfast in bed. I'm not used to it.'

  His brows shot up. 'Nobody ever brings you breakfast in bed? No wonder your relationships never last—you date the wrong guys.'

  She ignored that, fighting to keep her temper. 'I hope you slept well?'

  'Fine,' he said, sounding as if she made him laugh, which didn't improve her mood. 'Did you?'

  'Yes, very well, thank you,' she said with icy politeness.

  'How do you feel this morning?'

  'Stiff as a board, and my ribs hurt.' She spread out her hands for him to see. 'So do my cuts and bruises. But my head's fine now and I haven't any worrying symptoms. No headache, and no eyesight problems.'

  'That's good. You look better.' He observed her veiled shape in the bed, eyes dancing. 'What I can see of you.'

  Her temper suddenly snapped the rein she had been keeping it on. 'I know you think you're funny, but I'm not in a mood to play games!' she said furiously. 'I don't feel well enough. So will you stop making jokes about the fact that I'm only wearing underclothes and go away?'

  He was all innocence, eyes opening wide, face bewildered. 'Did I mention the subject? I never said a word! You're the one obsessed with what you're wearing, not me.'

  She felt herself go red. 'You were the one who stared!'

  'Sorry,' he said softly. 'Did I? Well, I'm a red-blooded male, not a monk, and when I see a half-naked girl as sexy and beautiful as you are, I can't help staring.'

  'Well, try in future!' she muttered, but at the same time registered the compliment. So he thought she was beautiful? And sexy. Heat crept up her body.

  He turned away, and she couldn't stop herself staring at him, riveted by the physical impact of that powerful body. He was certainly sexy, not to say beautiful, in his very male way—those wide shoulders and that deep chest, the lean, firm hips and long, long, muscled legs. His very presence in her bedroom when she was half-naked in bed was making her breathless. She had never felt quite so overpowered and aware of a man in her life. It was disturbing to feel like this. Why did he have this effect on her when she didn't even like him?

  Or did she? He had charm; she couldn't dispute that. He was kind and thoughtful. He was house-trained and capable, could take care of himself and anyone else who needed it.

  She approved of all that—what woman wouldn't? But he still made her hackles rise, made her bristle with resistance and resentment, because, beneath the apparent 'new man' surface lurked an unregenerate male of the old school, bossy, opinionated, domineering.

  He was watching her with narrowed eyes, making her afraid he might be able to read her mind. She would put nothing past him.

  'Well, I'll leave you to eat your breakfast and sulk,' he said dryly. 'You have to stay in bed today, whether you feel okay or not. And don't forget to take your pills after breakfast Your sister should be arriving around ten; she had to get her children dressed and fed first If you want anything else, ring your bell, remember.'

  He went out, and as soon as she heard him going down the stairs she pushed the tray to the end of the bed and carefully slid her legs out. She urgently needed to go to the bathroom before she started on her breakfast.

  She went to the lavatory, washed her hands and face rapidly, cleaned her teeth, brushed her tousled hair and put on a short cotton robe over her undies before going back to eat her breakfast After she had finished she put the tray on the floor and lay back against her pillows to contemplate the morning sky. It was going to be a wonderful day: clear skies, sunshine. Perfect for filming. There had been so much rain lately that they needed a really good day so that they could catch up with the schedule, she thought idly, and then gave a cry of horror.

  Filming! She sat up with a jerk. Work! She had forgotten all about it, and the team would be hanging around waiting for her for the second time in a week! They must think she was losing it She hurriedly got out of bed and looked around for her bag—her mobile would be in it; she must ring immediately to tell them what had happened, and then…

  Then what? She couldn't afford to lose any more time—the schedule was shot to hell as it was, and that was disastrous to the budget. She had to work today. Even if she felt like hell.

  Whirling, she began taking clothes out of her wardrobe—workman-like jeans, a sweatshirt, a warm wool jacket in a flattering shade of aubergine which complemented her hair.

  'What do you think you're doing?' Connel asked sharply from the doorway, before striding across the room and grabbing the clothes from her. He tossed them on to a chair. 'You aren't getting dressed; you're going back to bed.'

  'I have to go to work! I should have been there two hours ago. The team will all be waiting; we start at first light. I'm surprised they haven't rung to find out what's happened to me.'

  'They have, an hour ago. I explained you had had an accident and would be off work for a few days. Now get back into bed.' He took hold of her arm.

  'You did what?' Aghast and angry, she stared at him, tugging free of his restraining hand so violently it sent a stab of pain into her ribs and she had to bite down on her inner lip to stop herself groaning.

  Hoarsely, she yelled at him, 'You had no business to tell them any such thing! How dare you interfere like that? I can't afford to miss a day's filming; the company might replace me, permanently, with another director.'

  'Not just for the sake of a day or two! You're being paranoid They'll wait for you to come back if they know it will only be a short delay. You can't go to work, Zoe, it could be dangerous. You may have concussion, you're certainly in pain a lot of the time, and you're obviously still in shock. Get it into your head, woman— you must rest. The doctor knows what he's doing, and he said you mustn't do anything for a few days. That was a very nasty accident you had; you're lucky to be alive.'

  'You don't understand film companies—I'm not paranoid; I just know them. The insurance people will demand a new director. It drives them crazy if they think you're going to fall behind with the schedule; even one day's loss means losing money. They're probably already looking for someone to take over from me so that they don't lose any more time.' She turned to pick up her clothes from the chair, where he had flung them, but Connel moved even faster.

  He picked her up bodily and carried her, struggling, to her bed, slid her into it and sat down on the edge, leaning over to hold her down by both shoulders.

  'It won't do any good to fight me. For once, Zoe, you'll do as you're told!'

  A gasp from the open door made them both turn to stare across the room.

  Her sister stood there, staring bolt-eyed at them. 'What on earth is going on? Zoe? Are you okay?'

  'No, I'm not
,' Zoe shouted, flushed and trembling, her green eyes burning with unshed tears of pure rage. 'Get this brute off me. Throw him out of the house.'

  Sancha gave Connel an uncertain, worried look. He was her husband's new boss, after all; clearly she wasn't sure how to deal with this situation.

  Connel let go of Zoe and stood up, raking back a dishevelled lock of dark hair. 'I found her trying to get dressed to go to work! She must not be allowed to get up, Sancha. She's still in a state of shock and she might have concussion. Make her stay in bed.'

  'Get out of my house!' yelled Zoe, half choked at the arrogance and dominating nature of the man.

  'I'll get a doctor to deal with her,' he coolly told her sister, without even looking at Zoe.

  'You won't do anything of the kind! Go away and don't come back. I never want to set eyes on you again!'

  Infuriatingly, he laughed. 'Don't kid yourself.' Turning, he kissed her hard, briefly, on the mouth, making her lips burn, sending a shiver down her spine. 'See you later. Sancha, don't let her get dressed or leave. Make her stay in bed.'

  Then he was gone and Sancha stood there staring at her, eyes like saucers and mouth parted.

  'What is going on between you two?'

  Face hot, body restless in the bed, Zoe wildly said, 'Nothing. Nothing at all. I can't stand the man!'

  'Are you sure?' Sancha went on watching her doubtfully.

  Angrily, Zoe snapped, 'What do you mean, am I sure? He's everything I hate in a man.'

  'If anyone had asked me if he was your type, I'd have said absolutely not,' Sancha agreed. 'But…why did he kiss you? I didn't get the impression it was the first time, either. So, what's going on, Zoe?'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The morning wore on; Zoe lay in bed, half-drowsing, half-worrying about losing another day's filming. She heard her sister hurrying about busily downstairs, putting on the washing machine, vacuuming. At eleven Sancha brought a tray of coffee and biscuits upstairs. Giving her sister a mug of milky coffee and a shortbread biscuit she must have made, because Zoe didn't keep tempting foods in the house, she perched on the side of the bed and smiled. 'The house is spotless, don't worry.'