Hot Surrender Page 9

'Don't!'

  She shifted her head back out of reach, giving his shoulders another shove. He was like a wall, big and immovable, and it made her dizzy to find her head so far back. 'I don't want you kissing me!'

  'Don't you, Zoe?' His mouth slid inch by inch upwards from her throat. She knew he was going to kiss her and she told herself to stop him, wrench herself free, escape, but she didn't have the energy or strength.

  His mouth finally touched hers and her fingernails dug into his shirt in fierce reaction. Her lips parted; her eyes shut. She kissed him back with a passion she couldn't dam, a desire that rose like floodwaters in her body, taking her away with them.

  She couldn't think. A chilliness crept through her, darkness engulfed her. Her knees really gave and she slowly slid down backwards, unable to hold on to consciousness.

  The next thing she knew she was apparently whirling through the air. Her lids flickered, lifted; she wildly looked around and realised she was being carried across her shadowy bedroom.

  She looked up into the hard, male strength of the face just above her.

  'Ah…you've come to,' Connel said huskily close to her ear.

  'What happened?'

  'You fainted.'

  'I never fainted in my life!' she protested.

  'Well, there's a first time for everything,' he said, putting her down on her bed and leaning over to switch on her bedside lamp. 'What do you want to wear in bed?'

  Alarm bells at once began ringing in her head. 'Never mind. I can manage.' She struggled up against the pillows, defensively watching him. 'Leave the washing up; I'll do it tomorrow. Thank you for being so kind—cooking and…it was a lovely meal. But…but I'd rather you left now.'

  He gave her a mocking look. 'Afraid I'm going to climb in bed with you?'

  'No! I…no…' she stammered, knowing that was exactly what she was afraid of.

  Through his dark lashes his eyes glinted. 'Don't worry. When I make love to you I'd prefer you to be wide awake and very aware of what I'm doing.'

  So would she, but, flushed and trembling like a leaf, she glared at him.

  'You won't be making love to me! Now or in the future!'

  He smiled and her heart turned over heavily.

  'Oh, yes, Zoe. I will.'

  'Go away!' she whispered, wanting him to leave before he could see just how vulnerable she was to him.

  'Sure you can manage to undress? I'm getting quite good at it I seem to do it all the time.'

  The teasing in his voice made her want to scream.

  'Will you go?' she hoarsely demanded.

  He turned and walked out, saying over his shoulder, 'If you need me…for anything…I'll be downstairs for the next half-hour or so. Just give me a yell.'

  She waited until he had gone downstairs before rushing over to lock her bedroom door, then she undressed, went into the bathroom for a few minutes, and put on pyjamas before climbing back into bed, setting her alarm clock for the usual time. She refused to think about Connel or her own weird, inexplicable reactions to him. Within minutes of her head hitting the pillow she was fast asleep.

  Her alarm clock seemed to go off half an hour later. Yawning, she reached to silence it, still half-asleep. She had slept like the dead, and if the alarm hadn't woken her she knew she would have slept on and on for hours. She longed to fall back into bed and sleep again, but she had to get to work, so she struggled out of bed and into the bathroom, took a quick shower and got dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt over which she put a green V-necked sweater.

  Zoe strapped on her wristwatch, trod into shoes, unlocked her bedroom door, opened it, and stood there, listening. There wasn't a sound.

  Then as she was halfway downstairs her nostrils quivered. Coffee! Bacon!

  Moving faster, she ran to the kitchen and stopped dead. Connel was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. He lazily looked her up and down, brows lifting.

  'You look very workman-like. If you think you're going to work, you can forget it. The doctor ordered you to rest, and you're staying here, resting, until he gives you the all-clear.'

  Outrage filled her. 'Don't you give me orders! I have to go to work. How many times do I have to explain? The company will hand my film over to someone else if I don't show up. Time is money in our business. We can't afford to lose a day. I can't take any more time off. And, anyway, I'm fine. I slept all night I feel great.'

  He studied her. 'You look better, I'll admit that, but I think you're taking a stupid risk. I can't stop you going to work—I have important appointments myself, I can't take the day off, either, and your sister won't get here until ten o'clock. I'll ring her and tell her not to come, but you must at least have some breakfast Sit down and eat some bacon and egg.'

  'I'll just have some fruit and a cup of coffee.' She sat down, though, and watched him pour her coffee, absorbing the fact that he was wearing different clothes this morning: a very elegant dark striped suit, a crisp blue-striped shirt, a sleek dark blue silk tie. Either he had gone home last night, or he had brought a change of clothes with him, which must mean that he had intended to spend the night here. He had shaved; his hair was brushed smoothly. He looked very sexy.

  Far too sexy. She looked away, her heart apparently lodged in her throat, making it hard to swallow the coffee she was sipping.

  Connel walked across the room and came back with a glass of ice-cold orange juice which he put in front of her.

  'Thanks. Don't let me stop you cooking yourself breakfast I shall have to go in five minutes, anyway,' she said, without looking at him.

  He went back to the hob. She heard him cooking, heard toast pop up, then he came over to her with a plate.

  'Eat this or you don't leave the house without a fight!'

  She stared at the grilled bacon, fried egg and toast on the plate. They smelt wonderful. Hunger stirred in her but she obstinately said, 'I told you, I don't eat breakfast. There isn't time and it's easier to work if you haven't eaten.'

  'Make time.' There was an inexorable note in his voice. Zoe gave him a quick, reluctant glance and saw the insistence in his jawline, in his hard mouth, his dark eyes. He meant to make a fight of it, that was obvious, and she simply couldn't afford to waste energy on another long wrangle with him.

  Grimly, she picked up the knife and fork he had put on the table, and began to eat.

  Sitting down opposite her, Connel ate too. He had the same meal. 'Tell me about your film,' he invited 'Who's ink?'

  She told him a few names. 'And I just heard that your cousin is taking over a part. Someone dropped out.'

  'Hal? If I'd known that I'd have rung him yesterday to find out where you were filming.' He gave her an amused look. 'You aren't one of his fans, are you?'

  'No.' She had finished her food; she drank the last of her coffee and got up. 'I must rush. I'm going to be late now, anyway. I'll ring Sancha from our location, apologise for yesterday and tell her not to bother to come over today.'

  Connel followed her to the front door. 'Put on a warm coat. The weather's turning cold today, according to the forecast on the news this morning.'

  She shrugged into a tartan wool-lined anorak, put on driving gloves, wishing he would stop giving her orders. 'Bye.'

  'See you later,' he ominously said as she unlocked her hire car.

  He stood in the open front door watching her drive away, waved as she turned out of the drive. Zoe waved back. It was like being married. Saying goodbye to your husband before going to work. She had never actually lived with a man. Her relationships had never been deep enough, long enough.

  With a sinking heart, she realised she liked it. She was enjoying having him there all the time, cooking for her, looking after her, being protective, making her put on a warm coat, waving goodbye to her—even if it annoyed her and made her hackles rise.

  Oh, God, he's getting under my skin! she thought He's beginning to be part of my life as no man ever has.

  What am I going to do about him?

  CHA
PTER SEVEN

  She rang Sancha on her mobile while she was waiting for Will to move camera position after the first short scene they'd shot that morning. Everyone else was busy. The stand-ins were frozen in position where the actual stars would stand when filming started; Andy, their Grip, was setting up a circular track system so that Will could film the next but one scene in the round, and Props were checking that all requirements for this scene had been met The actors were in their caravans, making sure they knew their lines and positions. Catering were preparing a fried breakfast to be eaten during the next break. The smell of hot fat made Zoe's nose wrinkle.

  It took some time for Sancha to answer, but as soon as she heard Zoe's voice, her sister burst out furiously, 'Oh, it's you! You've got a nerve, ringing me after walking out on me yesterday. I was really worried. How could you just disappear without even leaving a note?'

  'I'm sorry, but…'

  'My imagination worked overtime. I could imagine you passing out as you were driving along a road, crashing again, and being killed this time. I didn't know whether to ring the police or…so I rang Mark to see if his boss had any idea where you had gone, and…'

  Hushed, Zoe snapped, 'Yes, he told me—Sancha, you shouldn't have done that! I don't want that man getting the idea that he has any authority over me!'

  'What are you talking about? What authority? I simply asked him if he knew where you might have gone.'

  Zoe kept her voice down, not wishing the whole crew to hear this argument. It must have been obvious where I'd gone. To work. I was afraid I'd lose my film. I had to…'

  'They wouldn't sack you just because you were off sick after such a serious accident!' stormed Sancha.

  Laughing hollowly, Zoe told her, 'You don't know the film business.'

  'If it's that unreasonable I'm glad I don't! I don't know why you want to go on working for them.'

  'Because I love making films, obviously! Why else would I be so keen to keep the job?'

  Sancha typically switched attack, knowing she couldn't argue with that. 'The thing I couldn't understand was that you didn't have a car—how on earth did you get to work?'

  'I took a taxi to a garage and hired a car, of course! Nothing difficult about that. I'd have thought you'd work it out for yourself.'

  'Don't you talk to me as if I was a half-wit! I'm the sane one. I wouldn't risk my life going back to work the day after I nearly killed myself in a car! If you had any brains you'd have realised I'd be worried to death when I got back and found you gone.'

  Zoe sighed, admitting the justice of the accusation. 'Yes, I know, I'm sorry if I worried you, Sancha, I didn't think of leaving a note. You're right, that's what I should have done, but I was in such a hurry. I'm okay, honestly—and there's no need for you to go over to my place…'

  'Where are you ringing from?' Sancha's voice rose shrilly. 'Have you gone to work again?'

  'Of course I have! I just explained—I can't afford to take any more time off!'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake, Zoe, why ace you so stupid? You just had a serious accident. Who knows what damage you did yourself? Sometimes it takes a day or two for an injury to show up. You should be in bed, not running about on a film set.'

  Hastily, Zoe said, 'Sorry, Sancha—they're waiting for me to start shooting the next scene. Have to rush. Honestly, I didn't mean to upset you. Bye.'

  As she slid her mobile phone into her bag she sighed with relief. She disliked being at odds with her sister over anything. They had always been so close; Sancha was her best friend, even if they didn't see eye to eye on all subjects. Men, for instance. Zoe had always felt Sancha was crazy, choosing a tough, domineering guy like Mark, marrying him, even forgiving him when Mark had showed signs of straying with some girl at his firm. Of course, Sancha swore there hadn't been anything serious between them. She said Mark had been faithful to her, had never slept with the other woman, and the intruder had gone now, was out of his life, married to someone else.

  Maybe. But Mark had hurt Sancha, and Zoe, for one, found it hard to forgive him for that. Sancha had given him three wonderful children. Well, two wonderful boys—and Flora, the terrible. Spoilt, hyper, self-willed, it had been Flora who brought that marriage to the edge of disaster. She'd demanded all her mother's attention and had got it, which had meant that the boys and their father were left feeling shut out, abandoned, unloved.

  Zoe could understand why Mark had been restless and tempted to stray, even though she didn't approve of it He had apparently felt Sancha didn't love him any more, and, being the sort of man he was, very male, expecting attention from his woman all the time, that had made him smoulder with anger, hurt and resentment. So Sancha said And no doubt she was right It fitted everything Zoe knew about him.

  All the same, Zoe knew she would never have trusted him again. Once he'd looked elsewhere, he might do so another time for another reason, she had told Sancha, but her sister had flared up.

  'No! He won't, Zo. He loves me. He thought I no longer loved him, and he was hurt. I won't make the same mistake twice. From now on I'm going to make certain Mark is always sure I love him.'

  A woman in love was a woman deluded, Zoe thought, joining Will. Well, not her! That wasn't happening to her. No man was blinding her to reason. She had never been that crazy about any man, and she had no intention of allowing love to take over her life the way it had her sister's.

  By the time she got home that evening she was ready to drop, even though she hadn't worked very late. Normally she worked from sun-up until way into the night without this dragging sense of exhaustion, but her body obviously hadn't yet recovered from the shock of the accident At least they were back on schedule, so the pressure was off, and she had broken as the sun dipped below the horizon, with the final scene she had had to shoot safely in the can. Then she had spent an hour talking to the crew about tomorrow's schedule before she'd got into her car and set off for her cottage.

  Her nerves were jumping as she turned into her drive—after what had happened yesterday she was worried in case Larry was lurking there, waiting for her. Before she got out of her car she sat listening and looking around, but there were no movements, no sounds of any other human being in the garden, so she found her key, and with it firmly gripped in her hand, dived out of her car and ran to the front door, unlocked it and hurried inside.

  After closing it behind her she leaned there, listening to the house. There were no threatening sounds, just the familiar, reassuring tick of clocks, the rustle of the wind outside. It was faintly chilly, but that was soon solved. Taking off her jacket, she hung it up before walking into the kitchen, where she switched on the central healing, then began to make herself a light supper of salad and thinly sliced chicken while she listened to her phone messages.

  Sancha, scolding for a while, against a background of hammering and the tuneless moaning which was Flora singing. 'Darling, Mummy's talking to Aunty Zo, don't sing so loud,' Sancha said in the adoring way she always talked to Flora before switching to a normal voice to say to Zoe, 'We've been invited to a party Connel Hillier is giving this Saturday—will we see you there? We could give you a lift Give me a ring this evening if you have time. Bye.'

  Zoe poured herself a glass of dry white wine left over from a bottle Connel had opened yesterday. So he was giving a party was he? Well, when he got here she was going to tell him she wasn't going to his party; it would only give her sister ideas about them, ideas Zoe did not want Sancha to get.

  Lifting the glass to her lips, she stiffened into stillness as his voice came out of the answer-machine, deep and urgent.

  'Zoe, I have to go to London unexpectedly, so I won't see you this evening. Ring Sancha and she'll come over to spend the evening there, if you have any trouble. If that guy comes back, don't open the door, call the police.' A pause, then his voice dropped intimately, making pulses hammer at her wrists and neck. 'Goodnight, Zoe. See you.'

  A click and he was gone, and she sat down, her legs wobbly under her. She w
asn't a schoolgirl, for heaven's sake! Why should she feel disappointed just because he wasn't coming tonight? It was stupid. She didn't need him, or want him. She had lived alone for a long time; she was used to taking care of herself. She didn't need anybody.

  She made herself start eating, drank her wine, cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, then went up to bed, undressed rapidly, crawled between the covers and shut her eyes. She would not think about Connel. Images of him flickered like moths in the dark, but she resolutely ignored them.

  Luckily, her weariness of mind and body meant she was soon asleep, a heavy, exhausted sleep; and if she dreamt she didn't remember it next morning.

  The rest of that week went slowly by; she didn't hear from Connel again, but several times Sancha came to check up on her after she got back from work, scolding her about how tired she looked and how pale she was— was she having headaches? Wasn't she sleeping, was she eating?

  'You have no sense!' she sighed one evening, shaking her head.

  Zoe shook her head back. 'Stop worrying. I'm fine! Go home and take care of your kids, and stop hassling me!'

  'No gratitude!' complained her sister. 'Look, I'll clear your supper things and start the dishwasher. Then, if you're sure you're okay, I'll get back.'

  'You don't need to do anything, I'll manage,' Zoe said, but was told to sit down.

  'It won't take me a minute.' A few minutes later the kitchen was spotless again. As she walked to the front door, Sancha asked, 'You are coming to Connel's party, aren't you?'

  Trying not to sound as if she cared, Zoe said offhandedly, 'I haven't been invited!'

  Looking surprised, Sancha said, 'He told us you'd be coming. He must have forgotten to ask you, just assumed you'd be there.'

  'Typical of the man—always taking things for granted!'

  'Shall I ring him and point out that he forgot to invite you?'

  Going dark red, Zoe snapped, 'Don't you dare!'

  Sancha smiled at her. 'Your problem is, you have too much pride! I know he meant to ask you—but he was called to London on urgent business and he's been there ever since. The party must have gone right out of his head.'