Mark whistled. 'I have to agree, Con, you do have a nerve. Not many men would be brave enough to take such a risk.'
Other guests drifted closer, eavesdropping in fascination, but Connel Hillier seemed untroubled by the scene he was causing. His voice casual, he said, 'You forced me to manhandle you by being unreasonable. I would never have done it otherwise. You tried to make me leave when it was really all your fault that I was freezing and soaked to the skin. Have you told your sister that? Did you tell her how long you left me standing in that storm, waiting for a taxi you never sent?'
'I did ring for one!'
'An hour later!'
'Half an hour later, maybe,' she reluctantly admitted.
'While I stood there getting wetter and wetter. I might have caught pneumonia. I had to get my saturated clothes off at once, and have a hot shower. It was a question of survival.' He looked piteously at Sancha, whose face was concerned. Zoe regarded her sister irritably. Sancha was always being sorry for people!
Connel added, 'And I cooked my own meal.'
Sancha looked at Zoe reprovingly. 'You should have done that for him in those circumstances, Zo!'
Before Zoe could retort, Connel added with a sigh, 'And I washed my clothes, myself. I didn't ask you to do anything for me, did I? And when you fell asleep while I was eating my supper I…'
'Oh, shut up!' she shouted, having left out the final instalment of the story when she told her sister and Martha what had happened.
'She fell asleep?' asked Mark, eyes bright.
'At the table!' Connel nodded.
'So what did you do then?'
'I'm a gentleman. What else could I do but carry her upstairs?'
'Absolutely,' agreed Mark solemnly. 'And then what did you do?'
Before Connel could reply Zoe got to her feet 'I want to talk to you!' she said to him through her teeth, face hot, and stalked away, hearing Mark laughing behind her. She and her brother-in-law had very little in common—or maybe far too much?
They were both determined and confident, both exercised authority without losing sleep over it Telling people what to do didn't worry either of them. But they had never got on. She disapproved of the way Mark treated her sister; he disliked almost all her attitudes to life, the universe, everything, but particularly towards his own sex. Mark expected respectful submission—and he had never got it from her!
'Where are you taking me?' Connel murmured, catching up with her. 'Somewhere private? How about your cottage? Preferably your bedroom. I liked it in there. I had fun.'
They were out of view of the rest of the party by then, behind a row of young Leyland cypress which Mark had planted when he laid out this garden, to screen the garbage bins and a shed, and which were busily shooting up skywards although they were only a few years old.
Turning on Connel, Zoe coldly said, 'What exactly have you told my brother-in-law?'
'Not a syllable,' he drawled, looking down at her from his greater height with gleaming, narrowed eyes. 'He only knows what you told him.'
She didn't believe him. 'Then how come he kept laughing like that?'
'I guess he found you funny. Doesn't everybody? Let me give you a tiny piece of advice. If you don't want people to be curious, don't make them suspect you're trying to hide something.'
She froze on the spot. 'What am I supposed to be hiding?'
'You tell me.' But he watched her with those mocking eyes and her colour rose even higher.
'I don't know! And you know I don't know. But you know…'
'No, I don't know,' he said, grinning. 'What exactly do you suspect I know? Or is it as plain as the nose on my face?'
Infuriated, she muttered, 'Stop playing on words—I'm in no mood for your games!'
'Oh, but I'm having so much fun. Don't you like playing games, Zoe?' His tone was soft, seductive, disturbing. She refused to let it get to her.
'No, I do not! And stop changing the subject.'
'I wasn't Isn't that what we're talking about?'
'We're talking about what you did after I fell asleep!'
'As I just told Mark, what else could I do but carry you up to bed?'
'You didn't tell him you took my clothes off!' she hissed.
He smiled beatifically, his gaze wandering down over every inch other with what she was afraid was enjoyable nostalgia. 'I hadn't forgotten, believe me.'
That was what she was afraid of.
'You didn't mention that, either, I noticed,' he observed, still watching her closely.
She didn't answer, her lips tight.
'Embarrassed about it?' he enquired. 'I'd never have expected you to be bothered by a man taking your clothes off.'
'You…you…h-had no right!' she stammered, almost incoherent with rage.
'Well,' he said in a pretence of reasonableness, 'I couldn't let you sleep in your clothes, could I?'
She swallowed before asking icily, 'And…and then… what?'
Face as calm as a glass of milk, he enquired, 'How do you mean?'
Her eyes hated him. 'You know what I mean. After you took off my clothes…'
'You must have been having a lovely dream,' he purred, sensuality in those dark eyes.
'Dream?' She had had a dream—but how could he have known that? Unless…unless it hadn't been a dream, and she really had felt those stroking, coaxing hands on her. If only she knew for certain! she thought in confusion. It was not knowing that was the problem.
He watched her betraying face like a cat at a mouse-hole. 'You look as if you're remembering now.'
Skin hot enough to burst into flames, she snarled, 'Stop insinuating and tell me! What did you do after you'd taken my clothes off?'
He leaned down towards her, his powerful body a mixture of intimacy and what she perceived as threat. Keeping her chin lifted, her eyes defied him.
'What did you dream I did?' he whispered, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
'What makes you think you show up in my dreams?'
He put out a long finger and she stiffened as his cool skin stroked her cheek, trickled slowly down to her throat That was what it had felt like in her dream, those strong, desiring hands touching her. Her stomach seemed to drop out of her.
'If I don't now, I will, Zoe,' he murmured, and she angrily knocked his hand away.
'Don't touch me.'
'I already have. And I will again,' he promised softly, and her mouth went dry.
'Oh, no, you won't!' she threw back, and was furious with herself because her voice shook.
He came a couple of steps closer 'Oh, yes, I will, Zoe.'
She knew be was laughing at her, but something else was far more worrying. Their bodies were too close. Almost touching. A frantic pulse began beating in her neck. She knew what was happening to her. She wasn't a schoolgirl. At thirty-two she was experienced enough to recognise all the reactions of her body. She knew what it meant, the fierce pumping of blood around her veins, the breathlessness, the heat between her thighs. She might hate the sight of Connel Hillier, but she couldn't deny he got to her sexually. His body spoke to hers below the level of consciousness. She knew she wanted him. The violence of her response was growing, her intelligence drowned by the primitive nature of what was happening inside her. How stupid can you get? she wildly asked herself. He's the last man on earth you should even think about.
Except that thinking didn't come into it What she felt had nothing whatever to do with her brain. It was all physical. Chemical. Breathing thickly, she found that admission comforting—how could you do anything about your own chemistry?
She stared up at him, a deep-seated ache of desire churning in her stomach. Silence engulfed them both. Connel watched her back. She heard him breathing thickly, rapidly, and felt the heat of his body intensifying. He wanted her, too. Strange how, without a word said on either side, they both knew how they felt. Body language, she thought. Our bodies speak to each other without our volition.
His head slowly lowered; s
he watched his mouth come closer. Her lips parted, her eyes began to close.
Then small hands fastened round her leg, making her jump sky-high. Her eyes fluttered open; she looked down in shock.
'Oh, it's that brat,' Connel groaned as they both saw Flora, pink-faced, bright-eyed.
Still clutching Zoe's leg, she demanded, 'What you doing, Aunty? Playing? Don't like that game—let's play hide and seek. Me, too. Want play hide and seek. Now.'
'Three's a crowd,' Connel dryly said. 'I'll go and have a chat with her father. Taking care of Flora is women's work.'
'Coward,' she flung after him as he walked away. He simply laughed.
'Play hide and seek, play hide and seek,' yelled Flora, glaring up at her.
Zoe capitulated. They played hide and seek around the row of young cypress trees for ten minutes before she managed to persuade Flora to return to her mother. Sancha and Martha were in the kitchen washing up glasses when Zoe found them.
'Here's your little ray of sunshine back. I can't take any more,' Zoe told her sister, and Flora ran to hug her mother and lean on her in the confiding way of small children who feel utterly certain of being loved.
'Mumma! Aunty Zoe's mean…she was playing games with Uncle Con, but now she won't play with me!'
The two women gazed at Zoe's pink face with sharp-eyed interest.
Crossly, she complained, 'I played hide and seek with her for ages!'
Sancha grinned. 'She's crotchety because it's long past her bedtime.'
'I'll take her up,' Martha readily said, scooping the toddler up and carrying her out They heard her crooning a lullaby as she went. 'Sleepy Flora, Sleepy Flora, up the wooden hills to Bedfordshire…'
Flora's voice answered between yawns. 'Don't want…go bed…no…want go back to party…'
'Martha actually seems to enjoy looking after her; she must be half-witted,' Zoe said, wondering how to get away without being too obvious about it before her sister started asking the questions she could see burning on Sancha's tongue.
'She hasn't got any children, and she loves Flora,' Sancha absently said, starting fixedly at her sister.
Zoe looked at her watch and pretended to start in amazement 'Good heavens, look at the time—I must go; I have to be up at five tomorrow.'
Ignoring that, Sancha demanded, 'Where did you and Connel Hillier vanish to? What's going on, Zo?'
'We were arguing,' Zoe said, rewriting the scene a little.
'What did Flora mean about you two playing games?'
'Who knows?' Zoe couldn't meet Sancha's eyes. Her sister knew her too well; she could read her expressions and Zoe did not want her to do so this time.
'What games?'
'Ask Flora. She was the one who said it Got to go, Sancha. Lovely party. See you soon.'
'Leave Connel alone,' her sister yelled after her, 'I know what happens to men you dump. They can turn nasty. I don't want Mark losing his job just because you couldn't keep your claws out of his boss!'
'I wouldn't touch his boss with a bargepole!' Zoe said, slamming out of the kitchen. Typical. Connel Hillier makes a pass at her, despite having it made crystal-clear that she isn't interested in him, and her own sister assumes she was the one doing the chasing.
It took her several minutes to edge her car out of the crowd of others parked along the lane. She had only drunk a couple of glasses of wine, but the incident with Connel and then the clash with her sister had made her agitated and prone to clumsiness. She inched back and forth a number of times before finally getting out of the space.
She was ten minutes from her home when she heard a loud bang and felt a sharp drag on the steering wheel. Startled, she slowed her speed, but the car was out of control, sliding sideways across the road, making a strange slapping noise which she suddenly recognised as a burst tyre. She must have run over something sharp, a nail or broken glass.
Braking hard, she fought to regain control, but was unable to stop the car heading down into the ditch on the far side of the road.
Luckily, there was a grassy bank on the other side of the ditch, rather than a wall. Her car bonnet crashed into it, the metal crumpling like paper. She was flung violently forwards into the airbag, which had exploded out into the car from behind her wheel.
Thank heavens for airbags, thought Zoe, before passing out.
CHAPTER FOUR
'Zoe? Zoe. Wake up. Can you hear me?' The voice was familiar and she stirred, wincing at the pain her movement caused.
Someone close beside her sighed with relief. 'Thank God for that I thought you might be out of it.'
'Go away,' she said without opening her eyes, feeling the pillow underneath her face giving, almost billowing around her. Who was that? What was he doing in her bedroom? At some level of her mind she knew, but she couldn't put a name to the voice even though she recognised it. 'I'm very sleepy. Leave me alone.'
'Stay awake. You've got to get out of there; I can smell petrol,' the voice ordered, and she prickled with resentment over the note of authority. Who did he think he was?
'Shut up,' she groaned.
His voice became urgent. 'Don't go back to sleep— Zoe, listen to me—the doors are jammed; I can't get you out unless you wake up. Can you reach your seat belt and undo it? The windscreen has gone. I'll get you out through there easily enough once you've taken off your seat belt.'
'Seat belt?' she said, dazedly. What did he mean, seat belt? Wasn't she in bed? With the utmost reluctance she forced her eyes open and realised that the pillow her head was nestling against was actually an inflated white airbag. She sat up, grunting in pain as her ribs and neck hurt.
'What happened?' she asked, absorbing the sight of broken shards of glass littering the car bonnet and the seats around her, the angle at which the car was buried in the ditch, the crumpled bonnet from which a grey smoke filtered. For some reason there were bright lights illuminating the scene, although this was a dark country road 'I crashed. I crashed the car!' she thought aloud.
'Never mind that Stop chatting. Get out of there now, Zoe!'
Panic set in and she scrabbled at her seat belt It won't open, it won't…'
'Keep calm. Stop for a second, take a deep breath…don't panic, Zoe.'
'I'm not panicking!' But she knew she was, so she obeyed him, breathing deeply, trying to clear her head before she had another go at the seat belt.
This time it clicked and she was free.
'Out you come!' the man leaning in through the gaping frame of the windscreen said, his hands held out to her.
She looked up into his face, groaning. 'You!' But hadn't she recognised Connel Hillier's deep, male voice all along? She simply hadn't wanted to think about him.
His mouth twisted. 'Who did you think it was? Come on, there's no time to waste. You have to get out of there.'
She took his hands, flinching at the pain his grip caused her. She must have cuts all over her own hands, she realised, and no doubt there were hits of glass in the cuts. Her ribs hurt too. In fact, she was bruised from head to foot.
He pulled her up towards him. She gave a cry of pain as she emerged from the windscreen. A second later she was over his shoulder, her head hanging dizzily down the other side, and he was carrying her away from the smoking car towards the bright lights she had noticed a moment ago, and which turned out to be the headlights of Connel's car.
He slid her into the front passenger seat and rapidly belted her in, closed the door on her and ran round the other side. Zoe was too disorientated to resent the way he was manhandling and ordering her around. Dazedly she stared in horror at her smashed car. My God, she'd been lucky to get out of that alive. It was a write-off! Well, her insurance would pay for a new car, but that would mean that her insurance costs were going to soar next year. It was maddening because she had never had an accident before, and had been getting excellent no-claim bonuses for years.
Connel climbed in next to her hurriedly and without a word started the engine and drove off at speed round
a bend in the road where he slowed and stopped in a lay-by.
Zoe looked suspiciously at him. 'What do you think you're doing?'
He ignored her, staring into his wing mirror.
'Why have you stopped?' she began, just as there was a violent explosion and the road behind them was lit up by flames.
Connel whistled. 'I knew it! We only just got out of range in time!'
'Th…that was my car,' she whispered, starting to shake, her eyes fixed rigidly on the wing mirror in which she could see the flames.
Connel leaned down and produced a mobile phone from the floor of his seat, began talking into it. Zoe didn't take much notice; she was too busy watching the flames climbing into the sky, realising how narrowly she had missed being killed.
'Are you okay?'
She started, looking at Connel dazedly as he replaced his phone. 'What?'
Patiently he asked, 'How do you feel?'
'How do you think I feel?' she muttered. 'I just crashed my car, I'm aching from head to foot, I nearly died—how would you feel if you were me?'
He brushed her tangled hair back from her pale face. 'Okay, calm down.' Leaning over, he produced a thick tartan car rug from the back seat and folded it over her, tucked it in under her chin and down the side of her body. 'I just rang the police to report the accident. The fire brigade will be along soon, but the desk sergeant said I could take you off to hospital without waiting for them to arrive. They'll talk to you later, when you've had medical treatment.'
'I don't want to go to hospital! I'm not badly injured,' she said in a high, shaking voice. 'I just want to go home to my own bed.'
In the same calm, soothing voice, Connel said, 'You should have an X-ray as soon as possible. You were out cold when I arrived, but I wasn't far behind you. I left soon after you did, so it may not be serious. In case you have concussion, though, you must be checked by a doctor. You're obviously in shock and you may need medication.'
'I'm fine! Just take me home, will you?'
His dark eyes probed her face. 'Look in the mirror. You're as white as a ghost.' He started the car. I've put the seat-warmer on for you, and turned the heating up high. You'll start to feel better as soon as you're warmer.'
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