'Problem, Connel?' she enquired, her thin, pencilled brows lifting. 'Have you got gatecrashers or something?'
He had to pause; she was blocking their way. Pretending to think her remark was a joke, which it certainly had not been—more an insult, Zoe was convinced—he laughed. 'I don't think you two know each other, do you?' he murmured. 'Bianca, this is Zoe Collins. You remember Mark? This is his sister-in-law— Sancha's sister. Zoe is a film director. You've probably seen some of her films, and she worked for TV for some time, making documentaries.'
He knew a lot about her, noted Zoe, faintly surprised because she was sure she hadn't told him much. Had he heard all this from Mark? Or from Hal Thaxford, who had given him such a critical picture of her before they ever met? What a terrifying thought—that people you had never met might have heard so much about you!
Bianca gave a graceful, chilly shrug, not even pretending an interest. 'Sorry, the name doesn't ring a bell. I'm not a big film buff and I never have time to watch television.'
Zoe wasn't surprised by any of that. People often felt they could put her down by pretending they knew nothing of films or television and cared less. As if her self-image depended on whether or not a total stranger had seen any of her work! The only people whose opinions mattered were her colleagues, her peers, who were the only people who knew what they were talking about.
There was no point in replying, though, so she laughed, instead, to make it plain she found Bianca funny; ludicrous, in fact.
Bianca didn't like that; her blue eyes iced over even more. In this undeclared war between them she had just lost a battle. So she looked Zoe over from head to toe again, stuck her nose in the air scornfully and turned away towards Connel. 'Darling, could I have a word in private before I leave? I must be off soon, and I need to tell you something. It is important.'
There was the briefest pause, then he said flatly, 'Of course. Excuse me, Zoe.' But before he walked away with Bianca he gave Zoe a hard, direct look. 'I'll talk to you later. Don't move from that spot.'
Who did he think he was? How dated he hand her orders as if she was a servant? That high-handed tone really put her back up. No way was she obeying him. It would only encourage him.
As soon as he and the blonde had left the room she hurried over to her sister and said, 'I need to get away, Sancha. I'll get a taxi. I don't want to ruin the party for you.'
Looking anxious, but not arguing, Sancha said, 'We brought you; we'll take you home. I just have to find Mark; he's talking to friends, who also work for Connel. Hang on here, I'll be back soon.'
She plunged into the crowd of guests like a ferret diving down a rabbit hole, but Zoe didn't wait Mark's job depended on Connel; she couldn't make trouble for him. As soon as her sister had vanished Zoe hurried out of the room and asked the middle-aged woman in black, whom she found coming out of a kitchen with a platter of delicate, delicious-looking canapés, for her velvet cape.
Putting the food down, the housekeeper vanished and came back with her cape a moment later.
'Do you have the number of a good local taxi firm?' asked Zoe.
'The Star company is the best. Shall I ring for a taxi for you?'
'Thank you, would you?' She gave the housekeeper her address. 'Ask them to pick me up outside the gates, would you? A short walk in the fresh air will wake me up.'
Opening the front door, she breathed in the mild autumn scents of the garden, said goodnight, and closed the door again to begin walking down the drive, wishing she wasn't wearing those high, fragile heels. She couldn't run in them, and she was afraid Connel would find out she had left and come after her.
What can he do to you, if he does? she asked herself crossly. And, anyway, with any luck the blonde would detain him long enough to give her time to get away in her taxi. Something about the possessive way that woman had fastened on to Connel had left Zoe with the definite feeling that the other woman had designs on him, as well as his house.
Pulling her black velvet cape closer, Zoe shivered suddenly, as if a cold wind had suddenly begun to blow.
What's the matter with you? she scolded herself. Do you care whether or not the man marries the predatory blonde? What did it matter to her what he did?
With relief she heard the sound of a car approaching and turned to look down the road. There was no sign of a vehicle in either direction.
But she could still hear a car. Her heart flopped like a fish out of water as it dawned on her that the car was behind her, coming down the drive.
Maybe it was Mark and Sancha? Superstitiously, she crossed her fingers, turning to peer past the headlights to see the make of car, but she couldn't identify it, could only tell it was something sleek and red. A sports car. Not Mark's car, certainly. She had an uneasy suspicion she knew whose car it was. It drew up beside her and Connel's face loomed out of the dark interior.
'Get in!'
'Go away!' she said, desperation in her throat.
'Don't be stupid, Zoe.'
'I'm waiting for a taxi!'
'I cancelled it.'
She looked through the open window, anger blazing in her eyes. 'You did what? How dare you? You had no right!'
'Get in or I'll have to get out, pick you up and chuck you in!'
She began to walk away. The car idled beside her. Connel suddenly began to laugh, which made her angrier.
'What do you think you're doing? Going to walk all the way home, are you?'
'Shut up,' she hissed without looking at him, but he was right, of course, she was being ridiculous. In fact, she couldn't believe she was behaving this way, like some love-struck teenager incapable of dealing with how she felt. She had always had her emotions firmly under control. What had happened to her? When had she ever done anything so stupid, acted irrationally, impulsively, without caring how silly she looked?
The sports car shot ahead. He was going, leaving her. To her chagrin she felt her eyes burn with unshed tears.
Oh, stop it! she told herself. Isn't that what you want? For him to go away, leave you alone?
But she didn't know what she wanted; her mind was in total disarray, her heart completely bemused and bewildered.
The sports car jerked to a halt a second later. Connel leapt out and loped back towards her with the lithe threat of a tiger under hot Asian skies.
She actually saw him as a tiger, his powerful muscles rippling under his white shirt, those dark eyes fixed hypnotically on her, and couldn't move, frozen on the spot by fear and fierce attraction.
The second he reached her he picked her up, a hand under her legs, another around her waist, and lifted her off the ground.
She opened her mouth to say, Put me down! but never got the chance.
His mouth came down angrily, fiercely. Zee's eyes shut, plunging her into darkness. Her mind went blank, but her body reacted with such intensity it terrified her. This must be how it felt to be hit by lightning. Her whole body seemed to catch fire; she was being consumed, destroyed, by agony and wild pleasure. Her hands moved without volition, ran up his chest, round his neck, fingers stroking the clenched muscles in his nape, and up into his thick, sleek hair. She kissed him back urgently, needing it, heard his deep groan of satisfaction.
A second later a beam of white seemed to flash behind her closed eyelids, then there was a loud, prolonged hoot which made them both jump.
Another car flashed past, still hooting. The occupants yelled something Zoe didn't, thankfully, catch.
Connel's mouth lifted, and so did his head; he began walking towards his own car a little unsteadily, as if he were drunk, but she knew it wasn't that. She knew how she felt, and if he was as off balance as she was, Connel was no longer in full control of his body, couldn't walk straight, think straight, see straight.
He bent, slid her into the passenger seat of his car, closed the door on her, walked round and got in beside her.
'Do your seat belt up,' he huskily said.
She fumbled with it and Connel lent over her to
do it for her. Her intake of breath was audible; every time he came close to her she found it hard to breathe at all. Still leaning across her, he looked into her eyes; she couldn't hold his stare, her eyes drifting downwards, unable to stop herself looking at his mouth.
Connel breathed as if he was dying. She thought he was going to kiss her again and her eyes shut, her lips parted in invitation.
He groaned 'Not yet. Not here.'
He moved away; the car burst into a deep-hearted roar and shot away. Trembling in her seat, Zoe opened her eyes. 'Don't drive so fast!' she burst out, panic-stricken.
Shooting a sideways glance at her, Connel said, 'I won't crash, don't worry. Are you still edgy after your own crash?'
She knew her voice sounded rusty; it was nothing to do with the way he was driving, or with the crash she had had. Did he know that, too? Did he know the effect he had on her?
'I suppose so.'
'You'll get over that, eventually. Have you bought a new car yet?'
'No, I'm using a hire car at the moment I haven't had time to look around; I'm not sine what make of car I want next.'
'Not a sports car, though?' He smiled.
'Absolutely not. I need more room than you've got in this toy car, to cart stuff around with me, things I need for work.'
'How are you getting on with your insurance claim?'
'I haven't even heard from them, so far. I sent in my claim, they sent me piles of forms to fill in—since then, silence.'
'Well, if you need a witness, give them my name.'
'I already did.'
He shot her a look, smiled. 'You aren't slow off the mark, are you?'
She watched his mouth curling in that slow, charming, teasing smile, and wanted him so intensely that it hurt to swallow.
As if he picked up what she felt, he fell silent, staring straight ahead; she stared ahead too, yet now and then sneaked a look at his hard-edged profile, temples, heavy-lidded eyes, nose, that mouth…that beautiful, sexy mouth… Oh, God, she thought, I want him more than I ever wanted anything in my life. I would give anything. Do anything. Just to have him in bed for an hour.
Her body was so hot she was a desert of burning sands. If he touched her now he would gasp with shock at the heat of her skin, she thought, silencing a half-hysterical laugh behind her hand.
Stop thinking like that! she ordered herself, but her mouth was dry as ashes. She moistened her parched lips and tasted his mouth on them where he had kissed her earlier. Closing her eyes, she let her tongue slowly caress the spot where his mouth had touched.
If only she could stop thinking about him, but her mind was alive with erotic images: his body naked, coming down, entering her…
Breathing faster and faster, her heart pounding behind her ribs, she was unaware of anything but the aroused excitement inside her, not noticing how far they had come.
When Connel's car jerked to a halt it woke her up. Her eyes widened, she looked at her cottage, then at him.
'Oh. We're…here…'
'Yes,' he said, his voice as husky as hers, then he got out of the car and came round to open the door for her. 'Got your key?'
'Yes.' She fumbled for it in her bag; Connel took it from her and strode over to open the cottage door while she was getting out of his car.
Don't ask him in! she warned herself sternly, knowing what would happen if she did. Her mind warned her not to let their relationship go too far too fast, but her mind wasn't in control of her body tonight. Her body knew what it wanted and didn't care what her mind told her.
The hall light came on, making her blink as she walked towards the open front door, spilling yellow light on to the dark drive. Connel hadn't waited to be invited in; he was already inside, holding the door open for her. She hesitated on the threshold.
She could say she was very tired, which wasn't true. She had never been so wide awake in her life.
She could say she had a headache, which wasn't true, either.
Or she could simply say that she had to be up very early next day to work and she needed a good night's sleep, which Was certainly true.
But she knew, they would both know, that that was not the real, underlying reason why she didn't want him in her cottage.
'Come in,' Connel said impatiently.
Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. Surely no fly had ever been so desperate to be consumed? Yet common sense and self-defence wouldn't let her surrender to her own stupid instincts.
Throwing pretence to the winds, she wailed, 'No, I can't, Connel. I won't sleep with you.'
He didn't pretend to be shocked or surprised. Without answering, he picked her up, kicked the front door shut and carried her upstairs.
Zoe's mind was a battlefield. He was doing what she wanted him to do. She was dying to go to bed with him. But it was crazy. She ought to stop him. And how dared he just ignore what she had said? How dared he treat her like a doll without any right to an opinion about what happened to it, what it did?
Angrily she told him, 'If you try to make me sleep with you I'll fight you all the way!'
'I won't make you do anything, Zoe!' His voice was deep and slurred with intensity.
She shivered. 'You're not seducing me, either!'
They were in her bedroom by then. Connel lowered his face against her throat. 'Zoe…Zoe…I want you like hell.'
'You can't have me!' She hoped she sounded strong, determined; she felt weak, yielding, utterly at his mercy. His kiss sent shudders of pleasure through her.
His mouth pushed her low neckline away, burrowed slowly, softly, down into the hollow between her breasts while he walked towards her bed and lowered her on to it, kneeled over her, kicking his shoes off, then his elegant jacket, which flew sideways on to the floor.
She desperately tried to scramble up again, and met his mouth. Demanding, coaxing, passionate, sensual, it blew her brains out.
The fight went out of her; she arched up to him, kissing him back, her hands grabbing his shirt, slipping buttons out of buttonholes, needing to touch his skin, to feel him, discover every inch of that hard, male body.
Connel groaned, 'Yes, oh, yes,' his own hands exploring, pushing her skirt upwards, stroking her bare thighs, her hips. He shrugged out of his shirt a moment later, then her dress was gone; he pulled it over her head and tossed it to the floor.
'My dress…it cost a bomb!' she groaned.
'It was the sexiest dress I've ever seen. I couldn't take my eyes off you all evening,' he muttered, his head moving down her body, kissing her breasts while he unclipped her bra and removed it Kissing her naked midriff, pulling down her lacy panties, he whispered, 'But what was under it is much sexier.'
She caught hold of his head, her hands filled with his black hair, the rough strands tickling her palm. 'You're going too fast!' Her voice was shaky with a muddle of need, uncertainty, panic.
'If I don't have you soon I'll go out of my mind,' he said, kicking his trousers and then his briefs off. Now they were both naked, staring at each other.
It only lasted a second or two, that instant of confrontation, finally seeing each other without disguises or clothes; Zoe looked at his broad shoulders and deep chest, that slim waist, strong hips and what lay between them.
She shut her eyes after one glance, then, burning with desire, fell back against the pillows.
Breathing roughly, his heart audibly beating too fast, Connel came down on top of her, pushing her legs apart, moving between them, his hands caressing her smooth thighs as he lifted her slightly to open her for his entry.
She was shivering, tense; she felt like a virgin. He was the first, in a very real sense. The first man she had ever loved. The first man she had ever wanted so much she was dying for him, had to have him inside her. Suddenly she knew what sex really was—not just some passing pleasure, but a necessity, an emptiness he had to fill, only him, no other man.
She took him into herself with a long moan of satisfaction, completing herself at last. I
t was a miracle the way he fitted so exactly into her. They had been made for each other. After years apart now they finally came together again.
They made love with an urgency that was intolerable; bodies writhing, entwined, moving in hot tension, her arms and legs around him, his body a driving force inside her, thrusting deeper and deeper. Zoe cried out feverishly at the end, not even knowing what she was saying, or doing.
Afterwards, Connel collapsed on top of her, his face against her neck, his chest rising and falling breathlessly.
Her bedroom was dark except for a faint glimmer of moonlight which slid across the carpet.
Her skin was damp with perspiration, her pulses hammered, her heart was beating like the drum of a retreating army, irregularly, too fast.
Connel slowly slid off her, stood up, pulled the duvet cover at the foot of the bed over her and got back on to the bed. Turning her slightly so that her back was towards him, he slid his arm around her waist, moving tightly in against her, a hand below her breasts, one thigh crossing hers, locking them together.
His voice whispered into her nape, his breath stirring the tendrils of red hair. Did you mean that?'
'What?' she drowsily asked, limp and warm in his embrace.
'Never mind, you can say it again in the morning.'
Zoe fell asleep, body and mind utterly exhausted.
CHAPTER TEN
Zoe woke up with a start and for a few seconds was disorientated. Her alarm wasn't ringing; the room was in pitch-darkness. What had woken her up? Yawning, she leaned over to pick up her clock, peered at the glowing phosphorescent hands and saw it was eleven o'clock.
Putting the clock down, she lay back, intending to sleep again, only to hear a car engine start outside on her drive. What on earth was that?
Her mind jangled with surprise and shock. She had forgotten last night until that instant, but now it all-rushed back—the party, driving here in Connel's car, and what had happened, in this room, in her bed.
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