Hot Surrender

by Charlotte Lamb

  That Saturday she had lunch with Sancha and Mark. Sancha had tried out recipes from a book of Spanish cooking Made had bought her, beginning with a large dish of tapas, tiny saucers each containing a different food Artichokes dressed with vinaigrette, tiny fried whitebait fish, boiled eggs stuffed with anchovies or tuna in tomato sauce, prawns. The main course was a casserole Sancha called Chicken Andaluz. Breast of chicken had been cooked for a couple of hours slowly, with bacon pieces, tomato, red peppers and slices of hot spicy red sausage.

  'Chorizo al diablo,' Mark told her. 'Devilled sausage to you.' He was learning Spanish because they had rented a villa in Marbella for a fortnight next spring, and Mark was determined to be able to talk to shopkeepers and waiters in restaurants.

  'Devilled sausage to you, too,' Zoe said, tasting a piece. 'Mmm, delicious,' she told her sister. 'I must try cooking chorizo some time. You can use it on pizzas, can't you?'

  'Pity you can't cook,' teased Mark.

  Coldly she informed him, 'I can cook. I just never have the time.'

  'And nobody to cook for,' murmured Mark.

  Sancha looked uneasy. I'll get the pudding,' she said, getting up to begin clearing the table.

  Zoe went with her, partly to get away from Mark's teasing, and partly so that she could talk alone with her sister.

  As they loaded the dishwasher in the kitchen Sancha said, 'Did you know Connel was in South America again?'

  Zoe kept her face averted, feeding cutlery into the tray at the top of the machine. 'Yes, I had heard.'

  'Mark thinks he's planning another of his expeditions—Connel loves South America. I suppose running a business here isn't as exciting as traveling around hot, exotic places. But it makes things difficult for Mark because when Connel's out of touch it can hold up decisions. Mark can handle most things, but where big money is concerned he needs Connel's agreement before he can sign a deal.'

  Zoe felt like breaking down in tears. So Connel was planning another long trip abroad? She couldn't bear the thought of never seeing him again, but she had to hide it from her sister and brother-in-law. Had to smile and smile however much it hurt. The thought of Sancha and Mark realising how she felt was unbearable.

  After all she had said about men and the folly of falling in love—how could she admit that she had fallen hard, at last, for a man who didn't feel the same?

  'Mark suspects he's running away,' Sancha said.

  Zoe stiffened. 'What does that mean? Running away from what?'

  'From whom, you mean! Mark says Bianca has her sights set on him. Keeps ringing up, turning up at the office on transparent pretexts. If Connel isn't careful he'll end up marrying her, so he's decided to leave the country!'

  'Wouldn't it be easier just to make it clear he doesn't want to marry her?' Zoe said angrily. Why did Bianca think Connel might marry her? Had he slept with her too?

  'You met her. Do you think she'd meekly disappear?'

  'If he was blunt enough, what else could she do?'

  Sancha gave her an incredulous glance. 'What you know about human nature could be written on the back of a postage stamp, couldn't it? Women like that don't take no for an answer. Connel's rich and sexy. Of course she isn't going to give up hope just because he says he doesn't want to get married. In fact, she would take his saying that as a come-on. Mention marriage and you're admitting the possibility. She's the bloodhound type. Connel's probably wise to flee the country.'

  Zoe brooded over that as she drove home that evening towards her cold, lonely cottage. Would Connel even come back? She might never see him again. She stared out through the windscreen at passing headlights, barely noticing anything.

  Autumn gales had hit their part of the country that afternoon, rattling windows, howling through bare trees, filling the gutters with the last brown leaves, twigs, fallen branches, making driving difficult and even dangerous. She shivered as she dashed from her car into the house, then froze as she heard a sound behind her. There was someone lurking in the darkness.

  Not Larry again! she thought, and put on a burst of speed in the hope of getting into the house before he caught up with her.

  'It's me, Zoe!' a voice said from the dark as she got to the front door, and she stopped dead, recognising it, turned sharply, a hot pulse going in her throat.

  She couldn't believe it for a second, staring fixedly as his tall figure came closer, his eyes glinting in the darkness of his face.

  She swallowed 'You're back.' Her voice sounded so fiat and calm, she was astonished by it Nobody would ever guess what was happening inside her, the wild turmoil of her blood, the weakness of her legs, the desire leaping like fire through her flesh.

  'Where have you been? I've been waiting here for a couple of hours. Saturday is your day off. I thought you would be at home.'

  'I had lunch with Sancha and Mark.'

  They were talking casually, as if they were acquaintances. Was that how he thought of her? As someone he barely knew?

  Barely, she thought, trembling. He knew her naked and dressed. Inside and out.

  'Damn it. I thought of ringing Mark but I didn't want to talk about work and I didn't know if you had told them about us.'

  'Us?' she repeated, shivering as the gale blew and trees bent and swayed like drunks.

  Connel's eyes focused intently on her pale face. 'It's cold out here. Shall we go in or aren't you going to invite me in tonight?'

  She looked at him helplessly, tears burning in her eyes. 'Go away, Connel. Just go away. I'm too tired to cope with you tonight.'

  'Why are you crying?'

  'I'm not!'

  'I can see the tears in your eyes, hear them in your voice!'

  'Go away, go away,' she yelled, swung and tried to open her front door, but couldn't get the key into the lock because her hands were shaking too much.

  Shouldering her aside, Connel took the key and opened the door. She tried to rush inside, before he could, but he was immediately behind her and still had her key. He closed the front door, shutting out the howling wind, put on the light and she flinched from it, covering her eyes with one hand.

  'Look, I'm tired. I want you to go!' There was a lot more she wanted to say but dared not start to say in case she broke down like a child and sobbed and wailed in front of him. Her pride wouldn't let her do that. He mustn't know just how much she cared.

  He walked past her and she heard him switch on the central healing, then there was the sound of water running as he filled a kettle. He knew where everything was in her house; he knew the place almost as well as she did.

  She shed her sheepskin coat, hung it up, walked slowly, reluctantly, into the kitchen.

  'I thought you were in the Argentine.'

  'I was. Now I'm here.' He intended to make tea, had the teapot set out on a tray with cups, milk and a sugar bowl; he always did everything so swiftly and efficiently.

  'Sancha thought you might be planning to stay there.'

  'Oh, did she? Your sister has a busy imagination, doesn't she? She's way off with my future plans, though. My trip to the Argentine was strictly business. I was over there to check out a contract which is up for tender—a major civil engineering project worth millions. I've decided to go for it.'

  'So Sancha wasn't wrong at all! If you're planning to get involved in work over there you'll have to live there.'

  'Not necessarily. I shall delegate. Mark speaks Spanish.'

  'Mark?' She was taken aback, stared at him open-mouthed for a minute, thinking through the implications, then burst out, 'But what about Sancha and the children? He'd either have to leave them behind or uproot them all, and Sancha is just about to start a whole new career, and the children don't speak Spanish and…'

  Impatiently, Connel interrupted, 'We may not even get the contract, and if we do I'll talk things over with Mark before I make any decisions.'

  'Mind my own business, you mean!' she muttered. 'But Sancha and the kids are my business. I love them and I don't want to see their lives
blown apart.'

  'Don't you think Mark will make sure that doesn't happen? That marriage strikes me as pretty sound. I'm sure he'll discuss it with Sancha before he comes to a decision about going to the Argentine.'

  She snapped at him, 'Mark is an old-fashioned male— he thinks it's up to him to make decisions about his job. I don't think he will take Sancha's career plans very seriously.'

  The water had boiled. He made the tea, covered the pot with a padded cosy, took the tray over to the table while she watched, thinking that the man was astonishingly domesticated for someone so tough and male. 'It still isn't your problem, Zoe,' he told her over his shoulder. 'It's Mark and Sancha's decision. Haven't you got enough worries of your own without taking on your sister's?'

  'Snap,' she said belligerently. 'You keep telling me what to do—why don't you take your own advice and mind your own business? Just go away and leave me alone, will you?'

  He swung and caught hold of her arms, pulled her towards him before she had notice of his intention.

  'No,' he said roughly, and she looked up into eyes like black holes in space and was silenced by the intensity of his stare.

  'You aren't dumping me, Zoe, I won't let you,' he said, his voice thick and angry, then his head came down and his mouth moved hungrily against hers, the force of his kiss pushing her head back, so that she had to grab at him to stay upright.

  He let go of her arms and framed her face between his hands, his kiss deepening, pushing her lips apart Zoe's arms went round his neck. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him back, past trying to hide anything, giving in to her desire for him.

  He was muttering something against her mouth. For a second she couldn't make out what he was saying, then she caught the words.

  'I love you, damn you. I love you.'

  She began to cry and his head lifted. He stared down at her with that scary intensity.

  Hoarsely, he groaned, 'I shouldn't have said it. I knew it would be a mistake to tell you how I felt I couldn't help myself. Zoe, I warn you—if you try and dump me I won't be responsible for what I do.'

  Tears running down her face, she leaned on him weakly, her hands on his nape, fingers digging into his thick black hair.

  'I love you, stupid,' she told him. 'Can't you tell? I'm crazy about you.'

  Connel made a deep, passionate sound in his throat, then his head swooped again and their mouths met Their bodies clung so tightly that you couldn't have got a piece of paper between them.

  When he finally stopped kissing her Connel gazed down at her again intently.

  'Will you marry me, Zoe?'

  She didn't even hesitate. 'Yes, please,' she said, and briefly imagined Sancha's face when she told her.