Oh, you are! You are!
‘I-er—I hadn’t really thought about it,’ said Zoe.
She was not certain if that was true. Certainly when she’d flung her challenge at him she had never thought for a moment that he would pick it up. Okay, this evening she had been shivering with desire just to touch him. But she was hurt and in shock. Surely anyone could be allowed a little fantasy at moments like that?
Except—where did it come from, that sensitivity to his touch, his voice, his glance, even the scents of his damned clothes?
Jay’s voice gentled. ‘Think about it now.’
She did. It brought an image of his hands on her, so clear that she broke out in a sweat. The elevator reversed polarity and took off like a rocket.
She said in a gasping voice, ‘You really wouldn’t mind?’
He laughed. ‘You sound like a polite child. There’s no need to be grateful. It’s no hardship. You must know that you’re gorgeous.’
He paused expectantly. Zoe did not say anything. Her head was so light she felt that she was curving round Mars with a comet tail of fire blazing after her.
‘You know me. I’m not a good man. There are women I have hurt. But I can do this thing.’ And, as she still said nothing, he added, ‘Only if it will help, of course.’
Zoe, her ears ringing, was heading out of the solar system by now. She managed to gasp, ‘Oh, it will. It will. I accept.’
That was when her numbed fingers lost their grip. The hated dragon mug crashed onto the tiled floor and broke into a thousand pieces. The shards scattered, powdering the floor and her discarded footwear. A great jagged piece with teeth lodged in her tumbled left shoe.
And Zoe, who loathed the dragons and all they represented, broke into inconsolable tears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JAY was surprisingly competent with her tears. After a brief moment of pure, masculine horror, he picked her off the chair and crunched through the broken pottery to the French window. Hesitating only a moment with the handle, he shouldered his way out onto the night-time patio. There he dropped her onto the old wooden bench.
‘Put my jacket on properly, or you’ll get cold.’
Zoe sniffed.
He gave an exasperated sigh and whipped a pristine handkerchief out of his trouser pocket, stuffing it into her right hand. Then he took her left hand and inserted it into the left sleeve of the jacket and pushed.
Zoe blew her nose.
Gosh, I’m being pathetic, she castigated herself. But it felt wonderful to be so close to him, having him care for her. She let herself flop about like an awkward kindergarten pupil as he hauled. It gave her the chance to lean against him. Even—briefly—bury her nose in his crisp shirt-front. Heart- stopping!
Pull yourself together. You’re not four years old.
Well, she had not been behaving in a very grown-up way since he’d arrived. But the way she felt in his arms was certainly not child-like. Time to take a hold on life again!
Zoe straightened, reluctant to leave his arms, knowing that she had to. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got it.’
At once, he stepped back.
Zoe tried not to feel bereft. She dealt with the other sleeve herself. The jacket was much too big, yet it felt as if she belonged in it. The lining slipped along her bare arms like a secret kiss. The way the lining moved against her skin, it had to be silk. Soft as a kiss but warm as a blanket, she thought, savouring the sensation. She gave a small, voluptuous shiver.
Jay said in a worried voice, ‘You shouldn’t be that cold. It’s a warm night.’
‘No—it’s—I’m fine,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Thank you.’
He still looked down at her, frowning. ‘Maybe that burn is worse than it looks. How does it feel now?’
She had almost forgotten the burn. She shook her head. ‘Fine, honestly. The cold water has taken all the heat out of it.’
He was still doubtful. But he said, ‘Stay there,’ and went back into the house.
He came back with her shoes. He had clearly shaken all the shards of pottery out and, by the look of it, run them under the tap for good measure. They were certainly shiny, and slightly damp, inside and out, as well. He also had a worn piece of tartan cloth over his arm.
‘All I could find,’ he said briefly, offering it to her.
Zoe was pulling on her shoes. She looked up, shaking her head, laughing. ‘It’s the cat’s blanket. Cyrus won’t take it very kindly if I pinch it.’
‘But—’
She straightened. ‘Don’t worry. I’m all right now. Truly. And I’ve got a kitchen floor to clean up. That will get the blood moving.’
‘I’ll get you some more tea first,’ Jay said decisively. ‘Then we’ll see,’
He was as quick and efficient at that as he was at everything else. He brought it out to her and sat on the old chair opposite as she sipped. He leaned forward, looking at her keenly in the moonlight.
Zoe said uncomfortably, ‘You’re doing all the right things.’
He gave a ghost of laugh. ‘Am I?’
She was flustered. ‘I mean the treatment for superficial burns, shock—everything. Very professional.’
He sat back, shrugging. ‘I’ve run training weekends for kids. I thought it was a good idea to learn basic first aid.’
She was glad that he did not seem to be studying her under a microscope any more. ‘I would have thought that was just strained muscles and stuff. I mean running isn’t exactly a high-risk sport. Is it?’
She saw the flash of white teeth as he grinned in the darkness.
‘You have no idea what eleven-year-olds can do to themselves if they put their mind to it. If you ever get yourself stuck down a pot hole, I could probably get you out of that, too.’
‘A pot hole?’ gasped Zoe.
He smiled reminiscently. ‘A little anarchist called Brian. Good runner, too. Just never got the idea of doing what he was told.’
Zoe made a discovery.
‘You liked him.’
‘I suppose I did.’ He sounded surprised. ‘He kept going off on his own all the time. I could identify with that.’
‘You?’ She was sceptical.
‘Oh, yes. There’s a lot more to me than a spin doctor who lights a trail to land third-rate movies, you know.’
She flushed in the dark. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘No need. I had it coming.’
‘Even so—it wasn’t fair. I didn’t know you well enough to say a thing like that.’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘No?’
She was oddly shocked. ‘Of course not. A couple of conversations and a lot of gossip don’t add up to knowing someone.’
‘So why do I feel that you’ve known me since the first moment you looked through me?’ Jay asked quietly.
‘What?’
‘Why do you think I was upset when you tweaked me about Lemon Sherbet Three?’
‘I didn’t know you were,’ said Zoe, shaken.
‘Oh, I was. And not because I expect the staff to sign up to my Napoleon image, either. I was upset because I thought—she could be right.’
‘But—’
‘You see clearly, Zoe Brown. I was worried that you were seeing through my protective colouring. And seeing how thin it was.’
She stared at him blankly.
‘No!’
She saw one eyebrow lift. ‘No? So what did you think of me?’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I just thought you were—very busy.’
His expression was wry. ‘You thought a lot more than that.’
He did not throw, ‘You could never be a candidate,’ in her face, but he was tempted. Only it was not very chivalrous, when she was so shaken. And he was supposed to be here as her knight in shining armour.
He said, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that.’
Zoe shook her head. ‘No, it’s a fair enough question. If you really want to know—I was surprised that you were so good at your job.’
Zoe said thoughtfully, ‘After all, you’re hardly a people person, are you? I’ve watched you. Sometimes you look as if you’ve overdosed on humanity and are just desperate to get away from all of us.’
Jay went very still. ‘You do know me, don’t you?’ he said, almost inaudibly.
Zoe was pursuing her own line of thought. ‘You do what you have to. But people have to stand in line. Nobody gets more than their ration out of you.’
His head went back as if she had struck him. There was a turbulent silence.
He said at last ruefully, ‘Ouch. You know how to hit where it hurts, don’t you?’
Zoe was confused. ‘I didn’t mean—I was only saying what I felt. You asked,’ she ended with a touch of indignation.
‘I did. I did indeed. I can see I shall have to think before I ask in future.’
Zoe peered at him in the darkness. He sounded amused. But he also sounded as if it were a bit of an effort.
‘Sorry,’ she said, conscience-stricken.
Jay stuffed his hands in the pockets of his formal black trousers and looked up at the fingerprint moon.
‘Probably good for me,’ he said dispassionately. ‘I’ve suspected for some time that people walk round me a bit too carefully. Never get to be the boss, Zoe. It changes things.’
He sounded half-sad, half-angry. Not angry with her, though, she thought. She hoped. She could not bear it if her thoughtless words had really hurt him.
He drew a long breath. Then said in quite a different tone, ‘Now—to practicalities.’
At once Zoe stopped palpitating over his possible feelings and bounced right back into the present. She sat bolt upright.
‘What—now?’ she said, in stark horror.
Jay laughed aloud. ‘Get real. We have a journey to go on first.’
She liked that ‘we’. She relaxed. ‘Thank heaven,’ she said unwarily.
He stuffed his hands deeper in his pockets. ‘And the first thing we need is neutral territory,’ he said, as calmly as if he were discussing a PR campaign. ‘You’d better come with me to Venice.’
Zoe spluttered.
‘What have you got against Venice?’ he said patiently.
‘Nothing. I mean, I’ve never been. But I haven’t got a ticket. And it’s so soon.’
‘I’ll get you a ticket.’ Jay was calm. ‘And the sooner the better.’
‘Oh,’ said Zoe hollowly.
He took his hands out of his pockets and came over to her. Zoe tensed in the darkness. But he just buffed her cheek lightly.
‘Believe me.’ His voice was kind. ‘Once you’ve made up your mind to do something you don’t want to, the best thing is to get it over with.’
‘Oh,’ she said again in quite a different voice.
She felt cold suddenly. It had nothing to do with the summer night air. She huddled his jacket round her, and the scents of his skin assaulted her like a reproach.
‘This is very kind of you,’ she said with constraint.
He did not answer that. He was thinking. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow. About eleven. Bring a business suit for Monday, and some walking shoes so we can do the ritual sightseeing.’
Her heart fluttered madly. I don’t believe I’m doing this.
‘All right,’ she said aloud.
He touched her cheek again. ‘You’ll be back Monday night. Then you can get on with the rest of your life.’
She swallowed. Monday night! After two days in uncharted territory, who could guess where she would be going by then?
Get a grip, Zoe. Get a grip.
She stood up. ‘That will be great,’ she said distractedly, as if he had just offered her a job, or a ride to the station on a wet morning. ‘I’d better tell my mother. And clear up the mess in the kitchen. Um—your jacket.’
She struggled out of it and handed it across. He hooked a finger into the tab at the collar and swung it over his shoulder.
As they went into the house he put a brotherly arm round her. Zoe was sure it was meant to be brotherly. But it made her quiver from her breastbone to her toes. She moved away from him and speeded up.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, opening the front door with indecent haste. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Jay was not dismissed so easily. He leaned one arm against the lintel and looked down at her very seriously.
‘Only if you want to. Never forget, this is your idea. Any time you want to back out, you just say so.’
She wanted him to kiss her so much she almost pulled him into her arms. Almost. What stopped her was the thought that the kiss would probably be kind and brotherly. She did not think she could bear that.
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ she promised brightly. ‘Goodnight.’ She had the door closed on him before he was down the path to the gate.
One good thing about being in a flat panic about a man was that it put everything else into a new perspective, thought Zoe. Last week she would have prepared her mother so carefully, filled the fridge with food, alerted the neighbours. Now she just went into Deborah’s room, as soon as he had gone, and laid her cards on the table.
‘I’m going to Venice tomorrow,’ she said baldly. ‘I’ll be back Monday. You’re on your own for the weekend, Mother.’
Deborah was lying on her bed, staring unseeingly at American football on the television.
She said, ‘But you can’t.’
‘Yes, I can. People do it all the time.’
‘You can’t leave me here alone.’ Deborah’s voice rose in alarm.
Zoe looked at her with some sympathy. She was not so far off alarm herself, for all that Jay had said she could back out at any time. And she did not quite know what it was she was afraid of, either. But she did know that she had to face it.
‘Sorry, Mother. This is something I’ve got to do,’ she said quietly.
She was ready in the hall a good ten minutes before the limousine was due to collect her. She had packed and repacked her overnight case, to say nothing of trying on every outfit in her wardrobe. She had settled on slim navy trousers and a soft linen jacket she had shamelessly hijacked from her sister’s wardrobe. She’d twirled her hair on top of her head. Inserted big hoop earrings. Dug out some gold espadrilles from the back of her wardrobe.
She looked at herself in the hall mirror. Sophisticated, she thought. Careless, even. The full casual traveller who hopped countries at less than twelve hours’ notice.
Or—her sense of humour reasserted itself—she would look like that if it were not for the convulsive way she was clutching her passport. Or the way her legs trembled every time she thought of Jay.
A big black car slid smoothly to a halt outside the gate. Zoe let the curtain fall and smoothed her jacket. She felt sick.
The doorbell rang.
For a moment she almost did not answer it. The stairs were behind her. She could turn and bolt back up them.
Only—then what? Like Jay said, now she had made up her mind, the sooner she got it over with, the better. Except that it had all got a lot more complicated than she had ever imagined. Now that it included Jay, would she ever get it over with?
There was only one way to find out. Zoe’s chin lifted.
‘Forward into the future,’ she muttered. ‘Goodbye, Mother,’ she called out.
There was no reply. She was not really surprised. She was mildly sorry—but she had more important things to think about just at the moment.
She opened the front door.
‘I’m ready,’ she said quietly. And not just to the uniformed driver.
Jay, she found, travelled business class. And he worked while he did it. He was friendly enough, but as soon as they were belted into their seats he had his papers out, making notes on the work she had given him.
‘I’m going to break the back of this on the flight,’ he told her. ‘Then we can concentrate on showing you Venice when we get there.’
; ‘Thank you,’ said Zoe.
She was monumentally calm. So calm she even impressed herself. She certainly convinced Jay that last night’s emotionalism had been dispelled. She could almost hear his sigh of relief, though he was much too civilised to say anything.
Zoe was mildly surprised at herself. This did not feel like Performance Zoe. After all, she had nothing to hide from Jay. He knew all there was to know about her. Yet nothing felt quite real.
Oh, well, no doubt it would sort itself out.
She stayed calm all through the flight, though she refused the meal and even a glass of champagne.
‘Very wise,’ said Jay with a faint smile.
‘What?’
‘Turning down the fizz. Champagne should be drunk on a terrace at sunset, to the sound of music. It loses its magic at thirty-eight thousand feet with your nose up against someone else’s seat.’
Zoe laughed. ‘That’s because you’re too tall. My nose isn’t anywhere near anyone else.’ She stretched, laughing, and wriggled her freshly painted toenails. ‘Look at that. I’ve never travelled anything but economy class in my life. This is a treat all on its own.’
He did not laugh. ‘Sometimes I remember how very young you are.’
She gave him a naughty look. ‘Not that young. Just poor.’
Jay was ironic. ‘Poverty is relative.’
She was instantly contrite. ‘Of course. I should have said relatively poor. When my father left we still had a roof over our heads and an education in progress. The roof just crumbled a bit, that’s all.’
He looked at her curiously. ‘Was life difficult after he went?’
Zoe shifted her shoulders. ‘We got through,’ she said evasively.
He hesitated, as if he wanted to pursue the subject further. But then the screen on his laptop went dark and he was recalled to the work in hand. He went back to his draft speech.
Zoe was relieved. Perhaps he didn’t know quite all her secrets, she thought wryly. Probably just as well if it stayed like that. After all, she was not likely to see him again once she left Culp and Christopher, was she?
After that her pleasure on the luxurious flight dimmed, for some reason. She stopped staring out into the brilliant sky and even dozed fitfully.
The Millionaire's Virgin (Mills & Boon By Request) Page 45