One Reckless Night (6 page)

 
A total stranger, she thought stonily, gulping the sweetness and the pain of the night back into her starved lungs. A stranger, moreover, light years removed from her in background and aspiration. Someone she wouldn't have given a second glance to in her busy London existence. Someone she'd been unwise to allow anywhere near her. Someone already well aware of the effect he had on women, as his redheaded admirer could probably attest.

 
She gave the moon one last look. You pathetic fool, she told herself savagely, and she turned to go back into the hall.

 
Only to yelp in fright as she cannoned into a tall figure standing behind her.

 
He steadied her without particular gentleness. 'This is getting to be a habit. What the hell are you doing out here?'

 
'Moongazing,' she said. Her voice sounded odd, as though it didn't belong to her. 'I-I needed some fresh air.'

 
'Trudy's punch tends to have that effect,' he said grimly. 'Bill told me you'd been back for seconds.' He took the empty glass from her hand and shook his head. 'This stuff should carry a government health warning. Not to mention all the other things you drank during dinner.'

 
Zanna stiffened. 'I hope you're not implying...'

 
'I'm stating a fact.' His arm was like a band of steel round her waist as he guided her back into the hall. 'From now on it's orange juice for you, Susie, if you want to be fit to drive in the morning.'

 
She hung back, glaring at him. 'Maybe I should just go back to the Black Bull and sleep it off.'

 
He snorted impatiently. 'You're really keen to be on your own again, aren't you?'

 
No, she thought. Suddenly I'm not any more, and it scares me. I want to feel safe again-self-sufficient and safe-like I did yesterday, and all the days before that.

 
Aloud, she said stiltedly, 'Look, I'm sure you had plans for tonight-people you wanted to meet here.' She could see the redheaded girl watching them avidly from the other side of the room. 'I must be spoiling things for you. If you'll just introduce me to this caretaker friend of yours, I can leave you to enjoy your evening.'

 
He looked at her for a moment, his brows drawn together in a frown, then he sighed abruptly. 'Don't run out on me, Susie. At least, not yet.'

 
The music had started again, another slow, beguiling waltz, and before she could think of a viable excuse Jake had swung her effortlessly into his arms and back onto the floor.

 
'Relax,' he said laconically into her ear as she stiffened. 'Stop fighting me-and the world.'

 
His arms tightened, drawing her close against him. She felt the warmth of him penetrating through the layers of clothing to her own skin and beyond. Felt the frozen, frightened core hidden deep within her begin, unbelievably, to dissolve away, leaving something unknown, new and vulnerable in its place.

 
She knew that she should not-could not allow this to happen. That suddenly the danger she'd sensed was all around her, pressing on her, and that she had no one but herself to blame.

 
She knew also, and more disturbingly, that she wanted to press closer still. To bury her flushed face in the curve of his shoulder and breathe the unique male scent of him. To feel the harsh pressure of his lean, muscular body against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. To spread her hands against the powerful breadth of his back and reach up to touch the thick silky hair curling gently at the nape of his neck. To feel his mouth touching hers.

 
The need was bone-deep and desperate, but she knew she had to fight it if she was going to walk away from him tomorrow unscathed. As she had to do, she reminded herself.

 
She said, with a little nervous laugh, 'Actually, you could be right about the alcohol. I-I didn't realize. Maybe I should go back and sleep it off. As I have to drive tomorrow.'

 
There was a silence, then he said levelly, 'Fine. I'll get your jacket.'

 
Having him walk her back across the moonlit green wasn't part of the plan at all.

 
She hung back. 'I hardly need an escort. There can't be many hidden perils in this village.'

 
'Who can tell?' His tone was brusque. 'Anyway, I'm not prepared to take the risk.'

 
But the risk was all hers, Zanna thought numbly as he helped her on with her jacket. And the only real danger was right here beside her. Because no amount of punch, however lethal, could account for the way her blood seemed to sing in her veins, for the throbbing awareness of every sense, every nerve-ending in her body, as they started out through the scented darkness together.

 
She stumbled on a tussock of grass and instantly his arm went round her. 'Careful.'

 
'Oh, hell, my shoe's come off.' She scrambled frantically round with a stockinged foot.

 
'And it's not even midnight yet.' There was amusement in his voice. 'Keep still, Cinderella, and I'll see if I can find it.'

 
'We need a torch.' Standing on one leg made Zanna feel undignified as well as giddy.

 
'Something Prince Charming lacked too.' Jake came back to her side. 'I'll continue the search later, when I have one, Susie. But in the meantime...'

 
Before she could utter a word of protest, he swung her up into his arms as easily as if she were a featherweight and carried her across the grass.

 
When she could speak, she said icily, 'Put me down, please.'

 
He lowered her to the ground with almost insulting promptness. 'Are you planning to hop the rest of the way?'

 
'Of course not,' she snapped, angrily aware of her racing pulses.

 
'Then stop turning a problem into a crisis.' He picked her up again, without ceremony, and set off.

 
'You think you have an answer for everything,' she said bitterly.

 
'I often wish I had.' She felt him lean forward to release the catch on a gate and looked round in swift alarm.

 
'But this isn't the Black Bull.'

 
'Full marks for observation, Susie.' He carried her up the path, then deposited her gently on the mat while he reached into his pocket for some keys. 'You did say you wanted to look round Church House? Well, now's your chance.'

 
'But what right have you...?' Her voice trailed away into stunned silence. Then, 'My God,' she said slowly. 'It's been you all the time, hasn't it? You're the caretaker. You've just been stringing me along all evening.' She shook her head. 'Oh, I don't believe it.'

 
'I hope,' he said, gravely, 'that you're not going to reproach me, my dear Miss Smith, for not being entirely honest with you?'

 
His words seemed to hang in the air like a warning as he pushed open the front door, and turned to her. 'Would you like me to lift you over the threshold?'

 
'No, I wouldn't,' Zanna said stormily. 'I'd like to go back to the inn.'

 
'And so you shall.' His voice was almost soothing as he urged her into the hallway. 'Just as soon as we've had some coffee.'

 
'I don't want any bloody coffee.'

 
'Well, I do, so tough.' He opened a door, switched on lights, and Zanna found the house taking shape, coming to life before her just as she'd always imagined. In spite of herself she felt interest, excitement building inside her.

 
'And I'd take off that other shoe,' Jake added over his shoulder, walking into the kitchen. 'You don't want a sprained ankle to add to your other woes.'

 
'At least you admit they exist.'

 
'I imagine I'm responsible for most of them-in your eyes anyway.' He filled a kettle and set it on the Aga to boil. 'And while we're on the subject I may as well confess that I finished your car this afternoon. It's working perfectly again and I parked it at the Bull before I met you for dinner.'

 
Zanna stared at him, shoe in hand, momentarily mute with outrage. But only momentarily. 'Why the hell didn't you tell me this earlier?'

 
'Because I had this perverse compulsion to dance with you, Susie. To see you smile. To discover if there was a softer layer under all that autocracy and aggression.'

 
'Don't think I'm flattered by your interest,' she almost spat back at him. 'I presume, now that you're curiosity's been satisfied, I'm free to get out of this dump?'

 
'Not immediately.' He collected pottery mugs from the dresser and spooned coffee into them. 'Unless, of course, you actually want to lose your licence?'

 
The fact that his comment was quite justified did not improve Zanna's temper.

 
'That's none of your concern,' she said curtly. 'And you had no right to deceive me.'

 
Jake's brows lifted. 'Which particular deception did you have in mind?'

 
'And don't laugh at me,' she flared.

 
He shook his head. 'I'd sooner weep.'

 
And so, she discovered to her horror, would she. The tears were there, just below the surface, threatening to destroy her. And she could not afford to humiliate herself in front of him. Could not allow herself to give way to such appalling weakness.

 
'The kettle will be a minute or two.' His voice broke the sudden tense silence. 'I'll use the time to find your other shoe.' He paused. 'If you want to look round the house, do so. I give you the freedom of the place.'

 
'Do the owners know that you do this?' she demanded raggedly. "That you allow complete strangers to-to invade their privacy in this way?'

 
'You won't find any dark secrets or no-go areas.' Jake took down a powerful flashlight from a shelf near the back door. 'And you're only a stranger if you want to be.'

 
'You know nothing about me,' she argued stubbornly. 'I could be a thief.'

 
His smile glinted as he glanced at her stockinged feet. 'How far do you think you could hobble with your ill-gotten gains? Besides,' he added, 'I already know you better than you think. And I intend to find out more.'

 
His glance locked with hers, watching enigmatically as her eyes dilated in swift shock, as she tried and failed to look away. The air between them was suddenly charged, sparking with a new and dangerous tension.

 
When she spoke, her voice, to her own ears, seemed to come from some far distance. 'And what exactly do you hope to discover?'

 
He said, quite gently, 'Everything, Susie. Every last living thing. Because, I warn you, I won't be satisfied with less.'

 
And he went out into the darkness, leaving her staring after him in something very close to panic.

 
CHAPTER FOUR

 
FOR a while Zanna sat where she was, rigidly still, her hands twisted tautly in her lap. That was how he would find her when he returned, she told herself. Unmoving and unmoved.

 
And just as soon as she had her shoes back she would put a stop to the whole farcical situation and leave.

 
But as the stillness of the house settled round her like a warm cloak she found herself imperceptibly beginning to relax. She started to allow herself to look around and assimilate her surroundings.

 
It was very much a working kitchen, she realized. The copper pans bore all the marks of long service, a fearsome array of well-used utensils hung on butcher's hooks from a wrought-iron carousel and the thick wooden chopping block was grooved with use.

 
A far cry from the clinical atmosphere of her own kitchen in London, she thought wryly, where the only device in constant use was the microwave.

 
Eventually, drawn by a compulsion deeper than mere curiosity, she got up and went out into the hall.

 
The light was on in the drawing room, and the door stood invitingly open. It was a long, low room, its focal point a magnificent stone fireplace with a dog grate. The sofas and chairs were furnished with down cushions, thick enough to lose oneself in. Every table and cabinet gleamed with the loving sheen of polish, applied over many years.

 
The whole atmosphere of the room spoke of comfort long-established, far transcending the gloss of mere luxury.

 
And above the fireplace the picture of Church House was hanging, drawing her forward almost magnetically, just as it had done at the exhibition.

 
'My picture,' she whispered.