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'You don't mean that!'
'Oh, yes, I do! You can put a cat out at night and it amuses itself. They're clean, too. Kids are far more trouble and make far more noise and mess. I won't pine if I never have one. Come on, open this wine and pour me a glass, then I'll get some food out of Mark. I can smell steak and onions cooking—and I'm starving!'
When she walked over to the barbecue, a glass of red wine in her hand, flame-red hair ruffled by the evening breeze, startlingly vivid in the jade-green suit, Mark raised his brows at her in that macho, sardonic way that made her teeth meet.
'No man tonight, Zoe?'
She glanced over the loaded barbecue. Have you got one ready to eat?'
'Well, I had heard the rumours that you eat men for dinner, but I didn't realise it was true!' Mark said dryly. 'Sorry, we're just serving steak, lamb chops, gammon chops or sausages.'
'Steak will do, then—and some of those onions, please, the ones that haven't burnt black yet.'
'No criticisms of my cooking, please!' Mark's lean body bent to scoop up the food while she watched him critically. She wasn't Mark's type any more than he was hers. She found his manner to her sister far too overbearing. Why did Sancha put up with it?
Everything about him was too much:—he was too tall, too powerful, too energetic, too demanding, too masculine, had too much ego, was too good-looking. He made Zoe's hackles rise as soon as she set eyes on him, and she knew he had the same reaction to her. Mark preferred his women ultra-feminine: soft, gentle, warm and tender, preferably submissive. Sancha fitted the bill exactly.
A year ago they had gone through a bad patch and Zoe had thought for a while there would be a divorce and her sister might get a life at last, but they had somehow worked out all their problems, and she had to admit that they seemed happy together now. Their lives had changed considerably since Mark got a new job; he didn't earn as much but he had more time off, and Sancha said he enjoyed his work more. He had had to spend most of his time in an office in his last job—with this one he spent a lot of time on site. A civil engineering company, his new firm were building a bypass around an ancient town so choked with traffic as to be a nightmare both for the people who lived there and anyone visiting it, and Mark could drive home in half an hour. He saw far more of Sancha and the children and had plenty of time off to spend at home.
All of which made it astonishing that he was backing Sancha in her new project, but then Flora went to playschool every morning now she was three, which meant that Sancha could work part-time without interfering with Mark's life, especially if Martha was going to help in the shop. One of them could pick Flora up from school and take her back to the shop each day. Being able to get away from Flora for a few hours had put the life back into Sancha's brown eyes. She no longer looked exhausted, thank heavens; she was vibrant and cheerful whenever Zoe saw her now.
Having her own business and being able to give free rein to her creativity and common sense would make her even happier.
'Help yourself to salad.' Mark gestured, handing her a plate with her steak and a heap of fried onions on it.
As she turned Zoe bumped into a man waiting behind her, automatically muttering, 'Sorry,' although it was really his fault for standing so close.
'That's okay, I'm getting used to you knocking me about!'
The deep voice made her start and look up in amazement For a second or two she stared blankly, until she suddenly recognised Connel Hillier, now minus his black beard, clean-shaven, his hair brushed back from his hard-featured face, showing her that he was far better looking than she had realised. It was a strong, tenacious face, with high cheekbones and a wide setting to those liquid dark eyes, his mouth wide and beautifully shaped.
'What are you doing here?' Zoe demanded, scowling. He was wearing skin-tight dark blue jeans and a black shirt which lay open at his tanned throat, tie-less, making you immediately conscious of his masculinity, the wide shoulders, slim waist, lean hips and long legs. He certainly wasn't a wallpaper person, she thought, watching him with hostile eyes.
'I invited him,' Mark said. 'Do you two know each other? I had no idea.'
'No,' Zoe denied.
'Yes,' Connel said.
Mark looked from one to the other with a coolly curious expression. 'Which of you is lying, I wonder?'
'Which do you think?' Connel grinned at him. 'Women always lie at the drop of a hat.'
'We don't know each other!' Zoe snapped. 'We simply met Once. And once was enough for me. How on earth do you know him, Mark? I thought he'd been out of the country on some sort of exploring trip for years.'
'He's my boss,' said Mark, and her mouth opened in a gasp.
'Your boss? He can't be! He told me he was an explorer!' She turned on Connel, bristling. 'You lied to me!'
'No, I didn't. I have spent the last year with an international expedition to South America, exploring the mountain ranges. But I'm also managing director of a civil engineering firm. I took a sabbatical while my father ran the business for a year.'
Her mind ticked busily, remembering things he had said to her the night they met.
'And you said you lived in London!'
'I have a fiat in London—I inherited it from an aunt and haven't got around to selling it yet.'
He'd claimed to have heard about her from Hal Thaxford, but maybe Mark had talked about her, too. What had Mark said about her?
