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Her alarm clock seemed to go off half an hour later. Yawning, she reached to silence it, still half-asleep. She had slept like the dead, and if the alarm hadn't woken her she knew she would have slept on and on for hours. She longed to fall back into bed and sleep again, but she had to get to work, so she struggled out of bed and into the bathroom, took a quick shower and got dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt over which she put a green V-necked sweater.
Zoe strapped on her wristwatch, trod into shoes, unlocked her bedroom door, opened it, and stood there, listening. There wasn't a sound.
Then as she was halfway downstairs her nostrils quivered. Coffee! Bacon!
Moving faster, she ran to the kitchen and stopped dead. Connel was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. He lazily looked her up and down, brows lifting.
'You look very workman-like. If you think you're going to work, you can forget it. The doctor ordered you to rest, and you're staying here, resting, until he gives you the all-clear.'
Outrage filled her. 'Don't you give me orders! I have to go to work. How many times do I have to explain? The company will hand my film over to someone else if I don't show up. Time is money in our business. We can't afford to lose a day. I can't take any more time off. And, anyway, I'm fine. I slept all night I feel great.'
He studied her. 'You look better, I'll admit that, but I think you're taking a stupid risk. I can't stop you going to work—I have important appointments myself, I can't take the day off, either, and your sister won't get here until ten o'clock. I'll ring her and tell her not to come, but you must at least have some breakfast Sit down and eat some bacon and egg.'
'I'll just have some fruit and a cup of coffee.' She sat down, though, and watched him pour her coffee, absorbing the fact that he was wearing different clothes this morning: a very elegant dark striped suit, a crisp blue-striped shirt, a sleek dark blue silk tie. Either he had gone home last night, or he had brought a change of clothes with him, which must mean that he had intended to spend the night here. He had shaved; his hair was brushed smoothly. He looked very sexy.
Far too sexy. She looked away, her heart apparently lodged in her throat, making it hard to swallow the coffee she was sipping.
Connel walked across the room and came back with a glass of ice-cold orange juice which he put in front of her.
'Thanks. Don't let me stop you cooking yourself breakfast I shall have to go in five minutes, anyway,' she said, without looking at him.
He went back to the hob. She heard him cooking, heard toast pop up, then he came over to her with a plate.
'Eat this or you don't leave the house without a fight!'
She stared at the grilled bacon, fried egg and toast on the plate. They smelt wonderful. Hunger stirred in her but she obstinately said, 'I told you, I don't eat breakfast. There isn't time and it's easier to work if you haven't eaten.'
'Make time.' There was an inexorable note in his voice. Zoe gave him a quick, reluctant glance and saw the insistence in his jawline, in his hard mouth, his dark eyes. He meant to make a fight of it, that was obvious, and she simply couldn't afford to waste energy on another long wrangle with him.
Grimly, she picked up the knife and fork he had put on the table, and began to eat.
Sitting down opposite her, Connel ate too. He had the same meal. 'Tell me about your film,' he invited 'Who's ink?'
She told him a few names. 'And I just heard that your cousin is taking over a part. Someone dropped out.'
'Hal? If I'd known that I'd have rung him yesterday to find out where you were filming.' He gave her an amused look. 'You aren't one of his fans, are you?'
'No.' She had finished her food; she drank the last of her coffee and got up. 'I must rush. I'm going to be late now, anyway. I'll ring Sancha from our location, apologise for yesterday and tell her not to bother to come over today.'
Connel followed her to the front door. 'Put on a warm coat. The weather's turning cold today, according to the forecast on the news this morning.'
She shrugged into a tartan wool-lined anorak, put on driving gloves, wishing he would stop giving her orders. 'Bye.'
'See you later,' he ominously said as she unlocked her hire car.
He stood in the open front door watching her drive away, waved as she turned out of the drive. Zoe waved back. It was like being married. Saying goodbye to your husband before going to work. She had never actually lived with a man. Her relationships had never been deep enough, long enough.
With a sinking heart, she realised she liked it. She was enjoying having him there all the time, cooking for her, looking after her, being protective, making her put on a warm coat, waving goodbye to her—even if it annoyed her and made her hackles rise.
Oh, God, he's getting under my skin! she thought He's beginning to be part of my life as no man ever has.
What am I going to do about him?
CHA
PTER SEVEN
She rang Sancha on her mobile while she was waiting for Will to move camera position after the first short scene they'd shot that morning. Everyone else was busy. The stand-ins were frozen in position where the actual stars would stand when filming started; Andy, their Grip, was setting up a circular track system so that Will could film the next but one scene in the round, and Props were checking that all requirements for this scene had been met The actors were in their caravans, making sure they knew their lines and positions. Catering were preparing a fried breakfast to be eaten during the next break. The smell of hot fat made Zoe's nose wrinkle.
