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T do, as it happens, but this is no time for discussion on architecture,' Liza said furiously. 'Are you going or not?'
He put the card into the top pocket of his jacket and walked down the hall towards the front door. Liza followed close on his heels and was taken aback when he swung suddenly and dropped his suitcase, caught hold of her shoulders in a tight grip, bent his head and kissed her.
She was too surprised to evade that kiss; her mouth had already parted in a gasp of surprise at his swoop. His lips hit hers fiercely, but the first bruising impact softened a few seconds later; his hand closed on her waist and drew her up against him, her body helplessly yielding because her mind hadn't started working yet, she was too shaken. Her hands closed on his shirt, her eyes shut, her mouth taken and coaxed, warmly caressed.
The pleasure was unexpected, a sensual sweetness that made her weak. A tremor ran through her from head to foot and then she dragged herself out of the physical trance, pushing him away.
He had his eyes shut, too; as she looked up at his face his lids slowly lifted and she saw the brilliance of his eyes—the excitement in them made her shudder with shock. Was that how she looked? She was feverish, angry, dismayed. What had happened to her? What had he done to her?
Blindly she reached for the door, opened it, muttering something thickly. "Please go,' was what she tried to say, but she didn't know if he would understand the incoherent noise which she had made.
Whether he did or not, he walked past her without a word and she stared after him as he reached the hire car parked outside, unlocked i
t, got behind the wheel and drove off without looking at her once. She closed the door and leaned on it. If she hadn't, she might have fallen down. Her legs were like water. Her body was trembling violently. She was in shock.
It was a very long time since a kiss had had any real effect on her. Years, she thought, closing her eyes and trying not to remember. She had been badly hurt and she had been too young to cope with it. She had come out of it scarred, and determined it would never happen again. You couldn't get hurt if you didn't run any risks, and so she picked her men carefully from then on; she didn't go out with a man if she didn't like him, enjoy his company, of course, but at the same time she froze off anyone who might get to her, anyone she might fall for. If she had met Keir Zachary at a party or on a blind date she would have avoided him instinctively.
She had known last night, even in the mist, even when he was in a black rage, that he was dangerous to her. Right from the first moment there had been that prickle of electricity, a heightening of awareness, not only of him but of everything around her. She had come alive and Keir Zachary had been responsible, but now she felt sick and she was terrified. She remembered how it had felt before and she knew she could not bear to go through that again. It had been wonderful at first, falling in love ii«.s wonderful—the air sparkled, your feet hardly seemed to touch the ground, you felt like laughing and singing, as if you were crazy, out of your mind!
But however high you floated, you always had to come down, and the descent broke you.
Keir Zachary hadn't given her his address, she realised. Maybe he didn't intend to send her that bill, or maybe he didn't want her to know where to find him— with any luck she might never see him again. If she did, she would have to make it clear she was otherwise occupied; there was no place in her life for him. He was too dangerous.
The police drove up half an hour later. One of them knocked at her door and asked if she had had any more bother from the reporter. 'His car's there but he seems to have vanished," admitted Liza, looking past the broad, uniformed shoulders, across the road.
'At the river," the constable nodded.
'At the fishing competition?'
'He'll be back when the pub opens,' said the policeman, grinning. 'If you get any more hassle, give us another ring and we'll stop on our next drive around and give him a few words.'
'Oh, thank you,' Liza breathed, opening her green eyes wide and smiling very gratefully. 'You are kind. It was scary having them hanging about, banging on my door and shouting.'
'Don't you worry,' the constable said, admiring her tight-fitting white jeans and the casual white and black shirt she wore with them. 'We'll sort it out for you.'
Liza thanked him again and he left, waving as he drove away. He was a very big powerful young man and she thought he would throw a scare into the reporter, which would mean she need not leave and drive back to London, as she had decided to. All the same, her tranquil life and the cottage had been wrecked for the weekend. She felt as if she had been invaded—trampled underfoot.
As she passed the telephone, still off the hook, she heard the high-pitched signal it was making and sighed, replacing it on the stand, then dialled the local garage and asked them to come and tow her car away for repairs.
'Have you got a car I can hire?' she added and the garage manager said he had and he would bring it along while his mechanic drove the break-down truck, then he asked for directions. Liza told him the address, then remarked, 'But you've been here once this morning, already, haven't you? Didn't you pick up the other car?'
'What other car?'
'The one I crashed into!'
'We haven't had any other repair jobs today—the break-down truck hasn't been out for a couple of days, in fact,' he said, sounding irritable.
'Oh, it must have been some other garage then,' Liza said and the man asked, 'Which one? Around here?'
She had no answer to that because she couldn't think of another garage for a mile or so, and that one didn't deal with repairs, it merely sold petrol.
The men picked up her car and delivered the hire car, and the manager told Liza that her own vehicle shouldn't take too long to repair as he had no other jobs on at present. When he had left, she went out shopping and stocked up with fresh supplies: bread, eggs, orange juice, milk, salad and cheese. On her return to the cottage she had to run from the car to the cottage because the reporter was back with his photographer. Liza dropped her carton of eggs and heard them smash. She was so angry that she turned round and pelted the gentleman of the Press with a large, red tomato which hit his forehead and burst, running down his face. The photographer took running shots of her, but she was an experienced hand with cameras and managed not to be full face every time he snapped. She got her door unlocked and ran in and the reporter put his foot in the door, talking fast.
Liza grabbed an umbrella from the tall, Chinese jar behind the door and brought the spike of it down on his foot.
He gave a yelp and jumped back and she slammed the door and then stood there, breathing hard and laughing. She was still angry, but it had been fun. She wondered what sort of pictures would surface in the papers and didn't care.
The phone was ringing. Warily, she picked it up. 'Hello?'
