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Liza looked at the window; the curtains hadn't been drawn across it and she saw the mist pressing against the glass like a pale, smoky cat, soft and sinewy. He was right; the mist was thicker and it stifled and smothered every sound outside as if they were alone here at the end of the earth.
Her nerves leapt like flames in a wind as she faced the obvious. He meant to stay here with her tonight.
CHAPTER TWO
'You can't stay here tonight!' Liza said in dismay.
'What else do you suggest?' he enquired, his hard mouth twisting as she stared at him.
'Well, surely—the pub!'
'I told you, they're full up.'
'But, if you were stranded--- !'
'I'm willing to sleep on a sofa, but when I was there earlier they told me that they even had a couple of people sleeping on the floor in sleeping-bags. No, there's no room there.' He gave her a wry smile. 'Don't worry, I won't be any trouble to you. That sofa looks comfortable, I'll sleep on that, and the mist will probably lift in a few hours. As soon as it does I'll ring for a taxi and get a garage to come and pick up my car.'
Liza bit her lip uncertainly; she could hardly refuse to let him stay the night in the circumstances—he couldn't sleep outside in his car, could he?
He watched her uneasy face. 'Do you live here alone?' It was obvious that the cottage was empty; she looked at him, hesitating, wondering whether to invent a brother or a boyfriend who might arrive at any minute.
Before she could decide what to say, he began to laugh. 'I see you do! There's no need to be scared, if that's what's bothering you.'
'I'm not bothered,' Liza said shortly. 'Not by you!'
His brows lifted. 'No?'
She didn't like the smile he was wearing. 'No!' she insisted, determined not to admit that he affected her in any way at all. She couldn't understand the edgy awareness she was beginning to feel. Was it because he wanted to stay here all night? She lowered her lashes and looked at him through them secretly, frowning. He was much taller and stronger than she was; would she be able to handle him if he made a pass?
'We haven't introduced ourselves,' he said casually. My name's Zachary—what's yours?'
'Liza Thurston,' she replied automatically and then stiffened, wishing she had given him an invented name. He might have read that newspaper story, he might talk about spending the night at her cottage—she met his narrowed blue eyes, searching them for some hint of recognition or surprise, but saw nothing. I'm getting paranoid, she told herself angrily. For heaven's sake, try to be rational, she thought, and forced a smile at him.
'Well, Mr Zachary, if you don't mind sleeping on my sola tonight, you're welcome to it. Now, I'll see what sort of meal I can throw together—I keep a few basic items in stock. It won't be anything special, I'm afraid. It will probably be out of a tin.'
He watched her take off her coat and hang it up in the hall cupboard. 'I'm not fussy,' he murmured. 'Anything will do, I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. Fresh air and exercise always make me hungry.'
'Me, too,' she agreed, walking into the kitchen as he shed his coat and tweed jacket.
'It's Keir, by the way,' he said and she looked round, bewildered.
'What?'
'My name—Keir.'
'You just said it was Zachary!' she said sharply, frowning in suspicion. Had he forgotten what he had told her?
He laughed. 'It is, but Keir is my first name. It's absurd for you to keep calling me Mr Zachary if we're to spend the night together.'
She stiffened, her face hot. 'We're not going to do anything of the kind!'
'Under the same roof, I meant, of course, sorry,' he corrected, but his eyes held teasing mockery and she was sure he had phrased it deliberately. He was having a little fun at her expense, and Liza wasn't amused. It was nerve-racking enough to have him stranded here, without that sort of provocation!
She opened the larder door and looked at the assorted tins and packets on the shelves of the little store-room, her teeth tight. 'What would you like?' she asked icily.
That was the moment when she really began to feel uneasy, because Keir Zachary squeezed past her to study the contents of the room, and she felt his long, lean body touching hers intimately. It was over in a second, she was out in the kitchen, shaking a little and dark-eyed as she wondered if she should ring the police right now. Maybe it hadn't been wise to let him see that she wouldn't want the police to come here. After all, what did she know about him, other than the sort of clothes he wore, the sort of car he drove and whatever information she could glean from his face? He could be a perfectly respectable farmer—but on the other hand he could be a sex maniac. How was she to know?
'Are you a good cook?' he asked, and she jumped, looking round defiantly, ready to hit back if he attacked her.
