Hot Surrender

Hot Surrender
CHARLOTTE LAMB

An Undeniable Attraction…Zoe was enraged by Connel Hillier's arrogance! He'd been direct, demanding and had even invited himself to her home! Well, other women might simper over his brooding good looks, but not Zoe! Who was she trying to fool?Connel had the monopoly on sex appeal, and Zoe couldn't deny their attraction to one another, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't handle this man in her life, her feelings were too intense! But Connel always got what he wanted… and, this time, he was asking for Zoe's passionate surrender.

“Don’t you like playing games, Zoe?” (#u3316a771-1f75-5bf0-9bf2-d0562932bc27)About the Author (#u6b96cda4-552f-55da-bdc6-aa90773988a6)Title Page (#u8562229e-4bac-54f2-b614-7e1939e74c51)CHAPTER ONE (#ueceddb2e-781b-5659-b2a3-302596f07005)CHAPTER TWO (#u28e93f5a-0383-5a2a-a797-08f89207f87f)CHAPTER THREE (#u2c1ed6e9-ff29-5ed1-88aa-1a2799c6e246)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Don’t you like playing games, Zoe?”

Connel’s tone was soft, seductive, disturbing.

She refused to let it get to her. “No, I do not! And stop changing the subject.”

“I wasn’t. Isn’t that what we’re talking about? What else could I do but carry you up to bed?”

CHARLOTTE LAMB was born in London, England, in time for World War II, and spent most of it moving from relative to relative to escape bombing. Educated at a convent, she married a journalist, and now has five children. The family lives on the Isle of Man. Charlotte Lamb is the author of more than one hundred books for Harlequin Presents

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Hot Surrender

Charlotte Lamb

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

ZOE usually enjoyed driving home after a long day’s work. It gave her a chance to unwind, switch on to automatic pilot because she knew the route so well, then she could let her mind roam free. She often came up with exciting new ideas while she was driving. But tonight she was just that bit too tired, her face very pale against her flame-red hair, her green eyes sleepy. She had been up at five, at the location they were using by six, drinking a polystyrene cup of black coffee as she talked over the scene they were going to shoot with Will, the cameraman, who’d groaned as an ominous blood-red dawn swam up out of the veiled horizon, across misty, mysterious fields.

‘I knew it! Look at that sky—red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning! Yesterday was so humid, I had a gut feeling a storm was on the way.’

Will was usually right about the weather. Like an animal, he could smell rain coming or a storm brewing, so Zoe had decided to keep working for as long as the weather held off in case they couldn’t film outdoors next day. They had filmed until gone seven, when heavy rain began pouring down.

‘Have supper with me?’ Will had asked, his big blue eyes pleading.

Zoe had sighed, wishing he would stop pursuing her. She liked him a lot, but not in the way he wanted.

‘We’ll all have supper together,’ she’d diplomatically announced, and asked Catering to produce a hot meal.

Will had given her a reproachful look as they all tramped into the on-site caravan where Will slept with his precious cameras. A tall, thick-set man with amazingly well-developed muscles and a rugged face, he always said cameras were female and brooked no rivals which was why he had never married. He had occasionally dated one of the girls working on a film, but his relationships never lasted; his girlfriends always got bored with playing second fiddle to his job.

Zoe hoped that if she kept turning down his invitations he would give up on her. She didn’t believe Will was serious; he was just hoping to succeed where others had failed. Zoe’s reputation as someone who wasn’t a push-over made her a scalp some men would love to hang on their belts. It was getting very boring.

Catering had come up with chilli and rice for them all, perfect wet weather food. The crew had fallen upon it like hungry wolves, but Zoe hadn’t eaten; she was dieting. Now she was ravenous, of course. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. What did she have in the kitchen which could be cooked in a couple of minutes and wasn’t too high in calories? Eggs? Soup?

Glancing at her illuminated dashboard, she saw it was nearly eleven o’clock. Which was more vital—food or sleep? She needed both, equally urgently.

Slowing to take the corner off the main road into the narrow lane leading to her home, she waited, yawning, for a couple of lorries to thunder past.

A man loomed up beside her window out of the dark and rainy night, making her start in shock. Where on earth had he come from?

For a second she thought he was a mirage, conjured up by her weary brain, then he bent down and tried to open her door.

Zoe was a tough, capable woman of thirty-two, used to authority, scared of very little...spiders, maybe, overshooting her budget, certainly, or running late on a film. Nothing much else—but, perhaps because she was tired, at that instant her nerve-ends prickled until she remembered that she had automatically locked her doors before she started driving.

Discovering this too, the stranger tapped on her window, saying something, mouth opening and shutting, rain running down his face, drowning out his voice.

Zoe leaned over to touch the button which unwound her window electronically just a fraction. ‘What do you want?’

His voice was very deep, faintly hoarse, as if he had a cold or smoked too many cigarettes. ‘My car has broken down. Could you give me a lift to a garage?’

He was a big man, his thick black hair half hidden by the hood of an old navy anorak, a curly black beard hiding most of his lower face, looking more like a tramp than someone who owned a car. Zoe looked him over, noting that his jeans were ragged and muddy. Even if her instincts hadn’t warned her not to trust him she would never have considered giving him a lift. A woman driving alone at night was crazy if she picked up a strange man. Zoe had heard too many horror stories of women who’d done that.

‘The nearest garage shuts at nine o’clock,’ she crisply told him. ‘There’s a telephone box opposite the church, just down the road; you can ring for a taxi from there.’

His black eyes insistently staring into hers, he bit out, ‘You can’t leave me out here in this rain. I’m already soaked to the skin. I tried the phone box—it’s been vandalised. I drove through a village a couple of miles back down this road and saw a pub which looked open. It wouldn’t take you long to give me a lift back there.’

‘I’ll find my mobile phone and ring for a taxi for you,’ Zoe said reluctantly.

Groping for her bag on the seat, she unzipped it and felt among the myriad objects she always took with her to work. She pulled out the phone, held it up, showing it to him.

The wind blew rain into his face. Shivering, he said, ‘Great Ask this firm to get here as soon as possible before I die of pneumonia.’

Zoe tapped in her personal code, only to discover that the phone needed charging.

‘Sorry, it isn’t working,’ she said offhandedly, holding it up to show him she wasn’t lying. ‘I haven’t used it since this morning, but the batteries run down even if you don’t use it.’ She watched rain running down his face like tears, and felt a flash of sympathy. She would hate to be in his position. If he was another woman she wouldn’t hesitate to give him a lift, but she wasn’t risking it with some strange man.

‘Look, I’ll ring for a taxi for you the minute I get home,’ she promised. ‘Just wait here; one will be along before too long.’

He grabbed her door and hung on to it, leaning into her car in what she felt to be a menacing way. ‘How do I know you’ll keep your word?’

Zoe’s patience ran out. She was tired, her head was aching, she wanted to get home and into bed.

‘You’ll just have to trust me. Now, get out of my way or I’ll drive off with you hanging on to my door—and don’t think I won’t.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re capable of it!’ he muttered, still holding on to her door. ‘Have you thought how it will sound in the press, though?’

Zoe was sure he was too clever not to let go once she started driving away, but, just in case, she pressed the electronic button that wound her window up again.

He tried to hold the window down but couldn’t stop it closing, and had to snatch his hand away before it got crushed in the mechanism.

She put her foot down on the accelerator and drove off at speed across the main road. In her driving mirror she caught a brief glimpse of him standing in the torrential rain, glaring after her. From this distance he looked about seven foot tall, way over six foot, anyway, with wide shoulders and long, long legs, his wet jeans clamped to them, emphasising the muscled calves and thighs under the clinging cloth. She couldn’t deny he was sexy, in a glowering, thuggish sort of way.

She knew women who went wild about men like him. Women who should have more sense. She was not one of them, however.

He reminded her of someone, but she was too tired to work out who as she headed along the narrow country lane leading to her cottage. Within three minutes she saw the red roof of her cottage up ahead, half hidden by the trees shielding her garden.

She had bought Ivydene because of its peaceful setting and the wonderful view of fields and woods which gave you the impression of an uninhabited landscape. In fact there were other houses, hidden among trees and in folds of the countryside, but she had no close neighbours, could see no lighted windows. Tonight she wished she had. The brief encounter with that man had managed to knock her usual self-confidence a little.

Turning into her driveway, she parked right outside the cottage, jumped out, dashed under the shelter of the small, red-tiled porch built around her front door and locked her car from there with her electronic car key. Rain drummed on the porch roof, dripped off the ivy growing up the walls. Zoe stripped off her wax jacket and left it to drip on a hook in the wall. It was far too wet to take indoors. Stepping out of her boots, too, she stood them against the porch wall, then unlocked the front door and went into the cottage, switching on the light in the hall.