'I only just woke up.'
He was carrying a tray, which he put down across her knees. 'Here you are—orange juice, coffee, boiled eggs and toast. Or do you prefer cereal?'
'No, that looks wonderful,' she said huskily, watching him pull back the curtains to let a sunlit autumn morning into her room. He turned to skate a glance over her and she suddenly realised she was only wearing her bra and panties, and hurriedly pulled the bedclothes up to her neck.
He laughed, giving her that wicked look she remembered from the first time they met, his lashes sweeping his smooth, tanned cheeks. Mockingly he asked, 'Now, what prompted that? Come off it, Zoe—are you trying to convince me you're shy? You of all people?'
Head averted, face cold, she looked at the tray, inhaling the rich odour of the coffee, and said stiffly, 'It's very kind of you to bring me breakfast in bed. I'm not used to it.'
His brows shot up. 'Nobody ever brings you breakfast in bed? No wonder your relationships never last—you date the wrong guys.'
She ignored that, fighting to keep her temper. 'I hope you slept well?'
'Fine,' he said, sounding as if she made him laugh, which didn't improve her mood. 'Did you?'
'Yes, very well, thank you,' she said with icy politeness.
'How do you feel this morning?'
'Stiff as a board, and my ribs hurt.' She spread out her hands for him to see. 'So do my cuts and bruises. But my head's fine now and I haven't any worrying symptoms. No headache, and no eyesight problems.'
'That's good. You look better.' He observed her veiled shape in the bed, eyes dancing. 'What I can see of you.'
Her temper suddenly snapped the rein she had been keeping it on. 'I know you think you're funny, but I'm not in a mood to play games!' she said furiously. 'I don't feel well enough. So will you stop making jokes about the fact that I'm only wearing underclothes and go away?'
He was all innocence, eyes opening wide, face bewildered. 'Did I mention the subject? I never said a word! You're the one obsessed with what you're wearing, not me.'
She felt herself go red. 'You were the one who stared!'
'Sorry,' he said softly. 'Did I? Well, I'm a red-blooded male, not a monk, and when I see a half-naked girl as sexy and beautiful as you are, I can't help staring.'
'Well, try in future!' she muttered, but at the same time registered the compliment. So he thought she was beautiful? And sexy. Heat crept up her body.
He turned away, and she couldn't stop herself staring at him, riveted by the physical impact of that powerful body. He was certainly sexy, not to say beautiful, in his very male way—those wide shoulders and that deep chest, the lean, firm hips and long, long, muscled legs. His very presence in her bedroom when she was half-naked in bed was making her breathless. She had never felt quite so overpowered and aware of a man in her life. It was disturbing to feel like this. Why did he have this effect on her when she didn't even like him?
Or did she? He had charm; she couldn't dispute that. He was kind and thoughtful. He was house-trained and capable, could take care of himself and anyone else who needed it.
She approved of all that—what woman wouldn't? But he still made her hackles rise, made her bristle with resistance and resentment, because, beneath the apparent 'new man' surface lurked an unregenerate male of the old school, bossy, opinionated, domineering.
He was watching her with narrowed eyes, making her afraid he might be able to read her mind. She would put nothing past him.
'Well, I'll leave you to eat your breakfast and sulk,' he said dryly. 'You have to stay in bed today, whether you feel okay or not. And don't forget to take your pills after breakfast Your sister should be arriving around ten; she had to get her children dressed and fed first If you want anything else, ring your bell, remember.'
He went out, and as soon as she heard him going down the stairs she pushed the tray to the end of the bed and carefully slid her legs out. She urgently needed to go to the bathroom before she started on her breakfast.
She went to the lavatory, washed her hands and face rapidly, cleaned her teeth, brushed her tousled hair and put on a short cotton robe over her undies before going back to eat her breakfast After she had finished she put the tray on the floor and lay back against her pillows to contemplate the morning sky. It was going to be a wonderful day: clear skies, sunshine. Perfect for filming. There had been so much rain lately that they needed a really good day so that they could catch up with the schedule, she thought idly, and then gave a cry of horror.
Filming! She sat up with a jerk. Work! She had forgotten all about it, and the team would be hanging around waiting for her for the second time in a week! They must think she was losing it She hurriedly got out of bed and looked around for her bag—her mobile would be in it; she must ring immediately to tell them what had happened, and then…
Then what? She couldn't afford to lose any more time—the schedule was shot to hell as it was, and that was disastrous to the budget. She had to work today. Even if she felt like hell.
Whirling, she began taking clothes out of her wardrobe—workman-like jeans, a sweatshirt, a warm wool jacket in a flattering shade of aubergine which complemented her hair.
'What do you think you're doing?' Connel asked sharply from the doorway, before striding across the room and grabbing the clothes from her. He tossed them on to a chair. 'You aren't getting dressed; you're going back to bed.'
'I have to go to work! I should have been there two hours ago. The team will all be waiting; we start at first light. I'm surprised they haven't rung to find out what's happened to me.'
'They have, an hour ago. I explained you had had an accident and would be off work for a few days. Now get back into bed.' He took hold of her arm.