Hot Surrender

'Good boy,' Zoe said, in the warm, firm tones she might use to an obedient dog, and turned to hurry away before he tried to take liberties. Unfortunately, in her hurry, on those delicate high heels, she tripped on slippery paving stones.

Hal jumped to catch her. 'Steady!'

She looked up, laughing. 'Thanks, Hal. Apparently I'm accident-prone, ever since my car crash. I never was before.'

'Maybe the crash had a psychological effect on you?' Hal seriously suggested, still holding her by the waist 'Made you nervous, so you keep having accidents?'

'Maybe,' she said, wondering if he had hit a nail on the head. Then she felt his hand sliding up her spine and had the strong suspicion he was about to make a pass. Just as she was about to move away from him a chill voice from the brick steps behind them made them both start.

'Rehearsing? Or is this romantic scene for real?'

CHAPTER NINE

Hal let go of her and spun round, relaxing with a grin as he recognised his cousin. 'Oh, hi, Connel—we were just talking about you!'

'Oh, were you?' Connel drawled, staring fixedly at Zoe, those hard, glittering dark eyes sliding over her red hair, faintly dishevelled by the night air and by almost falling over. His gaze moved on to study her full red mouth, like a policeman looking for evidence—of what? she thought—before travelling slowly, with invasive intensity, over her body in the black dress as if he could see her naked.

She felt her throat flutter with awareness and nerves; now he looked the way he had the night they met in the rain: dangerous, sinister, smouldering. He was obviously angry—but why? What was he thinking, staring at her like that? His eyes accused, as if she had committed a crime.

'I didn't notice you doing any talking,' he bit out. 'I got a very different impression of what you were doing.'

Hal looked flattered, preening like an idiot parrot. His conceit was incredible. He probably believed he had cracked her at last; she was falling for him, the way so many women did! Zoe could have hit him.

She wasn't flattered. She was insulted. Did Connel really think she had been flirting with Hal, inviting him to make a pass at her? After everything she had said about the man?

'You were right the first rime,' she coldly said. 'We were talking about work.'

'Oh, sure you were! How could I have thought otherwise? Of you of all people! As if you'd be out here in the moonlight…' He paused, his mouth cynical, and looked her up and down again. 'In that dress…' he enlarged, making it sound like an insult, 'doing anything but talk about work!'

She went scarlet with rage. 'It's the truth! I had an idea for a scene Hal's going to be doing next week! I'll leave him to explain. I might hit you if I stayed here.'

She walked off before either man could stop her, but all the way back to the house she could feel Connel's hostile eyes boring their way through her back. Well, it had been a great idea to shoot that scene in his garden, it would have lifted the whole film, and it often gave a film more depth to have a wide variety of backgrounds, but he would probably refuse. That stare was not the look of a co-operative man who would listen to suggestions. Connel was about to be difficult She was glad it was Hal who was facing that icicle of a face, not her, and after the way he'd preened himself just now she had no sympathy for Hal at all. Let Connel bite his head off. She should care.

Her sister caught her eye as she appeared back in the party. Zoe got the feeling Sancha had been watching the French windows, waiting for her while pretending to listen to the group she stood with. Zoe couldn't escape, either, because the instant she set eyes on her Sancha wiggled her way through the crowd to meet her, bursting out as they met, 'What on earth have you been up to out there with Hal Thaxford? I thought you couldn't stand the man!'

'Not you too!'

Sancha fixed her eyes on Zoe's face. 'What does that mean? Who else said something about it?'

'Oh, never mind!'

'Connel?' guessed Sancha, eyes very bright. 'I saw him go out into the garden. What did he catch you and Hal doing?'

'Nothing! Not a thing. He just has a nasty mind, that's all.' Seeing her sister smile, Zoe snapped, 'And so do you! Hal's working on my film and I wanted a chat with him about his scenes, that's all.'

'At a party!' Sancha didn't buy it, any more than Connel had. They didn't understand how much a film could obsess you—to the point where you weren't interested in anything else.

Furiously, Zoe explained. 'There's never any time to talk to actors unless you catch them in Make-up. I have so much craftwork to do…checking the set, the costumes, blocking in…'

'What?'

'Making sure the light's perfect! It takes an age because the light changes all the time—well, you know that; you're a photographer yourself. It's boring for the actors, just taking up their position, so we use extras to stand in for the stars on their mark, so we can judge the way the light hits them, how they look through the lens, if there's a shine off their make-up or something they're wearing, like earrings.'

Sancha was listening intently. They rarely discussed filming; there was never time when they were alone. One or other of them always wanted to talk about personal problems, usually Sancha. Zoe had never had any serious personal problems. Until now.

She pulled herself up. What did she mean by that? She had no personal problems. Connel was not a problem. Nor did she intend him to be. She was staying as far away from him in future as she could.

She went on, trying to sound calm. Technical stuff like that is vital, but the trouble is actors always want you to tell them how to say lines, where to look, how to look. They're always asking…should I smile, should I frown? Do you want me to do this or that? Especially actors like Hal Thaxford. He constantly needs help, and then he stands there glowering in exactly the same way every time.'