Out of Control

He smiled slowly, a cynical,

amused, half-teasing smile. 'I think maybe you should, Liza,' he said, and she turned and almost ran into her bedroom and bolted the door.

CHAPTER THREE

Liza slept so heavily that when she woke up it was a wrenching shock; her nerves jangled as she felt herself coming back to life, and for a few seconds she was too disorientated to know where she was or remember everything that had happened last night. She lay there, eyes closed, hearing noises she could identify, but which for some reason filled her with alarm. Shouts, the slamming of a door, knocking.

Then she sat up, trembling—what was going on downstairs? It was daylight; a cool, clear daylight. It was morning, but Liza could have slept on for hours if she hadn't been forced to wake up. She slid her legs out of bed and stood up, staggering, as if she was drunk, and in a way she was—drunk with sleep, almost drowning in it.

She had been so tired when she'd finally got to bed— not merely with the long journey she had made from London, or the alarums and excursions when she arrived—all the tension of running into Keir Zachary's car and arguing, the reporter, everything that had happened—but with the exhaustion of the previous two days, Bruno and the Press. Emotional hassle could be as tiring as physical exhaustion. She had needed to sleep to process everything that had happened to her over the past few days.

And now she had woken up to what sounded horribly like more problems! It sounded, in fact, as if the house was under siege, and Liza grabbed up her dressing-gown and splashed her face with cold water to make sure she was awake, then groped for the door, yawning convulsively.

The hall was empty and as Liza made her way down the stairs the banging and shouting outside the house faded away. From the kitchen floated a delicious smell, though.

Coffee, Liza thought, following her nose. She pushed open the door and was surprised to find the kitchen shadowy; Keir Zachary had pulled down the blinds, something she almost never did, although they were very pretty—white cotton printed with apple blossom and red apples and green leaves, very sharp and bright. The colours matched the green and white of the kitchen units. The whole room was gay and cheerful, especially in the mornings, when the sun flooded in, so why on earth had he pulled down the blinds?

'Why haven't you gone?' she demanded as he turned to look at her. He was surprisingly well groomed for a man who had spent the night on a sofa; his dark hair was brushed and neat, his skin smooth and shaven, his clothes were not the ones he had worn last night, and Liza stared in stupefaction and growing suspicion. 'Where did you get those clothes from?' she asked furiously.

'My suitcase,' he said.

'Suitcase? What suitcase?'

'It was in the back of the estate car.'

Liza thought about that, frowning at him. 'Why did you have a suitcase in the back of the car?'

'Because I've been spending a few days with some friends in Essex, and I was on my way back home when you ran into me!' he said, pouring coffee. 'Sugar? No, I remember, you don't take it.' He handed her a cup and she absent-mindedly inhaled with a sigh of pleasure.

'So that's why you were able to shave, too,' she thought aloud, and he nodded. Then Liza remembered the noise outside the house, and asked, 'What on earth was all that shouting and banging?'

'I was up an hour ago,' said Keir in a casual, conversational tone. 'I had my first cup of coffee, then I went out to my car and got my case and changed, and had a wash and shaved. I meant to be on my way long before you woke up, so I rang the local garage and they promised to come and get my car and tow it away. They arrived ten minutes ago and they brought a hire car for me. They handed me the keys and drove off and I was just leaving myself when that reporter came back.'

'Oh, no!' Liza groaned and he grimaced.

'Oh, yes, and he brought a friend.'

'A friend?' she asked, apprehensively.

'A photographer.'

Liza went white, then red. 'They . . . they didn't get a . . .?'

'Picture of me? No,' he said grimly. 'They almost did, but my antennae are too good. I opened the front door and they dived out a car at once, but I spotted them immediately, saw the camera, and got back indoors. They pounded up the path and started yelling and knocking.' He sipped his coffee and lounged on one of Liza's tall, kitchen stools, green leather with shiny chrome legs. She had thought of them as very functional, but Keir Zachary's lean body draped on them gave them a distinctly glamorous air; the kitchen took on the look of a night-club.

'Damn!' Liza said, biting her lip.

'You're very mild this morning. I expected something a little more explosive,' he drawled and she ignored him, going over to the window to let the blinds up.

'Why on earth did you pull these down?' she asked, reaching for the cord, and Keir Zachary's body hit her at that instant, dragging her away and clamping her so powerfully that she couldn't breath. Her eyes opened wide in shock.

'What do you think you're doing?' she managed hoarsely, her skin now icy cold, now feverish, as she felt his hard body so close, touching hers from neck to thigh.

'Don't touch the blinds! Are you stupid?' he asked in a deep, impatient roar, and she jumped again, afraid and bewildered.

'Why shouldn't I? What are you talking about?'

'Why do you think I pulled them down? Those men out there have already prowled round the house, looking in the windows—luckily I'd anticipated them and they didn't see a thing."