Out of Control

'My mother has taken a liking to you,' he said, turning back to look at her after a glance at the dark green chessmen, and he saw that look in her face and bent towards her with a harshly indrawn breath. 'Liza!'

She pulled away and started walking back towards the house, saying unsteadily, 'I'm glad, I like your mother, too.'

'Don't run away,' he said, catching hold of her shoulders and holding her there, against his body, his head resting on her shoulder and his low voice close to her ear. 'Don't be scared of it, Liza. I'm not going to hurt you. You'll never be hurt through me, I promise you!'

'Men always make promises they don't mean to keep,' she said tightly.

'Are you going to waste the whole of your life because one man was a bastard ?' he asked and she felt the bitter tension in the body pressing behind her, his angry breathing as if he had been running. He tightened his hold and whirled her to face him and looking up Liza saw a face which was white and drawn in lines of rage, or was it pain?

'Did you love him that much?' he asked, his blue eyes dark with violence, and she couldn't speak because he terrified her when he looked like that. 'What was his name?' Keir asked thickly. 'I'll find him and he'll pay—I promise you, he'll pay for what he did, Liza.'

She stared at him, stricken dumb, incredulous because she couldn't tell herself any more that Keir was only playing, chasing her for amusement, that he didn't really care about her. There was a fierce emotion in his face and she started shaking as if she was in shock. She was icy cold, convulsively shivering.

'Let me go,' she half sobbed, and Keir's hands released her slowly while he stared down at her pallor and distress.

'What . ..' he began and she didn't wait for him to finish the sentence, she turned and ran across the dew-wet grass, up the stone steps, towards the dreaming house trapped in a sunny web of summer.

She got back to her room without anyone seeing her and sat down on her bed, still trembling and still seeing inside her head Keir's face, the barbaric lines of jealousy and rage bitten into it.

She should not have come to his home; she couldn't keep him at arm's length while she was here, there were too many opportunities for them to meet. And she was rapidly becoming her own worst enemy, because she had begun to care for him; she was in love and constantly betraying herself. Her eyes, her body, were the traitors-she had begun to want him and Keir was far too clever to miss those telltale symptoms. He had seen them at once just now; either reading them in her face or intuitively picking up the vibrations in her body, and he hadn't hesitated in following up that advantage. All men were ...

She broke off, groaning, burying her face in her shaky hands. No, Keir wasn't like all men. She had felt the depth of feeling in his body just as he had felt it in hers. Their senses answered each other; her skin clung to his when they touched, her blood beat to the same rhythm. She must not lie to herself. Keir wasn't lying or deceiving her; it was real for him, too, and that was making her feel weak, helpless, hollow inside. Outside in the sunlit garden she had wanted to s

urrender to that feeling, to him, but she couldn't. She mustn't.

If she got hurt again she didn't know how she would survive it; she was no longer young enough to have the resilience of the first time. She had thought then that she would never get over it; but she had in time, scarred and embittered, but at last free of the pain and the longing.

Now she was safe, on a calm, happy plateau where day succeeded day in the same mood and no violent emotions swept her, there was no pain or fear. She had no highs and lows, but she had sanity, reason, a sense of contentment. She didn't want to be swept away by love again; she wanted her feet on the ground.

She stood up and walked to the window to stare out at the sunny garden—it looked so lovely out there, so peaceful, but the garden was full of predators and dangers; she must not stray into it alone again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was another half an hour before Pam tapped on her door, and by then Liza had herself under control again and was able to smile and talk normally.

'I'm glad you're awake,' Pam said eagerly. 'I've been sitting in my room wondering what to do—I didn't like to go downstairs too early in case nobody was about, but I'm starving!'

Liza laughed. 'So am I, so well go and find some breakfast, shall we?'

There was no sign of Keir, but there was a lady in a blue dress carrying a tray of coffee and toast through the hall, so they followed her into a sunny morning-room overlooking the terraced lawns and found a number of the men sitting at a table, eating breakfast already. The woman was placing toast in front of Nicky Wallis, who was reading a newspaper. His assistant was eating bacon and egg, and Terry Lexington was drinking black coffee. They all looked up and greeted Liza and Pam.

'Sleep well? I slept like one of the dead,' said Nicky.

'It's so quiet here!' Pam said, sounding appalled. 'I couldn't hear a sound and I got real nervous; I kept listening, waiting for something, then I dropped off, I guess.'

'I wasn't expecting to see you up so early,' Liza said to the men, after telling the woman in blue that she didn't want a cooked breakfast, a slice of toast would do.

'We've got a lot to do today,' Nicky informed her briskly, folding his paper. 'We're going to walk around and find some locations. Want to come?'

'Oh, yes, please,' Pam said breathlessly and Liza nodded. She had no intention of being left behind. She was going to keep out of Keir's way while she was here, and staying close to the other men would be the best protection.

Just as they all left the table, Keir arrived with his sister and there was a brief chat, although Liza took no part in that, wandering into the hall and hovering there, waiting for the others. She hoped Keir wouldn't join them and was relieved to see that he wasn't among the group who headed towards the garden a few moments later. He was, it seemed, having breakfast with his sister.

He joined them an hour later and listened with intent interest to the discussions between Nicky and Terry. As those became more involved and technical, Liza dis­creetly slid away back to the house and found Pippa Morris arranging roses in a bowl in the hall, the deep, rich red of the petals reflected in the polished silver of the bowl. She worked slowly and methodically, her move­ments graceful, and Lisa watched her for a moment before walking towards her.

Looking up, Pippa said, 'Oh, hello—I thought you were all out in the gardens.'

'The others still are, but I got bored with all the technical details. I always did find them tedious.' Liza admired the roses, 'They're lovely, aren't they? Do you enjoy arranging flowers? I once read a book on doing that; it isn't as easy as it looks, is it?'