Hot Surrender

'Nonsense,' both men said together, and between them lifted her into the wheelchair. Her dignity would not let her struggle. Connel wrapped his tartan rug round her again, as if she was a baby, then he moved away a little and stood talking to the doctor in tones too low for her to hear what was being said, not that she cared. She was yawning, and dying to go to sleep.

Connel seized the wheelchair a moment later and began pushing her through the long, dull corridors. There was a surreal feeling to the place, to her mood; she half believed she was already asleep and dreaming.

Afterwards she never remembered Connel putting her back into his car. She slept throughout the journey home to her cottage, slept as he picked her up, still wrapped in her rug, and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom.

Only as he put her down on her bed did she surface, briefly, to stare up into his face, confused for the first second and wondering where she was and why Connel was with her. As her memory came back she scowled at him. 'W…what do you think you're you d…doing?'

'I'm going to undress you and put you to bed,' he coolly informed her, unbuttoning her jade jacket. 'And I've done it before, so don't make a fuss. I'm not going to get over-excited so don't you!'

She pushed his hands away. 'I c.can…'

'No, you can't You're barely conscious. Just go limp and pretend it isn't happening, and it will be over in a minute.' He unzipped her pants and began pulling them down. 'I'm afraid this suit may never be the same again even when it has been cleaned—it's flecked with mud and broken glass and specks of your blood.'

She shuddered, peering down at the pants. He was right; they were a mess. 'This suit cost a fortune!'

'Never mind, at least you're alive. Now, where will I find clean pyjamas?' he asked, gently lifting her with one arm behind her back to remove her jacket.

'Never mind pyjamas,' she hurriedly said, dangerously aware of his powerful body close to her, feeling his chest lifting and falling as he breathed, inhaling the scent of him, musky, male, memorable. I'll sleep like this.' Something was bothering her. 'How did you get the front door open? And this time don't try and tell me I left it open because I know I locked it!'

'I found the key in your handbag, of course,' he casually said, then laid her down as carefully as if she was made of china, and drew the sheet over her, then the thick, comforting duvet.

'You…you…' she spluttered.

'Yes?' he asked, smiling.

'You had no right to go through my handbag!'

'What was I supposed to do? Sit out there in my car with you all night? Don't be a stupid woman. Try to use the brains God gave you. Now, is there anything I can get you? Milk? Water? A cup of hot chocolate or some tea?'

'No, thank you,' she said through tight lips. His excuse was unanswerable, but then it always was! The man was too clever—how did you cope with a man with a mind like his? She found it hard to believe he was Hal Thaxford's cousin—they were miles apart.

The light went out and she lay in the dark, thinking about him drowsily. She had never met a man like him. He constantly surprised.

With a start she heard him tiptoing across the room and tensed, her pulses jangling.

'What are you doing?' she demanded, ready to fight if he tried to get into bed with her.

'Sorry, did I wake you? I was trying not to make a sound. I suddenly realised you might need a drink of water in the middle of the night so I brought up a jug of water and a glass.' He audibly put them down, the glass clinking against the jug. 'There you are. Anything else you want?'

'No,' she said, still tense. Was that a straightforward question or some sort of proposition?

'Okay. I rang your sister, and she's coming over first thing in the morning.'

'You shouldn't have! Sancha has enough to do already, and she'll bring Flora with her to drive me crazy.'

'She insisted. She would have come tonight, but I told her there was no need to as I would stay with you. You must have somebody here, looking after you, until the risk of concussion is over, and I have to go to work.'

'Did I ask you to stay? I don't need anybody. I can take care of myself.'

'Not in the state you're in! Now, shut up. Go to sleep—if you need me, I'll be in the next room. I found this brass bell in your sitting room—ring that' She heard it softly chime as he put it down on her already overcrowded bedside table.

He was gone before she could protest and she felt too odd to move. For a few moments she lay there, brooding over his high-handed, infuriating behaviour, but she was too exhausted to stay awake for long. Five minutes later she was fast asleep, and when she woke again it was to find the bedroom full of morning sunshine and a smell of coffee which made her nose twitch. Coffee! Wonderful. That was what she needed.

Gingerly she sat up. Movement

still made her wince, but her head wasn't going round and there was nothing wrong with her vision; she could see Connel Hillier perfectly clearly as he walked into the room. Her nerves jumped—freshly shaved, in what was obviously a clean shirt and jeans. How had he managed that? Had he got a travelling wardrobe in his car? And why was he so tall? Every time she saw him he seemed to be taller.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at her, face surprised. 'Oh, you're awake! Why didn't you give me a shout? I would have brought your breakfast up earlier.'