'Us?' she repeated, shivering as the gale blew and trees bent and swayed like drunks.
Connel's eyes focused intently on her pale face. 'It's cold out here. Shall we go in or aren't you going to invite me in tonight?'
She looked at him helplessly, tears burning in her eyes. 'Go away, Connel. Just go away. I'm too tired to cope with you tonight.'
'Why are you crying?'
'I'm not!'
'I can see the tears in your eyes, hear them in your voice!'
'Go away, go away,' she yelled, swung and tried to open her front door, but couldn't get the key into the lock because her hands were shaking too much.
Shouldering her aside, Connel took the key and opened the door. She tried to rush inside, before he could, but he was immediately behind her and still had her key. He closed the front door, shutting out the howling wind, put on the light and she flinched from it, covering her eyes with one hand.
'Look, I'm tired. I want you to go!' There was a lot more she wanted to say but dared not start to say in case she broke down like a child and sobbed and wailed in front of him. Her pride wouldn't let her do that. He mustn't know just how much she cared.
He walked past her and she heard him switch on the central healing, then there was the sound of water running as he filled a kettle. He knew where everything was in her house; he knew the place almost as well as she did.
She shed her sheepskin coat, hung it up, walked slowly, reluctantly, into the kitchen.
'I thought you were in the Argentine.'
'I was. Now I'm here.' He intended to make tea, had the teapot set out on a tray with cups, milk and a sugar bowl; he always did everything so swiftly and efficiently.
'Sancha thought you might be planning to stay there.'
'Oh, did she? Your sister has a busy imagination, doesn't she? She's way off with my future plans, though. My trip to the Argentine was strictly business. I was over there to check out a contract which is up for tender—a major civil engineering project worth millions. I've decided to go for it.'
'So Sancha wasn't wrong at all! If you're planning to get involved in work over there you'll have to live there.'
'Not necessarily. I shall delegate. Mark speaks Spanish.'
'Mark?' She was taken aback, stared at him open-mouthed for a minute, thinking through the implications, then burst out, 'But what about Sancha and the children? He'd either have to leave them behind or uproot them all, and Sancha is just about to start a whole new career, and the children don't speak Spanish and…'
Impatiently, Connel interrupted, 'We may not even get the contract, and if we do I'll talk things over with Mark before I make any decisions.'
'Mind my own business, you mean!' she muttered. 'But Sancha and the kids are my business. I love them and I don't want to see their lives
blown apart.'
'Don't you think Mark will make sure that doesn't happen? That marriage strikes me as pretty sound. I'm sure he'll discuss it with Sancha before he comes to a decision about going to the Argentine.'
She snapped at him, 'Mark is an old-fashioned male— he thinks it's up to him to make decisions about his job. I don't think he will take Sancha's career plans very seriously.'
The water had boiled. He made the tea, covered the pot with a padded cosy, took the tray over to the table while she watched, thinking that the man was astonishingly domesticated for someone so tough and male. 'It still isn't your problem, Zoe,' he told her over his shoulder. 'It's Mark and Sancha's decision. Haven't you got enough worries of your own without taking on your sister's?'
'Snap,' she said belligerently. 'You keep telling me what to do—why don't you take your own advice and mind your own business? Just go away and leave me alone, will you?'
He swung and caught hold of her arms, pulled her towards him before she had notice of his intention.
'No,' he said roughly, and she looked up into eyes like black holes in space and was silenced by the intensity of his stare.
'You aren't dumping me, Zoe, I won't let you,' he said, his voice thick and angry, then his head came down and his mouth moved hungrily against hers, the force of his kiss pushing her head back, so that she had to grab at him to stay upright.
He let go of her arms and framed her face between his hands, his kiss deepening, pushing her lips apart Zoe's arms went round his neck. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him back, past trying to hide anything, giving in to her desire for him.
He was muttering something against her mouth. For a second she couldn't make out what he was saying, then she caught the words.