He gave her a sardonic smile as he began to fill the percolator with cold water. ‘No cream in your fridge, I see! Dieting, I suppose?’ Another of those cool, assessing glances that made her spine shiver. ‘Well, I’m not! I’ll make do with black coffee, but I hope you’ve got some sugar.’
‘Mr Hillier, I did not invite you to this house, but you are my guest so stop knocking the way I live!’ She was really furious now. Who did he think he was? ‘There’s sugar in the far cupboard on the right.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Look, I’m exhausted. I’ve had a tough day and I want to get some sleep before I have to get up again in the morning. Would you please eat your meal and leave? I’m sure the taxi driver won’t care what you’re wearing.’ An idea hit her and she hurried out into the hall, to come back with a long brown drover’s mac which she had bought in Australia a couple of years ago.
‘You could wear this! Nobody will notice what you’re wearing under it.’
He was putting a plate under the oven grill, which he had turned on. He glanced at the coat, came over to take it, held it up against him, nodding. ‘Terrific, thanks. At least you’ve got good taste in clothes. I’ll borrow it, but I’ll still want to wear my own clothes under it.’
‘I’ll post them on to you tomorrow.’
Shaking his head, he went over to the microwave as it began to bleep. ‘No, I’ll wait for them.’
Zoe was almost desperate to get rid of him. Her voice high, she yelled, ‘This is my house, and I want you to go!’
He opened the curry and inhaled. ‘Smells wonderful.’ Switching off the grill, he used a teatowel to get the plate out, tipped the golden chicken and sauce out on to the plate, surrounded it with the fluffy white rice which had also been in the packet, sat down at the table and began to eat with a fork. ‘Could you pour the coffee?’
‘What did your last slave die of?’
‘Delight,’ he said, sliding her a wicked glance from under his extraordinarily long black lashes.
Zoe’s rage wasn’t as strong as her sense of humour; she couldn’t help laughing, much though she wished she could.
He grinned at her. ‘So you are human?’
‘Human—and exhausted,’ she told him, pouring coffee into the mugs. She might as well drink some herself—clearly she wasn’t going to be able to get rid of him for quite a while, and she couldn’t go to bed, leaving a total stranger in her house.
‘How many hours did you work today?’
‘I was up at five, at work by six,’ she told him, sitting down opposite him at the table.
He studied her, brows lifted. ‘Your eyes are red. They match your hair.’
Flushed, she crossly snapped, ‘Thanks. That makes me feel really glamorous.’
He went on staring at her, his black lashes half down over his eyes. ‘The jeans are pretty ancient, aren’t they? But you still manage to make them look like high fashion. I’m not sure how. I suppose it’s just that you’re gorgeous, whatever you wear—even with red eyes! And I must be the millionth man to tell you so. I ought to get a prize for that.’ He leaned over and kissed her mouth briefly, a mere brush of his lips, before she could draw back, and then went on coolly eating his chicken curry.
Zoe drew a shaken breath and was furious with herself. Anyone would think she had never been kissed before! That light touch of his mouth had lasted a second or two—she could almost believe she had imagined it except for this odd breathlessness. She rubbed her mouth, glaring. ‘You take more liberties than any man I’ve ever met! What do you do for a living? D’you work in the media? Only reporters have that much gall.’
He laughed. ‘No. I’m an explorer.’
She blinked, thinking she’d misheard. ‘A what?’ Maybe it was because she was so tired that she was feeling so disorientated, her ears and eyes playing tricks on her, her face flushed, as if she had a fever.
‘Explorer.’ He finished his meal and pushed it away. ‘I’m just back from South America. I’ve been mapping the mountain ranges from Tierra del Fuego all along the coast to the Cord de Mérida, right up in Venezuela. They run from one end of the continent to the other, just inland from the coast, over four thousand miles of mountains, many of them up to four thousand feet high. I’ve been out there for a year, climbing, filming, drawing.’
Open-mouthed, she asked, ‘Alone?’ and he laughed, white teeth showing against tanned skin.
‘No, thank heavens. I was with an international expedition—Europeans, a couple of dozen of us, all specialists: photographers, a couple of doctors, scientists, geologists, biologists. But we were all climbers; that was essential. In those mountains you need to know what you’re doing and you need other people you can rely on. Lives could be lost otherwise.’ He yawned, got up, went to the washing machine and bent to look at the contents. ‘I’ll click this through the cycle now and get it on rinse, then we can pop the clothes into the dryer.’
‘You’re not married, are you?’ Zoe thoughtfully said, watching him deftly adjust the machine.
He turned, gave her a cynical look from those deep, dark eyes, shaking his head. ‘No. Don’t tell me you have scruples about getting involved with married men? Hal didn’t tell me that.’
‘Hal doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does!’ she broke out angrily. ‘He doesn’t really know me at all. We’ve never been what you could call friends!’
‘What does that mean? Translate for me. By “friends” do you actually mean lovers?’
‘No! I mean what most people mean by the word “friends”. Hal and I have worked together...’
‘And he never made a pass?’ Connel sounded disbelieving, and she could imagine why, knowing Hal Thaxford, who made a pass at any attractive woman he met.
‘He made them, yes,’ she said coldly.
‘And got slapped down?’
‘Hard. I told him I wasn’t interested, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer until I slapped his face too. He isn’t very bright, you know, or a very good actor. Too wooden. And typically he thinks he’s God’s gift. He has no idea he’s second-rate. When he finally took on board that I would not get involved with him he started sulking. ’
‘Hmm.’ Connel Hillier was eying her dryly. ‘Hal’s version of this story is somewhat different. In fact, he says it was the other way round—he wasn’t interested in you and you resented it.’
Zoe shrugged, unsurprised. ‘Well, you can make your own mind up which of us you believe! And, by the way, I’ve no intention of getting involved with you, either, Mr Hillier. I asked if you were married because it’s obvious you’re used to looking after yourself—you know how a washing machine works, and you can do your own cooking. If you were married, your wife would probably do all that.’
‘These days most men can take care of themselves, married or not.’
‘Some men can! Some men don’t see why they should bother, once they’re married!’
‘A few, maybe. But my brother, for instance, is as capable of cooking a three-course meal as his wife, because Cherry is a high-powered executive who often doesn’t get home until midnight, so Declan has to take care of himself when she’s busy.’
‘They don’t have children, presumably?’
He shook his head. ‘Cherry’s on the fast track at work; she doesn’t plan on having kids for years yet. But she’s only twenty-six; she has plenty of time.’
‘And your brother’s happy with that?’
‘He