Running From the Storm. Lee Wilkinson

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СКАЧАТЬ guest room. But the combination of tiredness and alcohol had zonked her so completely that she had no recollection of the journey, or of arriving here.

      She was still wearing her dress, and her jacket was hung neatly over a nearby chair. Her evening bag was lying on the bedside table.

      She must have his housekeeper to thank.

      Wondering how long she had slept, she looked at her watch a little blearily and found it was mid-morning.

      She still felt slightly muzzy from the unaccustomed drink, but a refreshing shower would help to clear her head and set her to rights.

      Galvanized into action, she pushed back the duvet and swung her feet to the floor.

      After removing the bandage and cautiously trying out her injured ankle, she found it was less painful than she had expected and she could just about walk on it with care.

      The pale grey carpet was soft as smoke beneath her bare feet as she crossed to where her luggage had been placed on a low chest.

      When she had found her toilet things and a change of clothing, she made her cautious way to the sumptuous en suite bathroom, with its mirrored walls and off-white carpet.

      There she found a luxurious bathtub and shower, and on a glass shelf an array of toiletries, towels and a pair of folded bathrobes.

      By the time she stepped out of the shower the hot water had done its work; her head had cleared and she was feeling altogether brighter.

      Wearing one of the bathrobes, she brushed her teeth and blow-dried her long hair, leaving it loose around her shoulders before returning to the bedroom.

      Having donned clean undies, a silky dress that echoed the turquoise, green and gold of a tropical sea, and flat-heeled sandals, she swapped her evening bag for her handbag, which she’d put in her holdall, and repacked her case.

      Then, leaving her bag and a lightweight jacket on top of the case, she ventured onto the landing. She was suddenly filled with excitement and anticipation at the thought of seeing Zander again. She made her way down the graceful curve of stairs to a spacious hall, with doors leading off on either side.

      Right at the far end, through a partially open door, she could see a small but well-equipped gym but it appeared to be empty.

      Everywhere was silent and, with no one about to ask, she went to the nearest door and tapped lightly on it.

      She struck lucky the first time. Her knock was answered by Zander’s voice calling, ‘Come in.’

      Wondering if he would have the same powerful impact she recalled from the previous evening, she walked into an office full of state-of-the-art technology.

      Looking fresh and strikingly attractive in an olive-green silk shirt, short-sleeved and open at the neck, he was sitting behind a desk working with a laptop. A lock of his thick blond hair, which was parted on the left and cut fairly short, hung over his forehead.

      When he glanced up, and those eyes met hers—those fascinating green eyes—she found it difficult to breathe.

      Which effectively answered her question.

      Rising to his feet, he brushed back the stray lock and, with a smile that stopped her breath completely, said, ‘Ah, so you’re up. When I checked on you a little while ago, you were still sleeping soundly. How are you feeling this morning?’

      Somehow she dragged air into her lungs and managed, ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Seeing him start to shut down the computer, she added in a rush, ‘Please don’t stop work on my account.’

      ‘I’ve done all I need to do. How’s the ankle?’

      ‘Oh, much easier.’

      He frowned. ‘It still looks a little swollen. I’d better put another bandage on it. But first I presume you could do with a drink of some kind?’

      ‘I certainly could,’ she admitted.

      ‘Can you make it through to the kitchen without too much discomfort?’

      If she said no, he would carry her; just the thought of being lifted and held in his arms again made her feel almost lightheaded.

      Pushing aside temptation, she assured him, ‘Oh yes, I can manage quite well so long as I’m careful.’

      As they crossed the hall he slipped a hand beneath her bare elbow, sending shivers running up and down her spine.

      He seemed even taller than she remembered, and somehow his height and the mature width of his shoulders, his sheer masculinity, made her feel dainty and feminine.

      The kitchen at Hallgarth was large and airy, with all mod cons, its open windows letting in the sunshine and fresh mountain air.

      Comfortable and homely, it was fitted out like a farmhouse-style living-kitchen, with hickory furniture and an open range, which at the moment was partially screened by a vase of flame-blue delphiniums and pale-pink scented roses.

      Caris had half-expected his housekeeper to be there, but they seemed to have the place to themselves. Wondering about it, she asked, ‘Does your housekeeper live in?’

      ‘Mrs Timmins lives over the garage. But it’s her weekend off. I hope you don’t mind?’

      Flustered to realize he must be the one who had put her to bed, she stammered, ‘Well, n-no, I … No, of course not.’

      He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I realize it would have been much more circumspect if my housekeeper had been here, but she’s gone up to Buffalo to visit her family.’

      Straight-faced, but with a gleam in his eye that suggested he was teasing, he went on, ‘If in the circumstances you feel seriously compromised …’

      Caris was about to deny any such thing when he finished, ‘You can always marry me.’

      His words made her heart give a little jump. Managing a laugh, she said with determined lightness, ‘That seems a little drastic.’

      ‘You mean you’ll settle for less?’

      ‘I’ll settle for a cup of coffee.’

      He sighed. ‘Well, if you change your mind about marrying me, just let me know.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      HAVING filled a percolator and put it on the electric hob, he took a first-aid box from a cupboard and squatted on the hearthrug at her feet.

      ‘While that heats, suppose I take a look at your ankle?’

      Watching her wince as he ran assessing fingers over her ankle and slender foot, he said, ‘I think some more spray and another bandage wouldn’t go amiss.’

      The cold spray was soothing—his nearness anything but—and she quivered inwardly at the thought of those strong, long-fingered hands touching her while she slept.

      Her pulse rate going up alarmingly, she did her СКАЧАТЬ