Running From the Storm. Lee Wilkinson

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      Surprised by the way he had picked up so accurately what she was thinking and feeling, she asked, ‘How long have you been psychic?’

      ‘So I guessed right? You don’t want to go home?’

      As lightly as possible, she said, ‘I don’t have much choice now I’m not going to Catona.’

      ‘Why not spend the night at my house?’

      As her head came up, he added, ‘I ought to make it clear that this isn’t an indecent proposal. But as you don’t want to go home—’

      Horrified in case he thought she had been angling for an invitation, she broke in sharply. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘I just couldn’t.’ Uncomfortably, she added, ‘I didn’t mean to sound as if I was …’

      On her wavelength immediately, he heaved a mock sigh. ‘That’s a pity. I was rather hoping you wanted my company as much as I wanted yours. However, if you don’t, there’s always the river.’

      Smiling in spite of herself, she said, ‘I just didn’t want you to think I was—’

      ‘I didn’t think anything of the kind. But, if by any chance I had, I assure you I would have been extremely flattered. So do come.’

      ‘I really couldn’t put you to so much trouble,’ she protested thickly.

      ‘It’s no trouble. Hallgarth has a perfectly good guest room, which my housekeeper always leaves made up, and we can be there in less than half an hour.’

      Persuasively, he added, ‘Say yes, and after you’ve enjoyed a good night’s sleep we can have breakfast together before I take you home.’

      Under normal circumstances, common sense would have insisted that she should say no and mean it. But too much alcohol had swamped both her usual reserve and her inhibitions. If truth be told, she was curious to see his house.

      After a brief hesitation, she threw caution to the winds and agreed, ‘Very well, I’ll come.’

      He smiled, a white, attractive smile that creased his lean cheeks and made her heart give a little lurch. ‘That’s good.’

      Watching her stifle yet another yawn, he signalled to the waiter to bring her jacket, adding, ‘If I don’t get you home soon, you’ll be fast asleep.’

      When he had paid the bill and added a generous tip, he lifted her into his arms.

      At that moment Claude appeared and beamed at them. ‘I hope you have enjoyed a good meal and had a pleasant evening?’

      ‘We can answer a resounding yes to both those questions,’ Zander told him.

      ‘Then you must both come again as my guests.’

      ‘We’ll look forward to it.’

      Their thanks and goodbyes said, they made their way out to the car.

      When Caris was settled in the front passenger seat, Zander got behind the wheel and fastened both their seatbelts. In a matter of seconds they had left the lighted restaurant behind them.

      Only when they were travelling down a deserted, tree-lined road, their headlights groping through the darkness like the luminous antennae of some insect, did she have second thoughts about the wisdom of what she was doing.

      After all, it was far from sensible behaviour to go off into the blue with a man she scarcely knew, a man who, though he had talked about a housekeeper and a guest room, had a reputation as a Casanova.

      As though he sensed her sudden unease, he glanced sideways at her in the weird, unearthly light from the dashboard.

      ‘Something wrong?’

      ‘No, not really …’ she mumbled.

      ‘I thought you might perhaps be regretting your decision to come?’

      Her silence effectively answered his question.

      ‘What are you afraid of? That I might turn out to be a homicidal maniac?’

      ‘Of course not!’

      ‘Then you’re scared I’ll twirl an imaginary moustache and whisk you off into the woods like some pantomime villain?’

      ‘Hardly.’

      ‘But that’s closer to the mark?’

      Once again her silence spoke for her.

      He sighed. ‘I frankly admit that if you do want to share my bed I’ll be delighted. But, if you don’t, then you’ll be as safe as if you were in a nunnery.’

      Though his tone was quizzical, her every instinct told her that he spoke the exact truth.

      More seriously, he went on, ‘If I haven’t managed to set your mind at rest, and you really don’t trust me, say so at once and I’ll be happy to turn round and take you home.’

      ‘I do trust you. Implicitly,’ she added.

      ‘Thank you for that.’

      He drove in silence for a while, then as they took the road that climbed steadily into the mountains he slanted her a glance.

      She was asleep, her thick lashes making dark fans on her high cheekbones, her lovely mouth slightly parted. She looked both alluring and vulnerable, and he felt a strong urge to stop the car and kiss her.

      When they reached Hallgarth and drew up in the pool of light cast by the porch lantern, she was still sound asleep.

      Reluctant to disturb her, he left her where she was while he took her case and holdall up to the pleasant but seldom-used guest room.

      Returning to the car, he lifted her out carefully and carried her up the hickory staircase. Laying her down on the bed, he removed her sandals before settling her dark head on the pillow and pulling up the lightweight duvet.

      He had half-expected her to stir and open her eyes, but she remained soundly asleep until he finished his ministrations and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

      When Caris awoke, she opened her eyes to a large, pleasant room with light modern furniture and apricot walls. A room that was totally strange to her.

      Two long windows hung with fine muslin curtains looked out over well-tended lawns and colourful flowerbeds to a group of white wooden chalet-type buildings. Through a vine-hung trellis she could just glimpse the blue waters of a swimming pool.

      For a moment or so she was at a complete loss, with no idea where she was or how she had got there.

      Then it all came rushing back—the magical evening she had spent with Zander and his invitation to spend the night at his house.

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