One Summer At The Lake: Maid for Montero / Still the One / Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town. Susan Carlisle
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СКАЧАТЬ thought you’d already left.’

      ‘What gave you that idea?’

      ‘You make friends very easily.’ The moment the remark left her lips she regretted it. She glanced guiltily over her shoulder to where a distinctive throaty laugh placed the vet. The woman had by all accounts been dumped by her husband of fifteen years for a younger model. Who only knew what insecurities her flirtatious behaviour masked?

      Zoe felt a stab of shame. The woman was vulnerable and needed sympathy, not catty remarks behind her back. She actually deserved admiration—she had come out fighting after being kicked in the teeth.

      ‘Actually, I don’t.’

      The comment brought her attention back to the tall Spaniard. It was clear he had not been canvassing the sympathy vote, simply stating a fact.

      ‘I think you’ve made a few today.’ Not a single person she had spoken to had had a bad word to say about him, and several had told her how lucky she was to be working for him.

      Frankly, all the rave reviews were beginning to grate. People were so superficial they didn’t look past the handsome face, perfect body and incredible smile. How many people but her had noticed him empty his glass of wine into the pot plant? Possibly the ones who hadn’t taken their eyes off him all night? No, they acted as if he’d done them a favour by deigning to show up.

      Zoe had been forced to bite her tongue on several occasions. She’d hoped he’d behave well and not upset anyone but she hadn’t bargained on him turning the entire community into his devoted fans, who wouldn’t believe that the man had sacked her within two minutes of setting eyes on her, that he was still looking for an excuse. Oh, yeah, he really was a great guy!

      Friendship required trust. Isandro did not consider his inability to trust easily a character flaw; rather he valued his true friends all the more because he knew how rare they were.

      His eyes brushed her face and he was struck again by the directness of her blue stare. ‘I have many acquaintances, but few friends.’

      And you’re not even an acquaintance, Zoe. You’re an employee. The taxi driver, not the date. ‘I suppose it’s difficult to tell if someone loves you or your bank balance.’

      ‘I do not require love.’ His brows lifted. ‘Or are you talking about sex?’

      ‘Sex?’

      By some horrid twist of fate her yelped echo coincided with a lull in the conversation.

      Oh, let me die now, Zoe thought as everyone turned to look at her.

      ‘Strange how that always happens.’

      ‘Not to me, it doesn’t.’ She struggled to see him as gaffe prone. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I see…’ She made a vague gesture and headed across the room, accepting a few good-natured teasing comments as she went.

      ‘What I need,’ she muttered, ‘is to cool down.’

      ‘God, yes, it’s warm in here, isn’t it? Try one of these.’ Once again her comment had reached more than its target audience—herself.

      She looked at the tall glass that clinked with ice in her hand, and opened her mouth to ask the person with the tray what it was, but he was gone.

      Walking out through the open French windows, she sniffed it warily before picking out a floating strawberry to taste. The overwhelming flavour over and above the fruit was pineapple. It seemed innocuous enough, and a tentative sip reinforced this analysis. Satisfied it was one of the delicious mocktails that Chloe had made, she took a swallow.

      She passed a group of men chatting, then wandered out onto the steep sloped lawn shaded by a row of tall oak trees in the field beyond. She sat down on the stump of a recently felled tree and swallowed some more of the fruit concoction. It was actually so delicious it made you wonder why people bothered with alcohol.

      Tipping her head back to look at the starry sky, she thought that a person really should stop occasionally and just enjoy being alive. Lie on the grass and feel the earth…and why not?

      Lying flat on her back, staring up at the stars, she began to hum a little tune softly to herself before she closed her eyes. Did she drift off?

      ‘I can’t, I really can’t take this…’ She half lifted her head at the sound of John’s voice. Why was he ignoring her? She let out a small giggle and thought, Because he can’t see me! I’m lying down.

      ‘Yes, you can. Just think how much better it will be for Chloe and Hannah if they have you there to support them.’

      This deeper voice with the sexy accent—she recognised that, too!

      John and Isandro.

      ‘I don’t know what to say.’ There was the sound of crinkling paper and a gasp. ‘Hell, that’s too much…no…I couldn’t.’

      ‘All tax-deductible. The only thing is that I’d prefer this was private between you and Chloe and me. I’m not comfortable with…’

      ‘Understood. We won’t forget this.’

      Zoe lay there turning the conversation over in her head. It took her foggy brain a little while to process what she had overheard, but when she did tears of emotion sprang to her eyes. Isandro had just given John the money he needed to join his family in Boston—and more than enough, by the sound of it.

      ‘That is so, so incredibly lovely!’

      Isandro turned in time to see a figure rise from the mist, hovering over the grass at ground level like some sort of spectral vision.

      ‘Zoe, what were you—?’ The glorious goddess-like figure flew towards him like a heat-seeking missile. Madre di Dios, she was plastered!

      ‘I heard everything, and I think you’re w…won…marvellous,’ she declared earnestly.

      ‘I think you should sit down.’

      ‘I will, but first…’ Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and took his face between her hands. ‘You’re a very beautiful man and I’ve been mean to you, very very very mean. I’m so ashamed! But that’s all over. You’re a hero.’ She leaned in closer, her soft breasts crushing against the barrier of his chest as she fitted her mouth to his.

      The warm, soft mouth that pressed against his tasted of booze. Standing rigid, his hands wide, he knew if he touched that body, drunk or not, he would not be able to stop himself having her right there on the grass. He somehow managed to resist the blandishments of those luscious lips.

      The effort brought a sheen of sweat to his skin and a great deal of pain to his groin, but he held out. Though the throaty little mewling sound of complaint she made in her throat when he didn’t respond almost broke him.

      ‘I think…I think I might sit down.’ Clutching her head, and without warning, she sank gracefully to the grass and sat there cross-legged.

      Isandro sighed and picked up the almost empty glass he saw there. He dipped his finger in the contents and licked it. A lot of fruit juices and vodka. Not a lot, but it was there.

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