Snowbound Seduction (7 page)

Big fat flakes of feathery snow were now falling from a laden sky and settling fast, and once Zac had slid into the driving seat—his close proximity in the low sports car causing Rachel problems with her breathing again—
he cleared the windscreen. It certainly wasn't a night to be driving anywhere.

With that in mind, she turned to him. ‘Do you think it's wise to try and get there in this weather?'

Their eyes met and held. ‘Oh, yes,' he said softly.

It took all her will to look away and inject amusement into her voice when she said, ‘Perhaps you'd have been better off hiring a four-by-four. I think we might run into trouble in this.'

‘And miss the fun of battling against the elements? I don't think so. I like a challenge, Rachel. But, then, you know that.'

It took Rachel a full five minutes to be able to relax her body once they were under way. She had never felt so aware of another human being in her life. His large, capable hands on the steering-wheel, his hard masculine thighs just inches from hers, his narrowed gaze as he concentrated on the road—everything about him stirred her. And yet she knew so little about him. The real him, she amended silently. All the information he'd related so easily had been about his childhood, his family, his work, but nothing whatsoever about his love life, past or present. He seemed to be on very good terms with his secretary, but that could be just his way. And he had told her there was no one back in Canada when they'd first had dinner together. Did she believe that? Her brow creased. She wanted to, which was a problem in itself. And why would a man who looked like Zac and was rich and successful to boot
not
have a girlfriend? It didn't add up.

‘What are you thinking?'

His voice startled her and brought colour to her cheeks. She shrugged. ‘I was wondering if my mother
will ever speak to me again,' she lied. ‘She won't appreciate what you did tonight.'

‘From what Jennie told me, it would be no great loss if she didn't,' he said smoothly and—in Rachel's opinion—callously. ‘But don't worry, she will. Curiosity will prompt her to call, if nothing else.'

It was insightful and absolutely right where her mother was concerned. Rather than comment on what he'd said, she glanced at his chiselled profile. ‘I don't know if I like the idea of Jennie talking so freely about me.'

‘She didn't. She merely described your mother in a few succinct words, that's all. Painted a picture, you know?'

Knowing Jennie, she could imagine what they had been. She shifted uncomfortably. Changing the subject again, she said, ‘How many people are there going to be at the house this weekend?'

‘A good few, I think. Martin's the sort of guy who always combines pleasure with business.' He shrugged. ‘But he's nice enough and fairly harmless. Expect buffet breakfasts and elaborate dinners and drinks around the fireplace, that sort of deal. Everyone trying to impress everyone else.'

His voice had held a mordant note and she glanced at him again. ‘If you disapprove, why did you accept his invitation?'

The amber eyes touched her face for one moment before his gaze returned to the road through the windscreen. ‘Because I wanted to spend a whole weekend with you and getting you away from London like this seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity.'

Taken aback, she continued to stare at him for a few moments before forcing herself to turn away. She didn't
know what to say and it was probably better to say nothing in view of the warm pleasure his words had evoked. Charm, she warned herself sternly. This was just Zac employing male charm, something Giles had mastered to perfection. It didn't mean anything, not really. And as long as she kept that at the forefront of her mind, she'd be OK. She had to enjoy this weekend as a brief step out of time, that was the way to handle this. A little light-hearted flirting now and again, the odd kiss or two, nothing heavy or particularly meaningful. She had never felt so captivated by a man before and it was as frightening as it was thrilling, but he was only in the country for a short while and she'd made it clear she wasn't in the running for an affair that involved sleeping with him.

Sleeping with him… The warmth became a heat that sent her blood racing. What would it be like to be made love to by Zac? To spend delicious hours in his arms and to wake up beside him in the morning, replete and sexually fulfilled? You only had to look into his eyes to know he would be a skillful and devastatingly seductive lover—the invisible aura of strong sexual magnetism he projected was all the more powerful for being completely natural. Some men had it and some men didn't, and it was nothing to do with looks or wealth, just an inherent part of certain men's personas.

Zac was concentrating on driving in the thick London traffic, conditions made treacherous with the weather, and consequently Rachel found herself deep in a particularly erotic fantasy before she came back to reality and slammed the lid on her wayward libido. Eternally grateful one's thoughts were one's own, she focused her mind on the road ahead, deciding two pairs of eyes were better than one in a snowstorm.

‘It's settling fast, isn't it?' she said after a while. Zac was a very competent driver, but the snow had snarled up the traffic and they had crawled the six miles or so to the A3. At this rate, a journey Zac had told her would take a little over an hour would be a lot longer. They had passed two accidents as it was, along with the odd abandoned car by the side of the road. The snow was already inches thick and coming down with a ferocity that commanded respect.

‘Don't worry.' He smiled without looking at her. ‘We'll be fine. This is a picnic compared to the blizzards we get at home. It really knows how to snow there.'

Granted, but the Canadian authorities were prepared for the onslaught of winter and acted accordingly. England, as always, hadn't, Rachel thought nervously.

By the time they reached the junction signposted Guildford, Portsmouth, they had travelled twenty miles in an hour and a half, and the sat. nav. was telling them they still had over ten miles to travel before reaching their destination. Zac hadn't spoken for the last fifteen minutes, his whole being focused on travelling in the wake of an impressive Range Rover that bulldozed its way through the snow with consummate ease. When the vehicle turned off into a side road shortly after the junction, Rachel glanced at Zac. The Aston Martin, beautiful as it was, wasn't built to cope with snow-packed roads and deep drifts. They were in trouble, whether he admitted it or not.

As though she had spoken, he said reassuringly, ‘It's OK. We're two-thirds of the way there.'

Right. Which meant they still had a whole third to go. All thoughts of she and Zac in bed had long since flown out of the window; for the last half an hour she'd been beset by visions of the Aston Martin trapped under
a lorry or upended in a ditch or in a head-on collision. She'd decided the last option would be preferable—with the speed of the few brave vehicles still on the road, they'd be sure to survive.

The car had taken it upon itself to show off in one or two spectacular skids, but now it outdid itself as it glided in slow motion in a graceful arc like an Olympic ice skater. Fortunately there wasn't another car in sight when they ended up half off the road facing the wrong way, tilted at a distinctly odd angle.

Zac swore. Once, but very thoroughly. Rachel was just glad they had actually stopped. She breathed out a long silent sigh of relief. They weren't dead. That had to be a bonus.

‘Hell, I'm sorry,' Zac said tersely.

It was the first time she had seen him anything less than completely self-assured, and it was almost worth being stuck in a blizzard to experience. Almost. Wishing lunch had been more than a quick sandwich, she tired to ignore her growling stomach. ‘It's not your fault. I'm amazed you got this far.' She glanced out of the window into the whirling whiteness. This particular stretch of road was devoid of the comforting lights of civilisation, unlike most they'd travelled on. She wondered when they'd last passed a house or building—she had been so concentrated on the road ahead she couldn't remember.

Zac answered the thought. ‘There was a pub a mile or so back. Do you think you could walk that far in this?'

And the alternative option was? ‘Of course.' Ignoring the fact she had foolishly decided to wear her new high-heeled suede boots, which had cost a fortune, she nodded firmly. Anything was better than freezing to death and
the way the snow was continuing to fall, that was a real possibility. And then she remembered the walking boots she'd packed, along with her wax jacket she'd bought for Christmas in Scotland last year. ‘Is there any way you could get my case out of the boot so I could change into my walking boots?' she asked hopefully.

He inclined his head. ‘Sure thing.' He grinned at her. ‘You're a game little soul, aren't you? No bemoaning the fact I've got us into this mess.'

She tried to ignore how close he was, how the snow had caused his hair to fall over his forehead in a slight quiff, how the hard planes and angles of his face were thrown into stark prominence in the dim light and how very
masculine
he was. Smiling an easy smile she was proud of in the circumstances, she said brightly, ‘No good crying over spilt milk, and it could be a lot worse.'

She remembered those words once she was togged up in her walking boots and jacket and had managed to struggle out of the car, which was easier said than done, the angle it was stuck at. As Zac lifted her out and up to stand beside him, her face was assailed by fierce stinging snowflakes and the wind whipped at any exposed flesh. It was absolutely freezing.

Zac had her suitcase along with his, and once he had locked the car he tucked one case under his arm and held the other, leaving a free arm to wrap round her. She had protested she could manage by herself but once they began walking she was glad of his support, the wind so gusty it made staying upright somewhat perilous. Zac seemed unbothered by the elements, his big body moving forwards like a tank, with Rachel clinging to him, partly shielded by his bulk.

It seemed for ever until they rounded a corner and
the lights of the pub pierced the night. As Rachel peered through the tumbling snowflakes she didn't think she had seen anything so welcoming as those lights.

‘Nearly there.' Zac hugged her tighter to him. ‘OK?'

She could do no more than nod.

‘You're a star.' He bent his head and kissed her. A long kiss. And suddenly she didn't feel as cold.

 

The White Hart was an old eighteenth-century country inn, warm and snug with oak panelling and ancient beams, open fires and a sympathetic landlady. When Zac pushed open the gnarled front door and they all but fell into the copper and brass interior there was a startled silence for a moment, then the buzz of conversation they'd interrupted resumed and the landlady left her place behind the bar and came forward to greet them.

‘I take it you're refugees from the storm?' she said as the snow covering them began to melt on the stoneflagged floor. ‘What a night! They said snow but we weren't warned it would be as bad as this. Did you have to abandon your car?'

Zac nodded. ‘A mile or so down the road.'

‘And you were going somewhere nice?' She eyed their suitcases. ‘What a shame. Come over by the fire and get warm anyway, and I'll get you a drink on the house. What'll you have? A brandy to warm you up, dear?' she offered, smiling at Rachel, who smiled back wanly.

Rachel had glanced around the pub. It seemed pretty full. The same thought must have occurred to Zac because he said quietly, ‘We were going to stay with friends for the weekend but the weather's put paid to that. Have you got a couple of rooms vacant?'

The plump little woman pursed her lips. ‘Oh, dear, normally that'd be no problem but we've a party of walkers staying for the weekend.' She gestured at the throng behind her. ‘The only thing I could offer you is what we call the attic room on the second floor—it's reached by a staircase off the first floor landing. I don't normally have any call for it because the ceiling is really low and what with the steep stairs and all…' She eyed Zac's six-foot-two, broad-shouldered figure doubtfully. ‘But I always keep it aired just in case, and since we had the roof insulated and the new windows it's as warm as toast up there.'

‘We'll take it.' Rachel would have curled up on the stoneflagged floor rather than venture outside again. She could see the remains of meals on some of the tables and now she added hopefully, ‘Are you still serving food?'

‘Oh, aye, dear. It's only half eight.' The landlady smiled cheerily. ‘Why don't I show you the room and then you can come down and have a drink while you look at the menu?'

Suddenly the world was back on its axis.

As they followed the landlady—leaving two puddles where they'd been standing—Zac caught hold of Rachel's arm. ‘One room,' he murmured softly. ‘Sure you're happy with that?'

‘Beggars can't be choosers,' she whispered back as they emerged into a back hall, which had a staircase leading from it. ‘And it's just somewhere to sleep for tonight.' She met his gaze, adding firmly, ‘Just sleep.'

‘Message received and understood.' Zac's mouth had twitched.

Once on the first-floor landing, which was all creaking varnished floorboards and whitewashed walls, the
landlady led them past a number of doors to the end of the passage where they saw a narrower door. She opened this and they continued to follow her up an almost vertically steep staircase, the middle of each tread worn to a smooth depression by centuries of feet.

‘Used to be the servants' quarters,' the landlady informed them over her shoulder. ‘Poor things.' Then, obviously realising her comment wasn't exactly conducive to getting a good price for the room, she added, ‘'Course, in them days the attics were cold and draughty places, windowless, most of them. We've had this done up really nice, as you'll see.'