Unwilling Surrender

‘Yes, my day’s going just fine, thank you for asking,’ Christina said sweetly. ‘Usual sort of problems when one has to postpone commitments, but I won’t bore you with the details. Thank you for asking, though. And yes, I can meet you at the airport for four-thirty. Any specific place, or shall I just aimlessly meander around in the hope that I spot you somewhere?’

She heard the impatient click of his tongue and grinned wickedly down the line. Poor Adam. Not much time for her now that he had got what he wanted. She wondered whether he was looking at his watch and wishing that this silly woman would get off the line. He always did have a restless streak in him that spared little time for what he considered frivolities.

Unless, of course, those frivolities concerned getting a woman into bed. Then he had all the time in the world to play his elaborate games of seduction. Or at least that was what she had gleaned from what she had seen of him in the company of women and from what Fiona had told her. Confidentially.

‘I’m busy,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I don’t have time to waste chatting. I’ll meet you at the check-in counter.’

He promptly hung up with that and she glared at the telephone in her hand.

What manners. He was busy, was he? And what about her? She would have been busy if it weren’t for him. Had he considered that? Fat chance.

She wondered how many of his lady friends were informed by him that he was busy and couldn’t waste time chatting with them, and decided that she preferred his honesty after all. It was always nice knowing where you stood.

She dressed warmly for the trip up: jeans, boots, a jumper with another one in her holdall, and a duffel coat which zipped up the front. The entire outfit made her appear ten pounds heavier than she was and she grimaced at the reflection that stared back at her in the mirror.

There goes one of your few assets, she told the reflection—your figure. No one would guess that you had one under all of this.

But that really didn’t bother her very much. She had become quite accustomed to her appearance and to the fact that she seldom if ever attracted second glances from members of the opposite sex.

Her boyfriends had all been men who had got to know her well before becoming interested in her physically, and frankly she would have preferred their friendship to remain on a platonic basis only most of the time. She disliked fighting off prospective suitors who did nothing to send her blood-pressure soaring.

No one will ever send your blood-pressure soaring, she informed the reflection. She thought about Greg, dashing Greg, who had come the closest to doing something to her blood-pressure. He was the image that she had resolutely shoved to the back of her mind for the past year. Not that she had been in love with him, but she could still taste the ashes in her mouth at his scathing comment when they broke up. Frigid, he had informed her, plain and frigid, a woman who should be grateful to be looked at twice. He had been turned on by her intellect and by the contacts she had had in her job, but, he had told her, stripped of those, she was nothing but a plain Jane without the wherewithal to hold a man’s interest. If she had slept with him, or had introduced him to some useful people, or preferably both, then he might have consented to continue seeing her for a while longer, but in the absence of both these prerequisites she was, he had made it clear, not a very desirable option.

She tightened her lips and forced herself to push that unpleasant scene back into the shadows of her mind, where it belonged, as a silent warning to her.

You’re destined to be a career woman, she told herself. Not that she saw anything wrong with that at all.

She loved what she did, and she considered herself lucky. What had been a teenage hobby had blossomed into a fulfilling profession when, at the age of seventeen, she had entered a photography competition and won a fully paid photography course and some impressive equipment, most of which she still relied on. She enjoyed her work and, if Mr Right didn’t happen to bounce along on his white stallion, then it was hardly the end of the world.

Her mother would be disappointed, of course. She baked bread, made jam and had a desperately old-fashioned outlook on the role of women in society. But Christina could cope with that.

No, the closest she imagined she would get to ardour was watching Fiona’s antics from the sidelines.

She thought of Adam and frowned. Why had his image popped into her head just like that, without warning?

Because, she told herself, it was time to go. She gathered her belongings together, tried one last time to tune in to some weather news and failed, and edgily sat down to await the arrival of the taxi, which arrived promptly.

And Adam, she was heartened to see, was also waiting for her at the check-in counter. He had his back to her, chatting to the woman behind the desk, and she stopped for a few seconds to look at him.

He really was aggressively male, she thought with detachment. All broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, which made him look as though he spent hours working out. If she remembered correctly, though, he exercised very little.

Fate had seen fit to endow him with a body that somehow managed to stay perfectly tuned even if he did nothing about it.

She took a deep breath and walked up to the counter, noticing that the woman to whom he had been chatting, an attractive brunette, impeccably made up and with a hairstyle that looked as though each strand of hair had been individually glued into place, was not quite as warm when her attention was directed towards her as she was when it had been directed towards Adam.

‘I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,’ Christina said, turning to Adam with a polite smile.

‘Ten minutes,’ he replied, ‘but don’t worry about it. I haven’t been bored.’

Christina glanced at the brunette, now busily attending to some paperwork, and thought, I’ll bet you haven’t been bored. ‘I wasn’t worried about it,’ she said in a saccharin-sweet voice, ‘and I’m sure you haven’t been bored.’

There was a wicked little smile in his eyes at her tone, even though his face remained serious, and she ignored it.

‘Have you checked us in?’

He nodded and took her by the elbow, an instinctive gesture that made her body tense until she told herself that she was being silly. Again.

The brunette had looked up and was now pouting regretfully at him. She hoped he had a wonderful flight and an enjoyable stay in Scotland. When next he was around, he must promise to come to her counter; she would take some time off and treat him to a cup of coffee.

What a pretty sight, Christina thought, looking at the other woman. Was she as amenable towards all her passengers?

Then she looked at Adam, who was treating the brunette to some of that limitless charm of his, and she tapped her foot impatiently.

‘How subtle you are,’ he drawled as they moved away into the crowds. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t add looking at your watch and yawning to your little foot-tapping routine.’

He guided her effortlessly through the terminal, hardly looking around him at all. It was easy to see that he was a seasoned traveller, but that didn’t come as a surprise to her. He owned and virtually single-handedly ran a massive publishing network, and she knew that he travelled world-wide on business throughout the year.

They glanced up at the departures board and Christina saw with relief that they were due to board the shuttle. At least that would cut down on time spent at the airport terminal.

‘You looked,’ she said, following on from his sarcastic observation, ‘as though you were about to spend the rest of the day chatting to the brunette.’ If not the night, she added uncharitably to herself.

Adam threw her a sidelong glance, which she felt rather than saw, since she steadfastly kept her eyes averted.

‘I was merely killing time, waiting for you, and being polite in the process.’

‘Polite? Oh, so that’s your definition of being polite. Chatting up women.’

‘Don’t you get high-handed with me,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘You may drink your cocoa and go to bed by nine, but please don’t assume that the rest of the world follows suit and that if they don’t they’re somehow debauched.’

Christina reddened. How dared he tell her off as though she were a six-year-old child! She refrained from saying anything, though. She had to survive the next few hours in his company, undiluted, and there was no point in starting off with an argument.

‘How are we going to get from the airport in Glasgow to the cottage?’ she asked stiffly. He had released her arm and was walking in long strides so that she had to half run to keep pace with him.

‘I’ve arranged a car,’ he said tersely. ‘My subsidiary in Glasgow has a stock of company cars. Someone will drop it off and we can drive straight from the airport.’

‘Convenient,’ she murmured. ‘Are you going to be up to the drive? Did you actually go to the office after you left me?’

She was panting a little, which didn’t sound terribly dignified, especially as he was barely exerting himself, and was relieved when they finally reached their gate and slowed down to allow for control checks before they boarded the plane.

There were quite a few people on the flight. Ninety-nine per cent of them were businessmen, clutching their Financial Times and looking harassed.

‘Yes,’ Adam said, ‘in answer to both your questions.’

They passed through and made their way to the plane.

‘So you haven’t slept since...’

‘A while back,’ he finished drily. ‘But you needn’t fear that I’m going to fall asleep at the wheel. I’m quite accustomed to getting very little sleep and functioning adequately on it.’

She could believe that. He didn’t look in the least harassed. If anything, the thick cream jumper, the dark trousers and the jacket slung casually over his arm made him look in the peak of health and fighting fit. He looked, in fact, terrifically well rested. Christina knew that if she had gone for a day and a half without sleep she would resemble one of the living dead.

The flight was short. She sat next to the window, staring outside, and next to her Adam dozed. No doubt he would wake up as refreshed as if he had had eight hours’ sleep.

She wasn’t looking forward to the drive to the cottage. She remembered it from years back as being long and uncomfortable, a network of tiny roads that threatened to taper out into dead ends at any minute. She doubted they would have improved vastly in the intervening years. It was an isolated spot, and isolated spots were not normally earmarked for super road systems.

In fact the bumpy journey at the age of thirteen had been quite a highlight. Now, with just Adam and her own awkward feelings for company, she suspected that that would not be the case.

The company representative was waiting for them as soon as they emerged from the terminal. Christina eyed him drily as he bowed and scraped in front of Adam, showing them to a Range Rover which had been located specifically just in case the weather turned.

‘It won’t,’ Christina assured him. ‘Adam has given instructions that it’s to stay dry.’

The young boy blushed, unsure as to what response this remark called for, and Adam gave her an amused little grin.

‘Now you’ve sent the poor chap away confused as hell,’ he murmured to her as they settled into the car and glided smoothly out of the compound.

‘Have I?’ she responded in an innocent voice, staring through the window at the dreary, wind-blasted scenery flashing past and wishing she was back in London photographing Mrs Molton’s two temperamental corgis. ‘And I thought you really had had a word with higher powers and given instructions for the weather pattern over the next three days. You disappoint me, Adam.’

‘Do I? You don’t disappoint me. You still have the ability to make me laugh even when I’m cold and tired and on a trip which I’d rather not be doing.’

Christina looked at him, surprised. Did he really find her humorous? He had never given any indication of that before.

She didn’t know whether to be flattered or vaguely insulted. Do I really want to be seen as some kind of stand-up comic, she wondered, or would I rather be viewed as someone attractive and sexy?

She frowned, confused that she should even be thinking about Adam Palmer considering her sexy. Sexy, of all things. There was about as much chance of that as of Mrs Molton giving her corgis up for adoption.

Besides, she didn’t care one way or another what he thought of her. Once upon a time she had, but she had since learnt that fairy-tales and reality were poles apart, and that a girl with her lack of looks was destined to forge a career and leave the posing to other, more beautiful models.

‘Let’s hope it’s worth it,’ she replied impassively, ignoring his personal remark and concentrating on getting the conversation on to a safer topic. ‘Fiona can be stubborn and she isn’t going to like being followed around by her big brother.’

‘Which is why you’re here. She values your opinion.’

‘Oh, great,’ Christina muttered with a sigh, ‘as if I’m any authority on relationships.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He gave her a swift sidelong glance. ‘I gathered from my sister that in between the cups of cocoa and the early nights your love-life wasn’t exactly non-existent.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she gagged, going bright red and swearing to throttle Fiona as soon as she could lay her hands on her. ‘No, don’t repeat your remark. I heard it perfectly well, and I can only say that it’s none of your business.’

‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Call it natural curiosity.’

‘There’s nothing natural about wanting to pry into my private life just for the sake of small talk. And it’s not curiosity, it’s nosiness. I don’t ask you about what you do with those women of yours.’

‘No, you make lots of generalisations instead.’

This was getting out of hand. She reached down and fiddled with the dials on the radio until she tuned in to one of the local channels.

‘Is that a hint?’

‘No,’ she said with heavy sarcasm, ‘I’m genuinely interested in the farming news.’

She pursed her lips and looked out of the window, and next to her she could feel him grinning like a damned Cheshire cat and she wanted to hit him. Hard.

Two more hours, she thought with a groan, two more hours before we get there.

CHAPTER THREE

AT LEAST the weather was fine. It was freezing cold, though beautifully warm inside the car, and with that crisp clarity that marked a fine British winter’s day.

The farming news eventually gave way to a programme on classical music, which Christina rather enjoyed, and she focused her attention on the scenery outside. The trees were bare of leaves and as they left civilisation behind the landscape took on a bleak, rugged beauty that was awe-inspiring rather than appealing.

The main roads petered out into a series of much smaller roads, which the Range Rover handled well, although, with darkness rapidly descending, Adam was concentrating hard on the driving, the lines on his face grim as he manoeuvred the car round bends and down the twisty lanes.

What a place to pick, Christina thought. Hardly Fiona’s style, and not at all up Simon’s alley, if she had read him correctly. He was more the sort who liked hanging around the smart set, and a cottage in the middle of nowhere could hardly qualify as that.

The thoughts drifted through her head as they drove in silence, but not an uncomfortable one.

It was quite dark by the time they finally made it to their destination.

The cottage was set down a narrow path and overlooked a loch. It was beautiful in spring and summer, but eerie in the depths of winter.

As the car slowed down to accommodate the erratic nature of the path, Christina leaned forward in her seat and peered around her, trying to see beyond the patches of landscape illuminated by the headlamps of the car.

Outside, she could almost hear the silence. It was a nerve-racking feeling, especially after London. A bit, she imagined, like being whipped into the black hole, lost in time and space.

She laughed nervously and turned to Adam.

‘Spooky, don’t you think? I can remember thinking that last time I was here with Fiona and your parents, and it hasn’t changed.’

‘It has got a timeless quality about it,’ he concurred absent-mindedly, driving dead slow now. ‘Don’t you find that charming?’

‘I find that off-balancing,’ Christina said honestly. ‘I think I’ve become far too accustomed to all the noise and chaos in London.’

‘A city girl,’ he murmured, making it sound like an insult.

‘It’s where the work is,’ she responded tartly, wishing she hadn’t bothered to try and make conversation.

They lapsed into silence and she waited to see the impact of the cottage as they cleared the final bend. Its location had always impressed her. It was so startling against the deserted landscape, like a beacon keeping watch over the loch, guarding against evil spirits.

They turned the bend and the very first thing she noticed was that the cottage was in pitch-darkness. She felt her stomach plummet and a sick feeling of dreadful anticipation rose up into her throat. Adam was frowning heavily. He stopped the car outside the front door and looked at her.

‘I don’t see any lights, do you?’

Christina didn’t answer. She was desperately trying to make out if there was a car parked at the side of the house, but she couldn’t see a thing. No car, no lights. No Fiona.

‘Perhaps they’ve popped out for a minute,’ she said feebly.

‘Popped out? Where? Down to the local nightclub? There’s nowhere around here to pop out to, is there?’

He stared at her impatiently, his eyes glittering in the darkness inside the car, and she felt her temper flare.

‘Shall we go in?’ she asked, trying to keep a polite face on things. She pulled down the door-handle and opened the door, not giving him the chance to hurl any more accusations at her.

Besides—who knew?—Fiona and Simon might well be inside the cottage. With the lights out. Having a romantic evening. Maybe their car was parked at the back. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She knew that she was clutching at straws, because a little part of her desperately did not want to be here, alone, with a man who could still make her pulse race however hard she told herself not to be a fool.

She heard him slam his own car door behind him and she didn’t look around. She stood by the front door, patiently waiting for him to unlock it, which he did with a grim expression on his face.

He pushed open the door, to an isolated and freezing cold cottage, and then turned to her.

‘Well, so much for your bloody girlish confidences. No sign of life here, or did you deliberately bring me here on a wild-goose chase?’ He didn’t give her the time to answer. He switched on the lights, and then began walking briskly out of the door.

Christina raced behind him and yelled out, ‘Where are you going?’

No reply. He heaved their cases out of the back seat and then strode back inside.

‘Don’t worry, much as I’m tempted to leave you here after having led me here on this wasted trip, rest assured that I won’t.’

He dumped the cases on the ground and she followed him into the tiny kitchen, furious that he was blaming her for this. Her! As if she had dragged him kicking and screaming out here! As if she had held a gun to his head and demanded his co-operation! When in fact it had been the other way around!

‘I did not lead you here! And I resent your implication that this—’ she gesticulated to the deserted cottage ‘—that this is all my fault!’

‘Well, whose fault is it? You told me that this was where she was, didn’t you? Or maybe that was just a little ploy to get me up here when you knew perfectly well that Fiona was somewhere else, probably a thousand miles away in the opposite direction! I was crazy to have believed a word you said. I might have guessed that you were in cahoots with my sister. Who knows? Maybe it was your idea that they take off. Maybe all that sincere concern about Fiona and Simon and their incompatibility was just a clever front. After all, clever is the one thing you are. And still waters run deep, so they say!’ He looked at her narrowly until she began to feel giddy. What was he thinking?

‘Or maybe,’ he continued, his voice as hard as ice and cold with speculation, ‘there was another reason you dragged me up here.’

He let that provocative remark hang in the air until she snapped nervously, ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Can’t you guess?’ His lips curled cynically. ‘Maybe you got me up here because you thought that in this isolated splendour you might be able to pick up the strands of the relationship which you wanted all those years ago, and which never got off the ground.’

She could feel the colour drain out of her face, and somewhere at the back of her mind she knew that she was trembling, on the brink of losing control. But that she wouldn’t do. Let him insinuate whatever he liked.

‘I won’t bother to answer that. I’ll only say that you have the biggest ego I’ve ever seen if you could think that—’

‘You still want me after all these years?’

‘Yes! I...’ She took a deep, steadying breath. ‘How was I to know that Fiona decided against coming here?’

‘Female intuition? Or is that one of those things missing in your life?’

There was a deadly silence and then Christina flushed. One of those things missing in your life. One of how many things? Looks, perhaps. Sex appeal. Was that what he was referring to? Were those the other things missing from her life?

He pulled down two mugs from the cupboard and she watched in silence as he poured them both some coffee, then proceeded to sit at the kitchen table drinking it, cradling the mug in his hands.

Neither of them had removed their coats and after a while he said neutrally, ‘I’ll have to get some logs in and do something about lighting a fire or else we’ll both freeze to death here.’

Christina wished that she could summon up the self-control to respond to him, but his implied insult, his fantastic speculations, had winded her. Instead she continued to watch him covertly over the rim of her mug, taking in his strong hands, the width of his shoulders, the powerful body.

He inspired confidence. However dynamic and impressive he was in the field of business, that did not mean that he could not cope in a situation such as this. If he said that he would get logs and make this place warm, then he would do so, even if it meant felling a tree in the process. Somehow, from somewhere, he would find the ability to perform the impossible.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.