Summer of Surrender. Zara Stoneley
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Summer of Surrender
Zara Stoneley
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
Contents
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Zara Stoneley
Cover Images © Shutterstock.com
Zara Stoneley asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © November 2013
ISBN: 9780007556571
Version 2014-09-26
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
To my family, who have always encouraged me to follow my dreams, and my very own sexy hero who has provided the inspiration and support to turn them into reality.
‘Shit.’ Whoever said climbing gates in a maxi dress was possible had got it wrong. Seriously wrong. Or maybe no one had been stupid enough to say it.
Kezia Martin clung on to the top of the wobbling timber and considered her options. Rolling off was a definite possibility, except that the driveway looked like it had a high ‘ouch’ factor. Although she was a million miles from sophisticated, even she knew that a gravelled face was not a good look. But there didn’t seem to be an option B. Apart from the ‘split your dress at the seams’ one, and she did actually like this dress quite a lot. And as it made up fifty per cent of her going-out wardrobe, she wasn’t ready to sacrifice it, and neither did she want expose her thighs – or worse – to the world.
Not that there was much of the world here to see anyway. The monosyllabic taxi driver had dropped her off by a five-bar gate in the middle of nowhere, and scarpered before she had the chance to say she’d changed her mind. Not that she really wanted to face another trip in his car.
She’d actually been feeling pretty positive, if knackered, when she’d staggered out of the train station. And even the one battered taxi that was parked in the otherwise deserted rank didn’t deflate her too much. The driver had taken her bag without a great deal of enthusiasm, shoved his newspaper onto the passenger seat and raised an eyebrow when she’d read out the address, which seemed a bit rude. He’d muttered something that she could have sworn sounded like ‘you don’t look like one of them,’ but she could have got that bit wrong. Then he’d stoically ignored her and driven further and further into the countryside before unceremoniously dumping her, grabbing his fare and driving off in his belching car. Which was doubly rude.
She would have been more worried, but the back of beyond was probably a good place to be right now. A good place to start again. And anyway, she was too darned tired to really think about anything, apart from the comfy bed that just had to be waiting for her. It had to be.
Or maybe not. There wasn’t an intercom, not even a bell, just the gate, firmly fastened with a chain that wouldn’t have looked out of place attached to an anchor. She’d tried hollering and she’d tried waiting, though not for that long since patience wasn’t her greatest virtue. Then she’d decided that there obviously wasn’t a guard dog, and she was too tired to sit in the road any longer. At least on the other side she might find somewhere to sit down and wait. It had to be better than staying on the outside. So she’d thrown her rucksack and guitar over the gate and planned on following them. Which involved hitching up the dress