Mistletoe Mistress

CHAPTER NINE

'So you're the Joanne Crawford I've been hearing so much about?'

It wasn't quite the opening line Joanne had imagined, and she found herself staring at Jed Mallen for a few moments before she collected herself and took the hand he was holding out for her to shake.

'Good afternoon, Mr Mallen,' she said politely, her heart beating a tattoo that was mercifully hidden from the bright blue eyes so like his grandson's, the direct, intent gaze seeming as though it wanted to get inside her head. 'I'm very pleased to meet you.'

'Likewise.' He had risen at her approach into the room, but now sat down again, saying almost irritably, 'Sit down, sit down, young woman; don't stand on ceremony.'

'Thank you.' She did as he bid but was unable to stop the colour from flooding into her cheeks. She hadn't known what to expect on meeting Hawk's grandfather- probably a bent old man who was showing the ravages of the illness he was battling against, if she had thought about it at all-but Jed Mallen was still tall and upright, virile almost, with a shock of springy white hair above a face that was handsome in spite of the lines of pain radiating from the piercingly clear blue eyes. She could see how this man had carved an empire for himself despite all the odds against him; Hawk was definitely a chip off the old block.

'Are you too warm?' Jed Mallen indicated the huge roaring log fire that was crackling in the fireplace of the beautiful, but very masculine, drawing room she had been shown into. 'The treatment I've been undergoing makes me susceptible to the cold, I'm afraid.'

'No, I'm not too warm, Mr Mallen; I'm afraid I'm one of those people who can never be too warm,' Joanne said quickly.

'Hmm, I can see why.' The laser-like eyes burnt up and down for a moment. 'You're too thin-or 'slim', as it's supposed to be called these days. You don't live on lettuce leaves and carrots, do you?' he added caustically.

'No, I don't.' Joanne's hackles had risen and she answered smartly and with a marked lack of the ceremony he had spoken of earlier, her face stiffening tightly.

'And it's none of my damned business anyway.' He finished what she had left unsaid with a wry smile that was identical to Hawk's. 'Do you know, I think we'll get along just fine, Miss…? Can I call you Joanne?' he asked abruptly.

'Yes, of course,' she answered a little weakly.

'Thank you.' He sat back in the large winged leather armchair as he said, 'And my name is Jed, but of course you know that. Hawk isn't with you, is he?'

'No, there was an emergency in the San Francisco office this morning-'

'Yes, yes, I know; I arranged it,' he said briskly, with the touch of brusqueness she suspected was habitual with him, land then, as he caught sight of her look of surprise, added, 'You don't approve? He'll be back tonight, never fear-he is used to taking a plane here and there at a moment's notice-but I wanted to meet you for the first time without him around. Did you have a good flight?'

It was as though he had suddenly remembered his manners, and Joanne had to hide a smile as she replied, 'Very good, thank you.'

'Do you like my grandson, Joanne?'

'What?' She forgot this was the head of the Mallen empire, a powerful, ruthless and, if half the stories about him were true, cruel multi-millionaire, and reared up in her seat as though she had been stung. What on earth had her liking Hawk to do with anything? she asked herself angrily. She was here as the manageress of Bergique & Son, wasn't she? And if he was doubting her ability to do the job-if he thought she had been sleeping with his grandson in order to get the position-

'I said, do you like my grandson?' The tone was flat, expressionless, and his face was perfect for playing poker. 'A simple yes or no will suffice.'

She stared into the hard, handsome face for a moment, the crackling of the fire, the subdued glow from the discreet lighting in the huge, sombre room, the absolute quiet beyond the walls all adding to the unreality of the moment. 'Yes, Mr Mallen, I like your grandson,' she answered quietly, in a tone as flat and even as he had used. 'He is a very fair employer.'

The formidably intelligent gaze roamed over her for a full minute-during which time she sat still and stiff with dignity-before he smiled, nodding to himself as he said, 'Yes, I understand now. You are different.'

'Different?' This extraordinary conversation was fast leaving the realms of reason. 'I'm sorry, Mr Mallen, but I don't understand-'

'Jed, my dear.' He adjusted his position in the chair, and she noticed the wince of pain he tried to hide with a rush of guilt and compassion. This was Hawk's grandfather and he was dying; she really shouldn't have got on her high horse-

'Would you take afternoon tea with me, Joanne?' He interrupted her racing thoughts quietly, not betraying by word or gesture that he had accurately read her thoughts. So she had compassion and tenderness, as well as guts, beauty and intelligence, did she? But of course she would have; he should have known…

'Thank you; that would be very nice.' Her earlier thoughts made her voice soft 'Would you like me to show you some facts and figures I've brought with me?' She indicated the briefcase at her feet 'And I've some financial statements-'

'Not necessary.' He waved the offer aside with the faintly irritable gesture she was beginning to recognise. 'Now I've met you I am quite happy to leave all that in your very capable hands.'

'But I thought-'

'Have tea with me, my dear.' He smiled, a real smile this time, which again was so like Hawk's rarely used but devastating smile that she found her breath catching in her throat. 'And we'll just chat, like two old friends, eh? I have little time for chatting these days, Joanne, and I am finding I want it more and more. You think that perverse?'

'No.' Now Joanne did smile. The old devil could use the Mallen charm when he cared to-he was even more like his grandson than she had first supposed.

'Ah, you think me manipulative.' The white head nodded at her. 'Don't bother to deny it; your face is very expressive. But you are right as it happens, although I am arrogant enough to view that particular facet of my character as an attribute rather than a shortcoming.' Now the smile was a grin, and Joanne actually laughed out loud at the somewhat wicked glee in the distinguished face.

She liked him. She hadn't expected to, not for a minute, but she liked this formidable, irascible old man very much, even as she understood how he had come to be so feared and held in awe by his contemporaries.

It was at the end of the afternoon she spent with Hawk's grandfather, after he had taken her on a slow tour of his fifteen-bedroomed mansion and they had had tea in the sumptuous and stylish drawing room, that he mentioned Hawk again.

'My grandson is wealthy and powerful and often pursued by predatory women; you are aware of this, Joanne?' he asked mildly, straight after a conversation spent discussing his fine antiques. 'Some of them have a mind of sorts, others are nothing more than empty-headed dolls, but they all have one thing in common- a desire to be seen with, and bedded by, Hawk Mallen. You are not like that. You are aware Hawk wants you?'

She had learnt enough during the afternoon about this amazing old man not to duck the question, but her cheeks were pink as she replied, 'Yes, I know he wants me.'

'But you don't want him?'

He wasn't hostile, but Joanne still had to take a deep breath before she said, 'I…I don't think just wanting is necessarily enough, not without-without…'

'Yes?' He had moved forward in his chair, and now his voice was quiet and his eyes steady as he said, 'You can be honest with me, my dear, and you can also rest assured our conversation will go no further than these four walls. I will respect your confidence. What more is there beyond wanting?'

'Love,' Joanne murmured quietly, hot with embarrassment.

'Love. A small word but a big concept.' He leant back again, sighing deeply. 'I have loved two people in the whole of my life, Joanne; do you find that hard to believe?'

'No.'

She raised soft honey-brown eyes to his and he nodded slowly as he said, 'No, of course you don't; you have been hurt too.'

She waited, not knowing what to say, and after a minute had ticked by he said, 'I had an unhappy childhood, Joanne. I will not bother you with the details but suffice to say I did not love my parents. I met my wife when I was a nobody and she was a great lady, and we both knew instantly we were destined to be together. Her parents were horrified at the notion, obviously…' His voice was not bitter, merely matter-of-fact.

'She waited for me as I knew she would, and our marriage produced my son, Hawk's father, and took her life. I have often asked myself if my rage and bitterness at losing her so soon affected my relationship with my son, but I truly don't think so. I simply didn't like him. He was very like my own father in nature-cold, shallow, selfish-whereas Hawk's mother was a sweet girl, too sweet in retrospect. She allowed my son to get away with far too much.'

He paused, shifting his position in the chair again before he continued, 'I love my grandson, Joanne. I love him very much and I do not consider that emotion a weakness.'

'Hawk does.' She spoke before she could help herself, all her anguish and pain in the two words.

Jed looked at her for a few moments without speaking and then rose stiffly from the chair, standing with his back to her as he gazed into the leaping flames of the fire. 'I'm going to tell you a modern-day tale,' he said softly, 'a black fairy story if you like, and then it is up to you what you do with it.'

She said nothing, sensing that whatever he was about to do he wasn't doing lightly.

'Once upon a time a baby boy was born to a couple who appeared to have everything. There were no more children, so when the couple die in an accident, when the boy is a man, he has no siblings to stand with him in his grief. His sorrow at this time is not normal, because he has learnt things about his parents, dark, hidden things-things that have rocked his very foundations. Their death increases his already considerable wealth substantially, taking him into the super bracket and attracting women of the more…avaricious type. But he is not a fool, this man; he has lived with riches all his life and he knows their drawing power. However, one female comes along who is more clever than the rest, more…cunning. You follow me so far?' he asked quietly.

'Yes.' Her heart was thudding so hard it was echoing in her throat.

'He falls for her-lock, stock and barrel, as you English say. He needs someone at this time, someone who is wholly his, someone to take away the pain and uncertainty that came with the shock of his parents' untimely death and the subsequent revelations that were even more of a shock. And she knows this-oh, yes, she knows it all right-and she plays him like a virtuoso in the art of love-which indeed she is.'

She couldn't bear to hear it and yet she needed to hear it all; it explained so much.

'He asks her to marry him and she accepts-prettily, of course-and the invitations are sent, the presents begin arriving. And then he visits his best man one afternoon with some details about the wedding arrangements-he has known this friend since boyhood and he is more like a brother-and what does he find but his fiancée and friend flagrante delicto, in fact in the very act of copulation.'

Jed turned to face her then, the sapphire-blue eyes that he had passed on to his grandson blazing with rage in spite of it all being so long ago.

'The ultimate triangle-perhaps even funny if it wasn't so tragic. But worse is to come. Once word gets around about the broken engagement-and word gets around very fast in the sort of high-society circles this man moves in-several of his close friends are brave enough to tell him what they feared to say before-that it is not the first time this lady has been embroiled in a scandal. She has been involved with married men, had many lovers, both before and since knowing this man. It is not something a proud young man of twenty years of age wants to hear.'

'And…and this man-what does he do?' Joanne asked numbly.

'I think you know,' Jed said quietly. 'He becomes disillusioned, cynical, he takes the world by the throat and plays the game by his own rules, and in the process hardens and becomes cold, very much…very much like his grandfather,' he finished softly. 'But there is still the need to love and be loved there, hidden deep in the secret recesses of his heart, buried where no one can see it.'

'You believe that?' Joanne asked with painful directness.

'Don't you?'

'I…I think Hawk wants me because I am unattainable.' Joanne shifted restlessly in her seat. 'You have said yourself he is chased by some of the most beautiful women in the world-successful, rich women, women who are used to his lifestyle and enjoy it. Perhaps he just wants the thrill of the chase for once, to pursue rather than be pursued?'

'The man I was telling you about, the man in the story, is not a fool,' Jed said slowly. 'Perhaps when the one perfect jewel comes along he will recognise it for what it is.'

Joanne stared hard at the handsome face in front of her. Was he really saying he thought she was the right partner for his grandson, or was this incredible conversation a subtle suggestion to the contrary? If she was this 'jewel', Hawk certainly hadn't acknowledged it in the months she had known him and Jed Mallen must know that. Oh, she didn't know what to think, how to feel. She had enough problems struggling to keep her head above water with one cold, hard, enigmatic man, without taking on his grandfather too!

'I have enjoyed this afternoon immensely, but I must be going.' She stood up as she spoke and was going to hold out her hand for a formal farewell, but something in Jed's face-a fleeting sadness, a loneliness too deep and real for words-prompted her to lean forward on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. 'Thank you for sharing the…the story with me,' she said softly.

'Think about it,' he countered quietly. 'Please?'

'Yes, I will.'

She thought about nothing else as Jed's chauffeur drove her back to Hawk's home, but was left with nothing more concrete than a string of impossible questions.

Could anyone break through the ice that encased Hawk's heart? And if they did, would he want them for a lifetime, or just for a short while, until he became bored and restless? Could any female handle Hawk now that he had become so cynical and cold? She didn't feel she could, even if he wanted her for more than a brief fling. She didn't have a stable background to draw from, a well of family, or even worldly, knowledge. She wasn't clever or cosmopolitan or wealthy; she was just…herself. And it wouldn't be enough, wasn't enough.

By the time the long, luxurious limousine glided to a halt in front of Hawk's mansion she had faced reality. Dreams were one thing, real life quite another. She was torturing herself to no avail. She was just a passing whim to Hawk, a momentary obsession as he would term it, someone to have fun with as long as the mutual attraction lasted. And she couldn't be like that. She loved him far, far too much.

The next few days were a subtle combination of wild, fervent moments of happiness, grinding pain, poignant self-analysis and intensely fierce grief for what might have been. Hawk set out to make every minute of her Christmas memorable, and the fact that he succeeded only too well merely added to her turmoil until she began to wonder if she was becoming schizophrenic, especially as Hawk, after that first night, had become the perfect host-charming, attentive, courteous, amusing, and all the time remaining at a very controlled distance.

He had thrown a party for her on Christmas Eve which had begun with carol singers dressed in Victorian clothes and holding lanterns, and had finished, as the clock had chimed midnight, with warm glasses of mulled wine and hot mince pies.

On Christmas morning she had woken to a little Santa sack of presents at the end of her bed-she had no idea what time of the night he had placed it there-and he had come to sit on her bed with her and open the gifts, all the time being warm and friendly…and constrained. He had kissed her and wished her a happy Christmas, but it had been the kiss of a brother and made her want to scream.

They had spent the day with Jed, and Joanne had worn the ruby pendant and matching bracelet Hawk had given her-which must have cost a small fortune-and all the time she had been waiting for one sign, one word, to show she was something more than just- Just what? she had asked herself that night in bed. What was she? She wasn't a girlfriend, she wasn't a lover, she wasn't even a straightforward house guest. Jed had asked to see her and she had been brought for the audience with his grandfather post-haste. She'd cried herself to sleep.

It was on the afternoon of her last day in America, when Hawk was driving her home after a day spent with some old-and, Joanne had discovered to her surprise, very normal and amusing-friends, and the sky was a river of purple and gold and scarlet, that things came to a head.

'Isn't it beautiful?' He had stopped the car on the top of a hill where the outlines of bare trees were silhouetted against the magnificent, colour-drenched sky, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the whole of the world. 'I often come here about this time of night when I'm home just to look at the sunset.'

'Do you?' She had seen this side of him more and more over the last few days-the softer, more vulnerable, gentle side of him. She had discovered he was a man who wasn't afraid to admit an appreciation of scenery and art, who could get on all fours and play with his friends' children like a five-year-old, who loved animals and was tender with anything weak and defenceless. She would rather not have discovered it-it didn't help her love to die-and die it had to.

'My mother used to come here too,' he continued quietly. 'She used to make the excuse she was exercising the dog, but after she died-' He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath before he said, 'After she died, I understood why she needed to escape sometimes.'

'What happened to the dog?' It was an inane question, she realised immediately after she had said it, but the look on his face was breaking her heart.

'Bertie? He died shortly after my mother was killed.' Hawk turned from the windscreen to look at her then, his blue eyes silver in the twilight. 'He was an old dog; my mother had bought him when I started school-for company, I guess-and once she had gone he just sort of gave up. He adored her.'

'She must have been a lovely lady,' Joanne said softly.

'Yes, she was.' He flexed his long legs in the confines of the low, sleek sports car and turned fully to face her. 'Much like you.'

'Me?' Her breath caught in her throat before she reminded herself it didn't mean anything, not really.

'Yes, you,' he said huskily, his gaze sensuous. 'You- with your hair of fire and your big golden eyes; I want you more than I have ever wanted any other woman, Joanne-do you know that? And I have never trodden so warily, so carefully before.'

'You like the concept of the hunter after the prey?' she asked with painful directness.

'Prey?' The black brows beetled as he frowned. 'Is that how you see this? I don't think of you as a victim, Joanne, just the opposite in fact I see you as a beautiful, desirable woman, but a woman who is more than able to hold her own in this crazy world we inhabit, and do it with integrity and courage too.'

Words, words, words, but what did they really mean? She stared at him, her face tense and unhappy. He was an enigma, this dark, cynical, cold man who had a drawing power so strong, so magnetic that it pole-axed lesser mortals, leaving them stunned and exposed.

'We would be good together, you know it, and I don't mean just the sex,' he said now, his handsome face shadowed and his hair blue-black. 'I want you with me, Joanne, really with me. I want to wake up in the morning and see you lying beside me, and know you'd be there in the evenings so we could discuss our days together. I want to eat with you, laugh with you, share the good times and the bad…'

'For…for how long?' she got out in a painful voice. This wasn't a proposal; she could see the darkness in those beautiful blue eyes that mirrored his soul.

'Does it matter how long?' he asked softly. 'Can't we take each day as it comes and be grateful for it, enjoy each other for as long as it lasts? I don't want to hurt you, Joanne. Trust me.'

'Hawk, I've told you before-'

'I'll look after you, Joanne,' he said evenly. 'You can be as independent as you want. I'll buy you a house, car, and set up an allowance for life that will make you financially secure and allow you to follow any path you choose.'

He didn't see. He really didn't see. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment, finding it was hurting too much to look at him. She didn't want to be independent or have an allowance or be wealthy for the rest of her life. She wanted him, she wanted a home they would share together, babies; she wanted-she wanted commitment, and she wanted it to be a willing commitment, because he loved her.

'Joanne?' She opened her eyes to see him watching her, his gaze tight on her face. 'You do care for me a little?'

She couldn't deny it but in the next moment, as his mouth swooped on hers, she realised she should have, because the second their lips touched sensation exploded between them like a raging fire, taking them both by surprise. His arms had closed round her fiercely, her own going round his neck as she pulled him even nearer, and as they strained together in the dim light from the setting sun the air inside the car was electric.

'You are mine; you know this; you cannot deny us both…' His lips were possessive as he murmured against the pure line of her throat before taking her mouth again in a kiss that was all fire and savage passion, and quite different from anything that had gone before.

She knew she had to resist the tide of thrilling sensation that was washing all reason and logic away, but it was hard, so hard, when she was becoming molten in his arms. He had just propositioned her-calmly laid out the ground rules and the benefits that would apply if she agreed to become his mistress. She couldn't give in now.

But in his own way he was being absolutely honourable. An insidious little voice was hammering away in her head, doing its part to break down her defences. Wouldn't it be better to take a relationship with him on his terms and hope that it might develop into something more-that one day he might find he couldn't do without her, that he loved her?

His tongue was doing incredible things to the soft contours of her mouth as his hands worked their own magic, and the feeling that was surging through her was so strong, so new and powerful, that she could barely breathe. She knew she was kissing him back with greater and greater passion, that all her body signs were leading him on to more intimacies, that she was stupid, stupid; but she couldn't stop.

He twisted in his seat, one hand moving between her shoulder-blades and the other into the small of her back as he drew her hard against the throbbing maleness of his body, her soft breasts crushed against the wall of his chest and her head thrown back to his searching mouth.

She could hear little moans-soft, inarticulate, sobbing groans-and it was with a tiny shock that she recognised they were spilling from her own lips, that her control was quite gone. And Hawk understood what was happening to her-it was there in the guttural growl deep in the base of his throat, in the way his hands moulded her slender frame to his as she clung pliant and shivering against him.

'You want me as much as I want you…admit it,' he murmured huskily against her flushed skin, his breathing harsh and ragged 'You want me, Joanne; say it…'

But it wasn't just wanting. She froze, the screaming warning her brain had been trying to give her for the last few minutes hitting home with savage force. She wanted him because she loved him, and that meant she wanted him a hundred times, a thousand times more than he could ever want her. Her mother hadn't loved like this-she couldn't have-because there was no way she could have gone from man to man if she had. If she couldn't have Hawk, really have him, in the only way that would keep her sane-as lover, friend, companion, husband-then she would have no one.

'Joanne?' Hawk's voice was questioning, the passion that still had him in its grip making it throaty and harsh.

'I do want you, Hawk.' From some hitherto unknown inner strength she forced herself to say what she had to say. 'I want you very much, in a way I had never imagined wanting any man.'

'Joanne-'

'No, no, wait.' She interrupted his exultant voice flatly, twisting back and away from him as she spoke. 'I know now that you ate the reason I've never wanted a relationship with anyone else, that I was waiting-waiting but without knowing why.'

'And now you do?' he asked softly, the tenor of his voice and the look on his face making it clear he knew something was badly wrong.

For a moment, just one fleeting infinitesimal moment, she contemplated preserving her dignity and pride-lying to him and making some excuse as to why she couldn't become his mistress-but she couldn't. It had to be all or nothing-she had known that from the day she met him and fought against it for as long-and so it was nothing because that was all Hawk could take. Commitment, love, sacrifice-they were just words to Hawk; he had torn the feeling that went with them out of his soul fifteen years ago.

'Yes, I've known for some time,' she said quietly, her eyes holding his and a wealth of pain at what she was about to do making them as dark as night. 'I could never become your mistress, Hawk, or your lover,' she continued quickly as he went to speak, 'because if I did it would destroy me, and probably you as well. You have your own moral code, I know that, and I don't think you would want to break someone deliberately.'

'Break you?' He drew back into his seat, his cold, handsome face straightening and his eyes taking on the piercing, diamond-hard sharpness that was so intimidating. 'What the hell are you talking about? I don't want to break you, Joanne. Damn it, you must know that.'

'I do.' She nodded slowly. 'That's the irony of it really.'

'Look, I've had enough of these riddles,' he said grimly. 'I want you and you want me, you've said it yourself, and we're two grown people, not a pair of giggling, groping teenagers,' he added bitingly. 'I've waited longer for you than I've ever waited for anything in my life, and I don't intend to wait a day longer.'

'You'd take me by force?' she asked tremulously.

'If I have to.' He glared at her, the swiftly darkening sky outside the window making him appear like a black silhouette with just the silver-blue of his eyes alive. 'But it wouldn't be by force a few seconds after I touched you, would it?' he continued relentlessly. 'We both know that Damn it all, Joanne-' his voice had become a groan as his eyes took in the whiteness of her face '-what the hell do you want from me anyway?'

'The one thing you can't give or buy,' she answered tremulously, her love for him causing a physical pain in her chest that was excruciating. 'I don't care about a house or car; don't you see that, Hawk? And I don't want an allowance, or independence, or to follow my own selfish path. I want you, all of you-I want it all. I want to live with you, care for you, have your children, grow old together. I want to know you care for me as something more than a body or an attractive appendage on your arm for parties and dinners, that when I get my first grey hairs and my body begins to sag it won't make any difference.'

'Joanne-'

'No, listen,' she said fiercely. 'You listen to me. I don't want to have to wait for the phone to stop ringing, or worry about who you're with or what you're doing when you aren't with me. I couldn't live like that, don't you see? I want you to love me like I love you, and you can't, you can't,' she finished on a sob that almost choked her.

'You don't know what you're saying.' But his voice was shaky and he was perfectly still, the last glow from the dying sky outside the car windows strangely poignant to the moment.

'I know, Hawk.' She drew herself up proudly. 'I love you, hard as I know you'll find that to believe. And perhaps another woman could love you and still accept that the way you want it is the way it has to be, but I can't. I don't want you for a few months or a few years, I want you for ever, and to tell you anything different would be a lie. You've told me you always want the truth and that's the truth.'

'You're telling me you want a ring on your finger before you share my bed,' he stated flatly.

Joanne's face went still whiter but she forced herself not to flinch. 'No, that would be blackmail and quite useless with most men, let alone you,' she said shakily, willing the storm of emotion that was threatening to tear loose from the very core of her to be still. 'In fact if you asked me to marry you I would say no,' she continued bravely. 'A ring or a piece of paper means nothing if that's all it is, and it would be with you, I know that.'

'Then what the hell do you want?' he ground out savagely.

'I want you to let me walk out of your life,' she said tautly. 'No recriminations, no bitterness, just a simple goodbye. And…and I want you to look around for another manager at Bergique & Son's. I'll…I'll stay till you've found someone else, of course, but then- Then I want to go.'

'You're telling me on the one hand that you supposedly love me, and on the other that you want to run out on me?' Hawk bit out with a fury that stunned her. 'What the hell sort of love is that?'

'My sort,' she said quietly, lifting her chin as she spoke.

'Then it stinks.' He grasped her shoulders, jerking her towards him. 'If you love someone, you're supposed to want to be with them,' he growled angrily.

'How would you know?' Suddenly there was hot molten rage flowing through her veins and she welcomed it, its cauterising power sealing her bleeding heart and allowing her to throw off his hands with an anger that matched his.

'I know.' He was breathing heavily, his eyes flashing blue fire. 'I was in love once, a lifetime ago, and I wanted to be with her but she had other ideas.'

'And so you let her go?' Joanne said quietly, her rage dying as quickly as it had been born. 'Well, that was love, wasn't it?'

'I let her go because I despised her.' His voice was as cold as ice. 'She betrayed me with a friend I loved like a brother; the two of them had been having an affair behind my back for weeks before I found out. But they lived to regret it; I made sure of that. And it taught me one thing, and for that I'm grateful-love is just another name for a physical act.'

'No.' Her voice was a whisper of pain. 'You loved someone who didn't exist, an image she'd projected. You never did love her.'

'What do you know about it?' he bit out cruelly.

'Your mother couldn't stop loving your father whatever he did,' Joanne said huskily. 'I'm sure she tried to-it would have made things so much easier, after all-but she couldn't, just as I couldn't stop loving you whatever you did I don't want to love you, Hawk-in fact you are the last man in the world I would have chosen to love-but I can't help it. The only protection I have, the only thing I can do not to become like your mother-broken, tortured-is to live without you, to let go. That's what I meant when I said I wouldn't marry you even if you asked me; it would be history repeating itself, and I think you, even more than me, would find that abhorrent.'

'So it is over?' he asked with rigid control.

'It never even began.'