Mistletoe Mistress

CHAPTER TEN

Her brave words-noble almost, she told herself with bitterly searing self-contempt-came back to mock her desperate misery once she was alone in her suite.

Hawk had driven home in the encroaching darkness without another word, his face as black as thunder and his hands, gripping the leather-clad steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles had shone white.

He'd spoken briefly when they'd entered his home, and his voice had been curt and cold. 'I presume you would rather eat here than dine out?'

'Yes, please.' She had tried to match his detachment but failed miserably. 'Perhaps if I could have a tray in my room…?'

'What a good idea,' he'd said grimly. 'I will make sure Conchita is aware of it.' And then he had watched her as she had climbed the beautiful winding staircase, his eyes boring into the back of her head with every step she took.

If she had needed any confirmation that his heart was encased in stone, she'd had it this evening, she told herself miserably as she sat staring blankly into space in the magnificent suite of rooms. She had known he wouldn't exactly be overjoyed to hear that she loved him-still less that his plans to bed her had been thwarted-but surely one kind word, one understanding glance or even a sympathetic silence wasn't beyond him?

It was she who was suffering, after all-not Hawk. It was her heart that was broken, her feelings that were lacerated beyond repair… She gave herself up to a deluge of self-pity and despair. His pride had no doubt been dented a little-his ego taking a bit of a hammering in the process-but he didn't love her, so her refusal to sleep with him was a momentary hiccup in his life, that was all. And it wasn't as though she had refused him because she didn't find him attractive or that she didn't want him-she had told him how it was. The tears continued to flow, hot and acidic.

She was still struggling for composure when Conchita knocked on her door half an hour later to enquire what she would like for dinner, and she forced herself to listen quietly as the little maid relayed several alternatives the cook had listed.

'I don't mind, Conchita.' The thought of food was repugnant anyway. 'Tell Cook I'll have whatever Mr Mallen is having.'

'But Mr Mallen is having dinner at the Sandersons',' Conchita said brightly, before stopping abruptly and casting a glance at Joanne that clearly stated she was worried she had made a gaffe.

'Oh, yes, I remember now.' Joanne found herself speaking as easily and naturally as though she lied with every other breath, and the fabrication must have been convincing because Conchita relaxed again, bustling away quite happily a few minutes later.

The Sandersons. She remembered the Sandersons: Mr and Mrs Sanderson, filthy rich and full of their own importance, and Victoria Sanderson-elegant, beautiful and clearly crazy about Hawk. They had been at the Christmas Eve party, and Victoria's black looks had left Joanne in no doubt at all as to how the ravishing blonde viewed Hawk's house guest.

So he had rushed off to seek solace with the voluptuous Victoria, had he? She found she was grinding her teeth and it shocked her, bringing her shooting out of her seat as though she were on springs. It didn't matter, it didn't; she wouldn't let it.

By the time Conchita brought the dinner tray at seven o'clock, Joanne had phoned the airport and made a reservation on a night flight to France; mercifully there had been a cancellation and a seat was available. It was the coward's way out-she knew that, she told herself miserably as she forced herself to swallow a few mouthfuls of the delicious dinner-but there was no way on this earth she could endure seeing Hawk tomorrow and travelling back to France with him as he had arranged. Besides, by relieving him of his duty towards her he could spend a few more days basking in Victoria's adoration if he wanted to, she thought painfully, bitter anguish making her as white as a sheet.

She was waiting in the hall when the taxi arrived, and slipped out quietly after leaving a note for Hawk thanking him for his hospitality, but saying in the circumstances she thought it better to leave at once. She also left the ruby pendant and bracelet.

She slept a little on the flight home, but the jangled nightmarish dreams were frightening and more exhausting than trying to stay awake, and by the time they landed, in the early hours of a cold and rainy Paris morning, she felt ill with a mixture of reaction and jet lag.

Once back in her apartment she fell into bed without bothering to undress, but in spite of falling into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow she was awake again within a couple of hours, her brain dissecting every word that had passed between her and Hawk until she thought she would go mad.

She had showered, dressed, and left the apartment before eight, driven by a nervous tension so acute that she walked most of the distance to Bergique & Son, only riding the metro for the last part of the journey.

For the first time since she had been living there Paris looked dull and dismal, the Parisians colourless and drab; in fact the very air seemed heavy and lifeless and defunct It frightened her if she thought about it-this inert, joyless stupor that seemed to have taken her over since the conversation in Hawk's car-and so she was almost glad when, arriving at the office a day early, much to Antoinette's consternation, she found Pierre in her office rifling through the filing cabinet which had been locked when she'd left, and pure fury replaced the deadness.

'What are you doing?' It wasn't a time for social niceties and they both knew it.

The heavy-set Frenchman had swung round at her entry into the room, dropping the file he had been holding so the papers flew in a whirling arc about their feet, but he recovered himself almost instantly, the ingratiating smile she had seen once or twice before stitching itself in place. 'Joanne, we weren't expecting you-'

'Je suis désolée, Pierre-'

'Never mind saying you are sorry to him!' Joanne swung round so violently as Antoinette spoke behind her that the French girl actually backed away a step. 'It should be me you are apologising to, Antoinette. What on earth are you thinking of to let someone have access to my filing cabinet anyway?' she asked furiously.

'I can explain, Joanne.' Pierre's smile hadn't wavered. 'This is just a mistake.'

'I agree, Pierre, and I think you are the one who made it,' Joanne said cuttingly. 'You have no right to be in this building and you know it; I saw the contract Hawk made you sign and it is crystal-clear about that very thing. What is this file anyway?' She bent and picked up some of the papers from the floor, and in so doing missed the nod Pierre gave to his ex-secretary to close the office door so the three of them couldn't be overheard.

Joanne recognised the papers instantly; she had been working on the Netta Productions file prior to the Christmas break, and had begun to be very concerned about the matter before Hawk had whisked her away so abruptly. There had been the smell of something very nasty about the case but the facts had been buried in masses of red tape, and it had required patient and tactful digging to unearth the truth. Looking at Pierre's face as she raised her head, Joanne suddenly had the feeling she was staring at all the answers.

'Well?' Joanne stood up slowly, and it was only then that something very cold and very dark trickled down her backbone as she saw the look in the Frenchman's eyes.

'You stupid, arrogant Englishwoman.' He spat the words out of his mouth, following them with a string of profanities that were all the more menacing for being spoken so softly. 'You poke and you pry, do you not? You cannot leave anything alone.'

'You were responsible for that firm going bankrupt, weren't you?' Joanne said slowly, her intuition putting the last piece in the jigsaw. 'It wasn't their managing director who orchestrated the fraud, it was you, and you let an innocent man kill himself when the finger was pointed at him.'

'He was a weak fool.' Pierre's voice held not the slightest compassion. 'Now give me the papers, Joanne, and if you know what is good for you you will forget this conversation ever took place. I have many friends- friends who are invisible and can come and go at will; it would not be wise to cross me.'

'You're threatening me?' She couldn't believe it, she thought wildly. This was the sort of dialogue that belonged to an old second-rate movie, not an up-market publishing company at nine-thirty in the morning of a working day.

'But of course, this is one of the things I do so well.' Pierre flicked his head at Antoinette, indicating for her to leave the room, which she did with an alacrity that told Joanne the French girl was as scared as she was.

'You have only to say nothing and this whole unfortunate matter will die a death,' Pierre continued softly, walking across the room to stand in front of her, his dark eyes gleaming as he looked down into her pale face. 'That is not so hard, is it?' He put out a hand and raised her chin a little.

'Don't threaten me, Pierre.' His touch banished the fear that had had her in its grip, and put steel in her backbone. 'I won't be intimidated by you or anyone else. And don't touch me either.'

'No?' He considered her angry face with a slight smile. 'Perhaps I have underrated the little English girl, eh? Then what would you say to a more…agreeable solution? Perhaps a little thank-you in anticipation? Shall we say a figure of…?'

He mentioned a sum of money that brought her eyes wide open and her mouth slack, before she found her tongue. 'You think everyone is for sale, don't you, Pierre?' she said with icy and scathing disdain. 'Well, this may come as something of a surprise but I am not. These papers will go to the authorities, along with a report of our conversation today, and I think you might be viewing most of the new year from the inside of a prison cell.'

'I can't let you do that, Joanne.' His hands shot out to grasp her upper arms in an iron-like grip that was meant to terrorise. 'Don't make me hurt you-'

'Take your filthy hands off her.'

Pierre just had time to raise his head before he was plucked bodily into the air, and flung across the room with enough force to send him crashing against the far wall, where he landed with all the finesse of a stunned elephant.

'Get up.' Hawk's face was frightening. 'I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget.'

'No, Hawk, no.' Joanne found she was actually hanging on to his back, her arms tight round his neck, as he tried to haul Pierre up by his jacket. 'Leave him, please; he's not worth it-'

'I'll kill the little rat.'

By the time help arrived a few moments later, summoned by Antoinette who appeared to have gone quite hysterical, it was clear Pierre was very glad to be led away and that threats and intimidation were the last thing on the Frenchman's mind, despite the fact that Hawk had told the two burly security men to hold him until the police arrived. Indeed he almost scampered out of the office, pulling the other men with him.

'You frightened him.' Joanne found she had to sit down very suddenly as the room began to swim and dip.

'I'd have done more than that if I hadn't had you round my neck like a limpet.' His voice was soft, very soft, and possessed a deepness that made her raise her head and try to focus on his face, a second before she found herself lifted up and cradled against his chest.

'Hawk, what are you doing…?'

'What I should have done a long, long time ago.' He marched across the room and into the outer office, past a weeping Antoinette and open-mouthed office staff, not saying a word until they were in the lift and going swiftly downwards.

'Hawk, I can stand-'

'Be quiet.' His voice was almost savage and he was crushing her against his body as though he was frightened to let her go, his heart pounding against the wall of his chest with such force it was shaking her frame.

Once in Reception they passed the two security men and the chastened and silent Pierre without stopping, Hawk shouting a reply over his shoulder as they asked him where he was going.

'But Monsieur Mallen, the police-they will need a statement-'

'Damn the police.'

Hawk carried her over to his car once they were outside the building, depositing her in the front seat as though she were a piece of rare Meissen porcelain, and joining her inside moments later.

'Hawk-'

'In a moment, Joanne.' She subsided helplessly. He drove fast and furiously to a quiet spot overlooking green parkland, before bringing the car to a screeching halt and causing a flock of pigeons to rise in squawking protest. He cut the engine in the same moment and then turned and took her into his arms, ignoring her struggles as he swooped on her mouth in a kiss that seemed to draw her very soul.

'No, no, Hawk…' When she came back into the land of the living from the world of colour and light he had taken her into, she forced herself to try and escape his arms.

'Yes, yes, Joanne.' His tone wasn't mocking; in fact it was painful in its sincerity, his hands moving to cup her face as he stared down at her with the piercing blue gaze that was mesmerising. 'Please, darling, don't fight me.'

Darling? She stared at him, her honey-brown eyes huge. She couldn't be hearing right. 'I…I can't do this, I've told you.'

'Joanne, I love you; I've loved you from the moment I set eyes on you, and I shall die loving you,' he said huskily. 'I don't deserve you, I can never expect you to forgive me for the mess I've made of everything, but believe me when I say I love you.'

'You don't…you can't,' she murmured unsteadily, her ears buzzing as her senses swam again.

'I do, I can.' She hadn't realised she was crying until he caught a teardrop with his fingertip, his hands brushing her cheeks with a tenderness that took her breath away. 'I'm a stubborn man, my love, arrogant, foolish, but when I came home last night to ask you to marry me and you'd gone I got the next plane here.'

'You went to dinner with Victoria Sanderson,' she said shakily, unable to believe what was happening was real.

'No. I refused that invitation days ago, knowing it would be your last night in my home, but I forgot to tell Conchita and when I left so abruptly she just assumed I had gone there,' he said quietly. 'I drove for hours, trying to come to terms with all you had said and my own…my own personal demons. I realised I had been fooling myself, that I had been lying to myself for weeks-months-since the day we met. I didn't want an affair with you, Joanne, I wanted more, much more, than that, but I couldn't bring myself to accept it was love. It made me too vulnerable, too exposed, too much like the next man.'

'If…if that's true, then what made you change your mind?' she asked tremulously, not daring to believe it.

'You.' One word but his heart was in it.

'Oh, Hawk.' As her arms went round his neck their lips fused together in an embrace that brought flames of desire coursing hot and fierce, the world outside the car disappearing as reality became touch and taste and sensation.

'You forgive me, Joanne?' he groaned against the softness of her skin. 'I have no right to ask-'

'Yes, yes, I forgive you.'

'And you'll marry me? As soon as it can be arranged?' he murmured with desperate, hungry lips on her face, her throat. 'I want to care for you, my sweet love, cherish you, protect you. When I saw that gorilla holding you I wanted to tear him limb from limb.'

'I think he got the message.' Joanne smiled shakily through her tears, and then said, 'Hawk, are you sure?' She reached up and took his dark face in her small hands. 'Really, really sure?'

'I have never been so sure about anything in my life,' he said brokenly. 'You are everything I have ever dreamed of, everything I have ever desired. All that rubbish I spoke about love-damn it, Joanne, I was fighting myself, tearing myself apart inside. When you spoke about your childhood, the things you went through, it was like a knife tearing at my guts; I couldn't bear it. And still I continued to fight-'

'Hush.' She kissed the searing self-contempt and pain from his face, covering his skin in soft, burning little kisses. 'I don't care about the past; it's the future that matters.'

'And I promise you it will be a glorious one,' he said softly, his hands stroking her hair as his eyes devoured her face. 'A lifetime will be too short to tell you how much I love you. I didn't love my fiancée, Joanne; you were right about that and I knew the moment you spoke it out loud. It wasn't real love. Perhaps a desperation to belong to someone again, a need for reassurance after all that had happened with my parents, perhaps even the cry of a child in the dark-it was all those things, but not the lasting love of two people who are committed to sharing their lives together. It was never that I have never loved any other woman before; I know that now. You have my word,' he finished seriously.

'And you never lie,' she said teasingly, her smile tremulous but full of joy.

'Only to myself,' he said soberly, clasping her close again, his arms so tight she could scarcely breathe.

'When you told me how you felt in the car, your beautiful face so white and haunted and your shoulders bowed beneath a burden that never should have been, the disgust I felt for myself was too much to bear. After all the torture of your early years, the pain you endured day after day in a loveless environment, you still had the strength to forgive and go on. It made me feel…contemptible, worthless. You had far more reason than me to shun love, to be afraid to reach out again, but you had done so-bravely and with such courage. Whereas I…'

'Don't punish yourself any more,' Joanne said shakily, distressed to see the pain and anguish in his eyes. 'We've both learnt from life, things we can pass on to our children and their children-'

'But first a time where I have you all to myself,' he said fiercely. 'I am a jealous man, my love; I cannot share you yet. I love you; I need to make you feel that, and I shall tell you every day of your life and beyond. You are mine as I am yours; I will always be everything you need. And our children will be brought up in the light of that love where the smallest shadow will not be allowed.'

Later, much later, when they had loved and touched and tasted and talked and the morning was gone, she moved drowsily in his arms as they continued to gaze out across the park, neither of them wanting to move back into the real world. 'What happened to your theory of women being good for one thing only?' she asked him mischievously, stroking the tanned skin of his chin where a dark stubble was already beginning to show.

'Did I say that?' The sapphire-blue eyes narrowed on her flushed, happy face. 'Well, in your case it is true- to love, worship and adore.'

'That's three things,' she protested weakly, the dark, sensual glitter in the devastating gaze making her shiver with anticipation.

'I'll just settle for love, then,' he said softly, his hands beginning to coax passionate warmth into every nerve and sinew. 'True love is the greatest thing of all.'