Mistletoe Mistress

CHAPTER THREE

'And he wants your answer tomorrow morning, is that right?' Charles's voice had been sleepy when he'd answered the phone-it was past midnight after all-but once Joanne had begun to talk the telephone had fairly crackled with excitement.

'He wants to know if I'm interested enough to go on to the next phase,' Joanne answered quietly, 'and if I am he'll put me more fully in the picture.'

'And are you?' Charles asked evenly.

'I suppose so, but if I don't make a go of it and I'm left with egg on my face…'

'And if you do make a go of it the world's your oyster,' Charles said steadily. 'Think of it, Joanne; it's a dream of a career move, and frankly it sounds like he's only asking you to do what you've been doing for me for five years. We've worked so closely together there isn't a thing you don't know about managing a publishing house.'

'But this one is so much bigger.' That sounded rude and she added quickly, 'Well, a bit bigger, and it's in France and-'

'You could do it and Hawk Mallen knows it or else he wouldn't have offered you the job.'

'Charles, I'm sorry I phoned you at this time of night, but I don't feel I know enough about the Mallen Corporation and…and Hawk Mallen to make a decision. Would you mind filling me in on what you know?'

'On Hawk or the Mallen empire?' Charles's voice was very dry.

'Both.'

By the time they finished the call, fifteen minutes later, Joanne knew the Mallen Corporation had been founded by Hawk's American/French grandfather over fifty years ago, beginning with a textile warehouse shop that quickly grew into a string of the same and then diversified into more avenues than even Charles was sure of. The old man had had one son, Hawk's father, who, as Hawk had already mentioned, had been killed in an automobile accident, thereupon making Hawk a millionaire several times over at the tender age of twenty.

Charles had said more, much more, but Joanne had found her attention wandering more than once as a pair of very blue, piercingly intent eyes kept swimming into her consciousness. Hawk Mallen was a mesmerising man to be with and the compelling weight of his personality stayed long after the man himself had gone. He exuded energy and power and vigour, and those moments in his arms on the dance-floor… She shut her eyes as her senses swam. If she took this job-if-she would make sure she never put herself in such a vulnerable position again.

Her thoughts continued along this same path once the call had ended and she had showered and slipped into bed.

Other women, more worldly, experienced women, might be able to handle a man like Hawk and enjoy the challenge, but he frightened her half to death. She shut her eyes tightly in the warm darkness, her toes curling into the linen covers.

Not that he had behaved as anything but the perfect gentleman on their ride home, seeing her to her door with a polite handshake and almost distant smile that would have sat well on a maiden aunt. In fact from the moment he had explained about the job one could almost have called his attitude cool, certainly formal… She refused to recognise even a shred of pique at his lack of interest. It suited her-the fact that he was concerned only with her ability to do the job he had in mind. It did. She knew only too well how the man-woman relationship, with all its complications, could prove a time bomb that ruined the lives of everyone within a mile radius.

As though it were yesterday her mother's face was there, pretty, irritated, as she had handed her over to the social worker at the home. 'It will only be for a little while, Joanne.' Her mother had clearly wished she were anywhere but in the neat, orderly office with officialdom present. 'Just until Mummy gets a nice house to live in.'

The 'nice house' had taken three years to achieve, three years in which she was moved from foster home to foster home, until, at the age of seven, her mother had married. Not again-she had never been married to Joanne's father who had deserted his pregnant girlfriend once the good news was imparted-but for the first time. That marriage had lasted nine months, and by the time she was eight she was back in a foster home again, with the knowledge that her mother could barely wait to see the back of her.

When she was nine her mother had married Bob, and it had been at his insistence that she was once again placed in her mother's care.

She had never wanted to be alone with Bob; she hadn't been able to put it into words at the time-the strange feeling she experienced when his pale, almost opaque eyes slid over her slim, childish body-but when the marriage had been two months old, and the police had arrived on the doorstep one morning, she had known then, young as she was, that she had been right to withstand his overtures of friendship. He had been convicted of several cases of child abuse, a paedophile of the worst kind, and strangely her mother had seemed to blame her for the break-up of her second marriage, screaming at her that she should never have had her back to stay, that if Bob hadn't known about Joanne he wouldn't have asked her to marry him and she would have been spared all the resulting humiliation.

She had been dispatched to the children's home the day after the court case, and had known then that she would never live with her mother again. Her mother had visited her now and again over the next few years, usually with a different 'uncle' in tow each time, some jovial and loud some not so jolly, but had always managed to make her feel the visit was on sufferance.

The caustic memories of a thousand little rejections which added up to a gigantic whole had burnt so painfully deep within her psyche that even now they made her screw up her eyes and curl into a tight little embryonic ball under the covers.

Commitment, marriage, men-it all meant disappointment and betrayal; she had learnt the fact first-hand, watching her mother's desperate search for love. And children-the biological fruit of that sexual urge which drove men into pretending they were what they weren't, and foolish women into believing it-were the innocent casualties that suffered the most.

She had vowed many times during her tear-filled adolescence that she would never allow herself to be subjugated like her mother; she didn't want or need a man in her life-they meant trouble and pain and ultimately disappointment. Her mother had grown bitter in time- in the last conversation they had had before she died, she had told Joanne over and over again that it wasn't in a man's nature to be monogamous, that marriage and fidelity were the world's biggest lie.

Did she, Joanne, really believe that? she asked herself now, her eyes still tightly shut. She wasn't sure, not deep inside, but she was sure that she would never dare to take the risk, and also that casual relationships, of the sort her mother had eventually subscribed to, were not for her. And whenever the longing to have someone- one man, to come home to, to love-overwhelmed her- as it did more and more as each year ticked by-she drew on the memories and the agony of the past and it fled.

She had her work, her home and her friends-it was safe, controlled, she was in charge and no one could hurt her. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

Charles and Clare had helped her erase some of the pain of the past, as much by the way they lived, their devotion to each other and their children, as their actual friendship. For the first time she had found it within herself to acknowledge that some folk-the lucky ones-could find that elusive element called true love and hang on to it despite all the trials and heartache. But not her. Definitely not her. She just didn't have what it would take. She had made that decision years ago and there was no reason for any doubts now-none, not one.

Once Joanne had accepted Hawk Mallen's offer the next day she found herself swept into a kind of whirlwind that had her breathless most of the time. In view of all she had previously decided about the need for a change, for fresh fields and new horizons, the offer was too good to turn down, but she had thought one of his countless minions would deal with her from that point and it was disconcerting to find that Hawk himself intended to oversee each detail. He was the sort of man who generated excitement and flurry and sheer atmosphere wherever he was, and the following weeks sped by in ever increasing velocity.

Of course she could appreciate Bergique & Son's future was close to his heart, or his grandfather's, to be more precise, and he needed to keep a tight hold of the reins, but the apprehension and unease she had felt that first night was always there, at the back of her mind. And she couldn't quite work out why. He was businesslike, cool, remote, but not unhelpful-very much the austere, detached tycoon, but always ready to listen to her ideas or opinions. And yet… 'Oh, stop imagining things.' She leant against the wall of the lift which was whisking her up to the meeting with Hawk that morning.

Just because she had caught him looking at her…oddly once or twice, it didn't mean he was regretting his decision to appoint her manageress of the failing firm, or that he was going to tell her he had changed his mind, or any of the other scenarios she had gone through each night in the quiet of her bed.

He was just a disturbing man, that was all it was, and in a few more days she would be over the Channel in France and he would be here in England, or dashing off to America or any one of a dozen countries he seemed to visit frequently. She just had to be cool, calm and collected, serene even, in the five days that were left. That wasn't beyond her, surely?

It shouldn't have been. It probably wouldn't have been, if poor Maggie, who had been totally overawed by Hawk's commanding presence from day one, hadn't tripped over her own feet and deposited most of their morning coffee right over her illustrious boss's immaculate silk-covered chest.

As the burning liquid hit his torso Hawk swore-once but very thoroughly-leaping up from his chair like a scalded cat-and scalded he certainly was. The bedlam was immediate, Maggie's horrified apology cut short as she burst into tears, several people from the outer office cannoning into the room at the sound of Hawk's yell, the telephone choosing that moment to begin ringing and all the papers on Hawk's desk tumbling to the floor as Joanne jumped up to help and knocked them with her arm.

'Quiet!' The thirty-second mayhem stopped as suddenly as it had begun as Hawk roared the order into the chaos, the only sound breaking the dead silence that followed being Maggie's muted wailing and the continuing ring of the telephone. 'Please, I'm fine, no harm done- get Maggie a cup of tea or whatever else you keep out there for emergencies,' Hawk fired in a staccato burst that told Joanne he was very definitely not all right. 'And someone answer that damn phone!'

As the others filed out, taking the weeping Maggie with them, Hawk shut the door behind them, wincing slightly as he did so, before peeling his steaming shirt out of the fiat waistband of his trousers, discarding his tie and beginning to undo the buttons.

'What are you doing?' It was a squeak.

'What do you think I'm doing?' He clearly wasn't in the mood for rhetorical questions and she really couldn't blame him, but neither could she quite believe he was going to strip half naked in the office in the middle of a working day. He was, and apparently with a complete disregard for modesty that left her breathless. Only it wasn't just his lack of propriety that was causing the blood to race through every nerve and sinew.

Clothed, Hawk Mallen had the sort of lean, athletic physique that made the female heart beat a little faster; half clothed, the dark power radiated from him in tangible waves, impossible to ignore. Not that Joanne made any attempt to ignore it-she looked; she couldn't help it.

'Joanne?'

It was humiliating to realise he had spoken her name twice before it registered on her dazed senses, but the big broad shoulders and hairy, muscled chest had her knees ready to buckle under her. Useless to tell herself she was pathetic, ridiculous-a female voyeur; he was affecting her in a way no other man had ever done before and in a way she wouldn't have dreamed possible even moments before. He was…well, he was… She dragged her eyes up to the piercing blue gaze which was waiting for her.

'I asked you if you would get someone to pop to Harrods and pick up a shirt,' he said softly, his lips quirking with amusement. 'It's nearer than my hotel and I have an account there; they'll know what to send.'

He knew! He knew the thoughts that had shocked her with their lasciviousness and he was laughing at her.

Her head shot up, her honey-brown eyes darkening as the knowledge provided a welcome shot of adrenalin. 'Of course.' Her voice was taut and she kept her eyes strictly on his face, but the tanned expanse beneath them was still there.

'And perhaps you'd dispose of this?' He handed her the damp shirt, the muscles in his chest flexing as he did so. 'I'm going to hose myself down in Charles's washroom; I can feel that damn coffee's still burning my skin.'

She took the shirt as though it were going to bite her, knowing her face was flooded with colour but unable to do anything about it. He'd done this on purpose-oh, not the coffee, she couldn't blame that on him, but this… this flaunting of himself, she thought balefully. To embarrass her, to show her he was as unconcerned about her seeing him in a state of undress as…as the office furniture! It was added confirmation, as if she needed any, that she was just a working machine to him, little more than a number-

'Joanne?' The dark voice was patient. 'Harrods?'

'Oh, yes-yes, of course.' She shot out of the office as though the devil himself was after her, and in a way she felt that he was.

How could she have ogled him like that? she thought miserably after she'd sent one of the office staff darting off to Harrods. She'd all but licked her lips! What must he have thought? That she was attracted to him? Worse, that she was letting him know that she was attracted to him? She'd die if he'd thought that-she would; she'd just die-

'Joanne?' Maggie's woebegone voice cut into her painful introspection. 'How mad is he-Mr Mallen? I can't believe I did that.'

You and me both, Joanne thought as the mortification burnt deep. 'He's all right; don't worry.' She forced her voice to sound bright and matter-of-fact. 'Worse things happen at sea and all that.'

'I wish I was at sea; I wish I was anywhere but here,' Maggie said flatly. 'I don't know what it is about him but he makes me all fingers and thumbs; do you know what I mean?'

I do; oh, I do. 'He's only here for another three weeks-' Joanne smiled briskly into Maggie's puppy-dog eyes '-and then Mr Brigmore's replacement will be at the helm. Just…just treat him like you would Mr Brigmore till then, Maggie.'

'Just treat him like you would Mr Brigmore.' The absurdity of the statement hit her full between the eyes a little while later when she took the neatly packaged silk shirt in to Hawk. She hadn't ventured back into his office in the meantime-she knew her limitations and sitting opposite a half-naked Hawk Mallen discussing business matters was one of them-and her knock at his door was tentative in the extreme.

He was sitting at his desk as she entered, apparently engrossed in the papers in front of him, but as he raised an expressionless face to her, his startling blue eyes hooded and cool, she knew, she just knew, he was fully aware of the impact his raw, vigorous brand of masculinity had on the opposite sex.

'Your shirt.' She wanted to fling the thing on his desk and run but she forced herself to smile politely and hand it to him without undue haste.

'Thanks.' He smiled, and her heart jerked and then flew round her chest like a caged bird. 'I presume poor Maggie is still covered with confusion?' he said quietly as he undid the Cellophane, shaking the beautiful grey silk shirt free of creases. 'Was she like that with Charles? So jumpy all the time?'

With Charles? Was he joking? She looked straight into the tanned face and saw he was perfectly serious.

'No, not really,' she said carefully.

'But I make her nervous.' His eyes were intent on hers as he pulled the silk over muscled skin and she forced herself not to swallow, although agitation had created a lump in her throat the size of a golf ball. 'Why is that? Is she worried she might lose her job?'

Oh, get a move on, for goodness' sake. He had stood up to pull on the shirt and now he moved round in front of his desk, perching on the edge of it as he began to fasten the buttons from the bottom up. There was something so intimate, so ridiculously intimate in the action that funny little sensations seemed to be going off in every part of her body, her skin hot and flushed and her mouth dry.

'Her job?' Her voice sounded vague even to herself and she forced it down a decibel as she said, 'No, I don't think so; she just isn't very good with new people at first.'

'I see.' The blue eyes narrowed and he leant forward, the last three or four buttons still undone and revealing far more dark curling body hair than was good for her pulse rate. 'And you?' he asked softly. 'What about you?'

'Me?' The squeak was back.

'Have I won you over by my decorous behaviour over the last few weeks?' he asked with wicked ease, his eyes almost silver as they moved over the rich curtain of silky red hair and down to her eyes again. 'Or am I still the monster from hell bent on destruction and ruination?'

'I didn't say that,' she protested quickly.

'You didn't have to.' The deep husky voice with its unusual gravelly texture was self-deprecating. 'I've seen dislike and fear in eyes far more adept at hiding it than yours. Besides-' he leant back again, the movement bringing hard-muscled thighs into play '-I seem to remember you accused me of throwing poor Charles out on his ear? And 'poor Charles' was your terminology, not mine, incidentally,' he added drily.

'I've said I was sorry about that.' She looked at him steadily.

'And it's very bad manners to bring it up again?' He added the bit she hadn't dared to say. 'But then I'm not a true-blue Englishman, am I, Joanne?' he said silkily. 'My paternal grandparents were of American and French extraction, and my father married a beautiful Italian countess, so that makes me a…mongrel?'

A mongrel? There was no mongrel ever born who looked like Hawk Mallen. But the Italian bit explained his dark good looks, she thought silently, and the jet-black hair that was such a devastating contrast to the brilliant blue eyes. The eyes must be from his father's side… She checked her thoughts and said hastily, 'I hardly think a mongrel.'

'No?' He grinned at her, his teeth white in the tanned skin of his face. 'Well, perhaps not,' he conceded sardonically. 'I would certainly kill any man who suggested so.'

'I don't doubt it.' And she meant it.

'But you haven't answered my question, tactful Joanne,' he drawled mockingly.

'What question?' She wanted to whirl round and run, turn the clock back an hour to the state of play that had existed before the wretched coffee, before this broodingly dangerous being had emerged from the tycoon's skin; but it was too late.

'Have I persuaded you that I am a normal nice man?' he asked drily. 'Or is this outside the realms of possibility?'

'I don't know what you want me to say.' She stared at him, her golden eyes enormous. 'I work for you-'

'Forget the working for me.' It was sharp, too sharp, and as he saw her flinch he moderated his tone, his eyes continuing to gleam like molten silver as he said, 'Tell me the truth, Joanne, that's all I ask.'

That was never all a man like him asked, she thought faintly, but if he wanted the truth then he could have it, job or no job.

'I don't think 'normal' and the name Mallen are compatible,' she said quietly. 'From what I've heard about your grandfather he is out of the ordinary too. As for nice-well, I don't know you, do I?' she prevaricated uneasily. 'You might be.'

'But you doubt it.'

She had expected him to be angry but the hard mouth was twitching with amusement.

'You are right about my grandfather, Joanne,' he said thoughtfully after a few moments of holding her with the mesmerising power of his eyes. 'He is a character, quite a character. Ruthless, irascible, probably the most impatient man I've ever met-'

'But with a heart of gold?' she put in daringly before she could stop herself.

The quirk to his lips acknowledged her bravery. 'No, he is as hard as iron.' All amusement fled as he added, 'He's had to be; if you knew his life story you would understand that. He was born poor, dirt-poor, and when he first met my grandmother he told her he wouldn't marry her until he had made his first million. She was from a rich French family, you see, and people said… Well, you can imagine what they said,' he added flatly.

'She waited ten years for him and they had two years together, as man and wife, before my father was born. She died having him.' Her shock was evident and he shook his head slowly as he said, 'He never looked at another woman after she died and he's had offers- plenty. My father was the image of her, apparently, but strangely they never got on. It caused the old man a lot of grief, especially after my parents were killed, although he's never discussed it.'

'But he has you, his grandson.'

'Yes, he has me,' he agreed softly.

'And that's more family than some people have.' She hadn't meant to vocalise that thought, it had just popped out of its own volition, and now she flushed scarlet as she lowered her eyes and aimed to bring the conversation back on a more mundane level. 'That financial statement you had from Pierre-I think-'

'Why are you so frightened of me, Joanne?' he asked quietly.

'What?'

As she raised her eyes again he levered himself off the desk, bringing his lean, lithe body to within inches of her own and noting the little backward step that she made before checking herself with a tightening of his mouth.

'You find me threatening, is that it?' He moved an inch or so closer and this time she forced herself to stand absolutely still, her small chin rising a notch as she stared steadily into the glittering eyes. 'An alien in the safe little world you have created for yourself?'

It was so near the mark that her breath caught in her throat for a moment, his subtle menace more pronounced as he came close enough for the wickedly blended, sensual aftershave he wore to stroke her senses, heightening her awareness of him so it became painful. She had to stop this, had to defuse things…

'I work for you, that's all-'

'Perhaps I don't want that to be all,' he said silkily.

Her eyes were locked with his, her limbs frozen, even as her brain was telling her to get out, to remove herself from the line of fire. His height was forcing her head to tilt back as she stared up at him and she was vitally aware of the muscled breadth of him, of the power of that magnificent chest cage she had so recently seen in all its splendour.

'What about you, Joanne?' His voice was warm and deep, caressing her as expertly as though he were touching her. 'What do you want?'

She wanted to tell him she wasn't interested, that he had to leave her alone, that he was the last man, the very last man, she would get involved with, but somehow all she could do was stare at him, quite unable to move or speak.

'You are…tantalising, do you know that?' he asked huskily. 'A delicious blend of grown-up woman and young girl contained in a creamy soft skin that makes me want to bite it-gently of course,' he added softly as her eyes widened. 'And that dusting of freckles across your nose-I didn't know women still had freckles. Come out with me tonight, to a show or something.'

'What?' The last bit was so abrupt she didn't know if she had heard right.

'A show. With me. Tonight.' It was said mockingly, but there was a note in the dark voice that made her toes curl, and it was this, more than anything, that flashed a red warning light in front of her vision.

'I don't think so.' She tried for cool firmness and failed miserably. 'I've always held the belief that work and play should be quite separate,' she said primly, avoiding his eyes.

'So have I,' he agreed immediately.

'Well, then.'

'But there always has to be one exception to the rule, besides which within days you won't be around for it to matter much, one way or the other,' he said smoothly.

So this was going to be a wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am kind of evening? she thought numbly. What was he expecting? Payment in kind for the marvellous job offer? Was that it? And then she could scoot off across the Channel, no doubt forgotten the moment her bag was packed?

'Joanne?' He took her shoulders in his hands, his touch jerking her head-which had been drooping forward-up to meet the ice-blue gaze. 'I'm suggesting an evening out, just that, okay? I have never yet used my position to blackmail a woman into my bed and I have no intention of starting with you.'

He'd done it again-read her mind, she thought frantically.

'And while we're on the subject you got the job on merit, pure and simple, just in case that fertile little imagination of yours has decided otherwise.' He was mad; that much was obvious from the frosty countenance surveying her.

'I didn't think-'

'And don't lie to me.' The black brows frowned at her. 'I told you before, I expect the truth.'

He was still holding her, her eyes on a level with his tanned throat, and whether it was the fact that her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer, which was humiliating in itself, or that whatever the situation he always seemed to put her in the wrong, she didn't know, but suddenly she found herself saying, 'All right, I did think you were proposing more than a show if you want to know, and frankly that wouldn't be too unusual in this day and age with most of the men I know,' she finished caustically.

'Then perhaps it's time to get to know a different sort of man,' he said silkily. 'One that can think with his brain rather than a lower part of his anatomy.'

'Like you, you mean?' she flashed back hotly.

'Why all this anger and resentment?' He had changed. In an instant the derisive cutting element had gone and the sensuously persuasive and much more dangerous Hawk was back, his eyes almost stroking her hot skin as they wandered over her flushed face. 'Is it such a crime to want to spend an evening in your company, Joanne? In spite of all the formidable keep-off signs you must have the occasional brave man dare to make such a suggestion?'

She shrugged, moving away from him as she did so, and he made no effort to stop her. 'I don't have much time for socialising,' she said briefly, feeling a little better when there were a few feet of air between them.

'So your idea of keeping work and play separate boils down to all work and no play?' he asked mockingly. 'What an industrious little worker I have in my midst.'

'I would have thought you'd be pleased,' she said tightly, refusing to be drawn.

'So would I.' He stared at her for a moment, his voice thoughtful. 'Yes, so would I. My loss of a theatre companion is Bergique & Son's gain after all. Well, it will have to be lunch, then-nice tame lunch in a busy crowded restaurant where you will be quite safe from my wicked intentions.'

She glared at him, she couldn't help it, but he seemed oblivious to her fury, turning to pick up the tie which had arrived with the shirt and walking round to the other side of the desk again as he said, 'Be ready at twelve.'

'But-'

'And order some more coffee, would you? Preferably delivered by anyone other than Maggie,' he added drily, his eyes on his desk.

Immediately it was all business mode again, the rapier, sharp mind she had come to respect and admire over the last few weeks homed in on the financial report from Pierre Bergique they had been about to discuss when Maggie had committed her prize faux pas.

She had never met anyone who could metamorphose so completely, she thought testily, passing on the request for coffee before reseating herself opposite the big dark figure behind the desk. He couldn't have any real feelings at all; it seemed as though he was made of granite, hard, unyielding granite, with just a covering of flesh and skin on the outside. But what an outside…

The brilliant blue eyes suddenly rose and focused on her face and she felt their impact like a bolt of lightning. 'Relax, Joanne,' he said easily. 'You're no good to me all tensed up and ready to strike; I want your full attention on this report.'

'I beg your pardon-?'

'You were thinking of excuses to get out of lunch.' The cool voice was irritatingly sure of itself but she didn't dissuade him; she would far rather he think her lack of concentration was due to what he had suggested lather than her musing on his magnificent body. 'Rest assured there isn't one, so let's press on with the matter in hand.'

'I'm more than ready to do what you want.' It was an unfortunate choice of words, and the haughty expression with which she had spoken the clipped declaration faltered as his black eyebrows rose.

'I wish.' Two words, and his head had already lowered to the papers in front of him, but the shivers of sensation continued to flow up and down her spine for a few minutes more, making the full attention he had requested impossible.

The sky was overcast and there was a slight drizzle in the air as they walked out of the building at three minutes past twelve, the cold October day making the warmth of summer a distant memory. Hawk's car was crouching in its reserved space next to her little red Fiesta, and never had 'his' and 'hers' been so markedly different.

The thought brought a little smile to her lips as Hawk opened the passenger door for her and she slid inside the luxuriously plush interior, and he paused before moving round the car, peering in the open door as he said, 'What?'

'What?' She arched her brows at him although she knew exactly what he had meant.

'Why the smile? You don't often smile in my company,' he added sardonically.

'It was nothing, just the cars. It just struck me yours looks as though it could eat mine for breakfast,' she said lightly.

'If you work the miracle with Bergique & Son you'll be able to treat yourself to anything you fancy.' There was a note to his voice she couldn't quite place.

'I'm quite content with my little Fiesta,' she said quietly.

'Are you, Joanne? Quite content, that is?'

They both knew he wasn't referring to her choice of car, and she stared up into the dark, handsome face above her, forcing her eyes not to fall from his and her features to betray none of her inner turmoil as she said, 'Perfectly. It's never let me down yet, besides which I wouldn't feel comfortable driving anything too flash.'

'Flash?'

She had nettled him and it felt wonderfully good. 'My Fiesta is ideal for nipping in and out of London traffic,' she continued sweetly, 'and I can park it almost anywhere.'

He eyed her darkly for one moment before shutting the passenger door very quietly, and as he slid into the driving seat a few seconds later she had the brief satisfaction of knowing she had held her own for once.

There were several good restaurants within easy reach but after they had been driving for some fifteen minutes, the powerful car growling with impatience at the lunch-time traffic, she asked the question that had been hovering on her lips for the last few miles. 'Where are we going?'

'I've an appointment before we eat; you don't mind?' he said absently, his eyes on the road ahead. 'It won't take long.'

'No, of course not.'

He didn't elaborate further and she didn't like to ask, but when, nearly half an hour later, they still hadn't arrived and the concrete jungle had given way to an altogether more pleasant residential aspect, she was just on the verge of nerving herself to enquire as to the exact location of their destination when Hawk drew off the wide, tree-lined street and on to what was virtually a private road. 'Hawk? Where-?'

'Hang on a moment.' As she'd spoken a pair of massive wooden gates, which wouldn't have been out of place in a bank, had appeared in front of them, set in an eight-foot-high brick wall that was formidable. As the driver's window wound down he inserted a small key into a little box and immediately the gates glided open, revealing a long winding drive threading through beautifully landscaped grounds.

'Who lives here?' she asked nervously, her eyes turning to the hard dark profile as the powerful car moved smoothly forward.

'A business colleague.' If he heard the note of panic in her voice he didn't comment 'He's emigrating to Canada shortly and has given me first option on the house before he puts it on the open market He's taken his family to Bermuda for a few days so suggested I might like to browse round and make up my mind for when he returns. He's due back tomorrow but it's been one hell of a week and this is the first opportunity I've had to call by.'

'You're thinking of buying a house in England?' she asked faintly. She knew he had a mansion of a place in the States, Beverly Hills, no less, as well as a bachelor pad in New York-the office grapevine had been full of it-but why England? He had told her he had no intention of overseeing Concise Publications any longer than it took for Charles's replacement to settle in, but then, the Mallen Corporation was huge. Obviously they had far bigger fish to fry in London than Charles's operation, so why not a home here? She knew he hated the anonymity of hotels; he had been nothing if not vocal about the subject for weeks.

'Maybe.' The blue gaze flashed over her worried face and shining red hair before returning to the windscreen. 'Maybe not. I loathe hotels, that much is common knowledge, but in the States and Italy I've got my own places-' the office gossip missed the one in Italy, Joanne thought wryly '-and I usually stay with a friend when I'm in Germany. Other countries normally only necessitate a brief visit.'

Friend of the female gender? She was surprised at how much the thought hurt. No, not hurt, she corrected quickly in her mind, her face flaming as though she had voiced it. Irritated, annoyed, that was all, and only then because she hated the thought of any man clicking his fingers and women falling into line, be they Germans, Italians, or little pink Martians with blue spots.

'Hmm, impressive.'

His voice focused her eyes on the imposing residence at the end of the drive, and she had to agree with him- it was impressive all right. The house was three storeys tall, liberally covered in red and green ivy with myriad windows and the sort of front door that would grace any stately home. It was huge, splendid, the sort of place that would take a small army to run and maintain it, and Joanne hated it on sight.

It didn't improve on further acquaintance. The interior was larger than life, the last word in elegance, but Joanne couldn't believe that real flesh-and-blood people lived in such a dignified, coldly perfect mausoleum of a place- especially children.

She said little as they were shown round by a young attractive housekeeper who looked as though she did modelling in her spare time, but then neither did Hawk, beyond refusing refreshments at the end of the tour and ushering her out to the car with the minimum of goodbyes.

'Well?' They stood at the bottom of the curved stone steps, looking out across the vast expanse of bowling-green-smooth lawn surrounded by massive oaks. 'What did you think?' he asked expressionlessly. 'Some kind of edifice, eh?' His American accent was suddenly much stronger-she normally barely noticed it-and she paused for a moment before answering.

Should she prevaricate, humour him? she thought flatly. All Americans loved stately homes-it was an appreciation given to them along with their mother's milk-and this home was certainly stately. If he intended to buy it, and she told him what she really thought, he wasn't going to be very pleased. But he had asked. And he had a mania for the truth…

'It's certainly that.' She paused again. 'But…'

'But?' he asked coolly.

'I'm sorry, it's beautiful, but as a home it just wouldn't be my cup of tea,' she said colloquially.

'There's no warmth, no real feel about it I'm sorry,' she added again when he still didn't speak.

'You're a roses round the door girl?' The tone was cynical in the extreme, and immediately her hackles rose.

'Probably.' And she was damned if she was going to apologise for the fact to him.

'A cottage in the country, with resident cat, dog and pigeons, not to mention a couple of fat healthy babies thrown in?' he continued derisively.

She felt her temper rise but didn't even try to hold on to it. 'If I ever got married, and frankly that's not on my agenda, I'd much prefer what you've just described than that…that so-called edifice,' she bit back heatedly. 'And if you're insinuating that makes me naive, so be it Money isn't everything, you know. Just because you've been born with a silver cutlery set, let alone a spoon, it doesn't make you an authority on what other people should like.'

'Indeed it doesn't,' he said gravely.

'And considering you're always belly-aching about the truth you shouldn't object when you get just that,' she continued hotly.

'Belly-aching?'

'Added to which I didn't ask to come and look at your wretched house; in fact I didn't have any say in the matter-something which is not unusual with you!'

'Joanne, I don't like the house-'

'And you might be a multi-millionaire with the power to scare people half to death, like poor Maggie, but you function just the same as everyone else, Hawk Mallen, at root level-the same bodily needs, the same requirement to bathe, to eat, to go to the loo-'

'Please, don't go on; delicacy forbids it.'

'And don't laugh at me!'

When, in the next moment, she was pulled into his arms and his mouth descended in a kiss that was all fire and sensation, she never even thought about struggling. As her head began to spin she felt herself folded even more securely against the hard bulk of him, the kiss becoming warm, sensuous, coaxing, turning her legs to jelly and her limbs fluid That delicious fragrance, peculiar to him, was all about her, fuelling the need, adding another dimension to the sexual fever that had flared so suddenly she couldn't fight it.

His mouth was experienced, his tongue exploring, and the ripples of desire that were flooding every part of her body far too sweet to deny.

The cold October afternoon, all the warnings she had given herself for weeks, the fact that this was Hawk Mallen-Hawk Mallen-weren't real any more. All that was real was this world of light and pleasure and sheer sensation behind her closed eyelids, a world she hadn't known existed, hadn't imagined in her wildest dreams.

And then it stopped. His head lifted from hers, his arms released her, and his voice, controlled, tight even, spoke as matter-of-factly as though they had been discussing the weather. 'Lunch, I think?'