Mistletoe Mistress

CHAPTER FOUR

She must have been mad, quite, quite mad. Oh, Joanne… She ground her teeth in frustration, twisting violently in the bed, which was already a heap of tangled covers, before flinging herself jerkily to the edge and sitting up in one irritable, furious movement How could she, how could she have let Hawk Mallen dominate her senses so completely earlier that day, after all the warnings she had given herself for weeks?

That first evening, back in September, she had made a cast-iron resolution never to become vulnerable around him, never to let her defences down, to maintain a distance at all costs. And she had kept it through all the following weeks of working together; she had been calm, efficient, in control. Or, at least, she had thought she was in control.

The notion that Hawk had allowed her to think that way while he had been quietly biding his time had her eyes narrowing in a face that was already flushed and cross. It hadn't been difficult to maintain a distance over the last few weeks, if she thought about it, because Hawk himself had been the same. What had been his idea? Lulling her into a false sense of security before he struck?

She shook her head bewilderedly as she rose from the bed, slipping her thick, cosy towelling robe over her nightie before wandering over to the window and gazing out over the sleeping night, the darkness dotted here and there by the odd light, which showed there were other night owls who couldn't sleep.

She had to be careful not to let her imagination run away with her here. Okay, he had let her know he found her interesting enough to suggest an evening out at the theatre, but he had known, like her, that if she accepted it would of necessity be a one-off before she left for France, and very probably he had been at a loose end and had thought she would fill a convenient slot And the kiss at lunchtime? Well, he'd made it very clear how he'd considered that! Her cheeks burnt and she yanked the belt of the robe more tightly round her slim waist.

It hadn't touched him at all; in fact once he had released her he had dismissed the moments when she had been in his arms without so much as a word, walking over to the car and opening the passenger door with an air of- What? she asked herself wearily. Coldness? Indifference? Self-assuredness? And she had noticed that all through lunch and the rest of the afternoon back at the office he had been very careful not to have any physical contact of even the most platonic kind.

'Not that I wanted any.' She spoke the words out loud with a kind of defiance, her arms crossed over her middle and her hands clutching her waist 'I can do without any come-on from Hawk Mallen; in fact that's the last thing I want.'

The realisation that she was talking to herself dawned as she heard the hollow note in her words, and she shut her eyes tight for an infinitesimal moment before stalking into the kitchen and fixing herself a cup of hot milk, intensely irritated with both herself and Hawk. She didn't need this, she really didn't-post-mortems on past conversations were bad enough at the best of times and two o'clock in the morning was most definitely not the best of times, not with a busy day looming in front of her and a desk full of urgent correspondence.

No doubt Hawk was fast asleep. She gulped a mouthful of hot milk so fast it burnt her throat. Oh, blow him, blow Mallen Books, France, Bergique & Son… everything.

She finished the milk, snuggled down in bed, blanking her mind of everything but the warm comfort of the electric blanket without and the hot sweet milk within. It was a trick she'd learnt in the blackest days of her childhood, and although it was harder than normal tonight to prevent thoughts from intruding she managed it-just-slipping into a troubled slumber populated by cloudy dreams as soon as she pulled the covers up round her ears and shut her eyes.

'All ready for tomorrow?'

'I think so.' Joanne tried to keep all trace of nervousness out of her voice as she answered Hawk's expressionless enquiry. 'I was going to ask you for the tickets and so on, actually; I've been meaning to for days but it's been so hectic…' The last few days since their lunchtime date had passed in a whirl.

'Don't worry, it's all in hand. I'll bring them along tomorrow morning when I pick you up.' He had raised his head from the papers on his desk as he had spoken, his voice steady, and as the piercing eyes met hers she knew he knew how she would react to his words.

'There's no need for you to pick me up.' In spite of the knowledge she was confirming his expectations she couldn't say anything else. 'I've already ordered a taxi,' she continued uncomfortably, 'but thanks for the offer anyway.'

'Cancel it.' His eyes returned to the file at his fingers as though the matter was finished.

'I don't think-'

'Cancel it, Joanne.' It was said in the tone he used when he considered she was being tiresome, and it never failed to grate unbearably. 'It makes far more sense for us to travel together with our destination being the same.' His eyes met hers again.

'You're flying somewhere tomorrow?' she asked in surprise, and then, as the level gaze continued to hold hers and an awful suspicion washed over her, she added weakly, 'Where to?'

'You didn't: really think I would throw you in the deep end without a float, did you?' he asked quietly, the dark, husky voice sending tiny little shivers down her spine. 'I'm coming over with you to introduce you to the staff and get things off on the right foot I shall stay the night, maybe two. Is that all right?' he added with a touch of sardonic wryness that told her her face was speaking her mind.

'There's no need, really,' she said firmly.

'There's every need.'

She looked hard into the enigmatic face in front of her, wondering exactly what was going on in that ruthless mind. 'I'm not overawed by any of this, Hawk,' she said tightly.

'Whether you are or whether you aren't is of no account; I want the French workforce to know that I'm backing the new management one hundred per cent and that they'll toe the line or else.' There was a touch of grimness to the cool voice now. 'People are people the world over, Joanne, and from what I can make out Pierre let his staff get away with murder, simply because he wasn't bothered one way or the other beyond feathering his own nest You'll meet opposition, covert maybe and perhaps not so covert, but I want to minimise it as far as I can.'

'I can deal with it-'

'Trust me, Joanne.' Blue eyes held honey-brown with a power that was unbreakable. 'I know what I'm talking about.'

'I don't doubt that,' she said primly.

'Yes, you do.' He smiled, his lips twisting wryly. 'You were trying to determine if I had an ulterior motive for accompanying you across the Channel, weren't you?'

It was a challenge, and if she had learnt one thing with this fierce, strange individual it was that you didn't duck and dive.

'Yes.' She stared straight at him, her smooth skin flushing slightly. 'I was. Have you?'

'That's what makes you so good at your job, Joanne,' he murmured drily. 'You have no hesitation in going straight for the jugular if you feel right is on your side.'

'You haven't answered my question,' she said steadily.

'That's right, I haven't.' He smiled again, and his eyes were burning into hers.

'And you don't intend to?'

'Right again.' As she opened her mouth to protest he stood up, moving round the desk and to her side with cat-like swiftness. 'You are such a mass of contradictions, aren't you?' he said with a softness that took her fury away and reduced her to a quivering jelly inside. 'So fierce, so straight, at times, and other times as nervous as a little fawn.'

'I hardly think so.' She tried for a sophisticated coolness and failed miserably.

'Your eyes are the colour of a baby deer in its first year, do you know that?' he continued huskily. 'A sun-kissed golden-brown and velvety soft-eyes a man could drown in.'

'And yours have the sharpness of the sea under an icy winter sky, crystal-clear and bitingly cold.' It wasn't meant to be complimentary but he considered her words with his head slightly tilted, those same eyes of which she had spoken laughing at her.

'I quite like that analogy,' he murmured softly. 'It wouldn't do for an individual bearing the Mallen name to have puppy-dog eyes.'

Don't let it happen again, Joanne; be strong, be strong. The voice in her head was savage. Look how you felt last time when he was soft persuasion one minute and as distant as the man in the moon the next.

She didn't want her confusion to show, but her surreptitious nip on her bottom lip was caught by the blue gaze, and after one second more he turned from her, his eyes hooded.

'I will pick you up at nine in the morning, Joanne.' His voice was reasonable, even, the sort of voice one used when discussing somewhat boring arrangements. 'On the dot.'

'All right…thank you.' The gratitude was grudging but she couldn't help it. She had been nervous enough about the following day before she knew Hawk was going to accompany her, but now… She forced the panic which was gripping her throat to subside with sheer willpower. Everything he had said was reasonable, practical; she knew that if she considered it rationally. His approving presence would give her an edge with the staff she could well do with in the circumstances; it was just that… Rationality didn't seem to have any place in her feelings about Hawk Mallen.

She glanced at him now as he sat down in the enormous leather chair which had always seemed to swallow Charles but fitted Hawk's powerful body perfectly. A shaft of sunlight from the cold but sunny October day outside was glancing through the window on to his cropped head, turning the short hair blue-black, and somehow the bent head was terribly appealing. She wanted to run her fingers through that springy, virile hair, just once, to see what it felt like; she wanted-

She caught her thoughts with something akin to horror, desperately relieved he hadn't looked up as she had stared at him. The sooner she got to France, settled in, and Hawk left, the better.

Joanne was painfully touched, later that afternoon, by the serious and emotional send-off she received from the office staff. Along with a host of cards, an expensive set of brand-new luggage and copious hugs and kisses, Maggie took her to one side and presented her with an exquisite little crystal clock, tiny but beautifully made. 'It's from me, just me,' the young junior said earnestly, her brown eyes liquid with tears. 'You've been so good to me, Joanne, especially when I first started and was so petrified; I can never thank you enough. I shall miss you like anything.'

'Oh, Maggie.' It was too much, and as Joanne began to cry Maggie joined her, and as the two of them hugged Joanne felt a moment of utter desolation.

'Here.' When she was firmly, but kindly, parted from Maggie, and a balloon glass with a hefty measure of brandy was put in her hand, she recognised Hawk's voice but was unable to see him through the streaming tears. 'Drink it, all of it, and then we'll open the champagne,' he murmured quietly in her ear, before raising his voice to the assembled staff and saying, 'Champagne, everyone, to celebrate Joanne's departure to brighter and better things. And there's a cold buffet laid on; the caterers are on their way up, so clear some tables, okay?'

The resulting bustle and chatter gave Joanne a much needed chance to compose herself, although when she saw the sumptuous spread which Hawk had laid on, along with the bottles of very good vintage champagne, she nearly succumbed to the flood of emotion again. 'You…you shouldn't have gone to so much trouble,' she said weakly after all the appropriate toasts had been made and everyone was in little groups, plates and glasses in hand, talking animatedly. 'I didn't expect anything…'

'Perhaps that's why I did it,' Hawk said softly. They were standing slightly apart from the merry throng, Hawk having insisted on filling her plate for her and standing over her while she tried to force some food past the huge lump in her throat. 'Besides which, everyone thinks one hell of a lot of you, Joanne. I might have had a mutiny on my hands if we hadn't lashed out a bit.'

She glanced up at him, her gaze still luminous with the tears she was holding at bay, and as he stared down into the huge honey-brown orbs the wry smile on his face faded, and their eyes locked and held for endless moments.

'Joanne-?' He stopped abruptly, and his voice was husky as he continued, 'You know they don't want you to go?'

'Don't they?' She wasn't sure if he was talking about the office staff or if his words held a deeper meaning, and she was terrified of the possibility of the latter even as she longed for it with an intensity that shocked her.

'They'll miss you; things won't be the same…' His voice was deep and gravelly, the words seeming to be dragged up from the depths of him, and almost in the same instant he turned from her with a savage movement that spoke of escape and said, 'More champagne?'

She stood quite still as she watched him cross the room and pour a stream of the golden sparkly liquid into one of the large fluted glasses, her senses reeling. She hadn't imagined the raging desire in his eyes when he had looked at her-she hadn't-but there had been something else too, something…dark. She shivered suddenly, in spite of the perfectly regulated temperature within the building. What on earth had happened in his life to make him look like that? she asked herself weakly, but in the next second she was surrounded by a loud, laughing group who drew her into their midst, forcing her to push her agitation to the back of her mind.

When Hawk joined them, just a moment or two later, he handed her the glass of champagne with a smile and a nod, his face cool and distant and the big body slightly aloof. The brief baring of his soul had gone, to be replaced by the ice man who was in perfect control of himself and those about him-benevolent host, gracious conversationalist, but definitely, overwhelmingly untouchable.