Mistletoe Mistress

CHAPTER SIX

Twice. It had happened twice, and she was going to make darn sue there wouldn't be a third time.

Joanne had sunk down on to the carpet as Hawk had left, her shaking legs unable to hold her a moment longer, and had remained there for long minutes with tears streaming down her face. How could she have been so weak as to let him walk all over her like that? she'd asked herself over and over again through the tearing pain, before forcing herself to rise and walk slowly into the bathroom, where she had washed her tear-stained face with trembling hands.

She stared at herself now in the mirror, her eyes still liquid with the tears she was holding back by sheer willpower and her nose red and shiny.

What had it all been? An exercise in subjecting her to his will? A demonstration of his power and authority? The cruellest sort of proof that he could take or leave her despite all her brave words? Probably a mixture of all of those things, she thought bleakly, brushing a strand of damp hair off her face and shutting her eyes tight for a moment If he had continued the lovemaking she would have found it difficult to resist full intimacy, and she would have hated herself afterwards, and him too. But she would still have loved him and that was more scary.

So… She opened her eyes and narrowed her gaze on the blotchy face in the mirror. Pull yourself together, girl. Nothing has happened, not really, even if it was more by luck than judgement. She wasn't sure why he hadn't followed through on his advantage; probably he thought he was softening her up for the kill? Or maybe once she was in his arms her inexperience had turned him off? Or perhaps-

'Stop it, stop it, stop it' She spoke the words out loud through clenched teeth, as angry with herself as she was with him. The whys and wherefores didn't matter, not really. Whatever his motives she was taking this as a warning that one little moth had got terribly near the flames that could easily consume it, and it wasn't going to happen again. She shook her head savagely. No way.

'What the hell are you talking about?' Hawk asked tightly.

'I'm moving out this morning; I mean it.'

'Joanne.'

'You can 'Joanne' me all you like, Hawk, but I mean it.' He had just arrived at the apartment to inform her the firm's car was waiting downstairs, his eyes immediately narrowing on her suitcases and bag near the front door, but she had faced him bravely in spite of the fact that her insides were melted jelly. She couldn't remember ever feeling such humiliation and embarrassment before, but she would rather die than let him know, she thought grimly, staring resolutely into his angry face.

'Joanne, I haven't the time or the patience for this,' he said coldly.

'Tough.' It wasn't quite the way to talk to one's employer, she thought with a touch of hysteria, but then Hawk Mallen wasn't the average boss. 'I'm bringing my bags with me and I'll move into a hotel until I find something within my price range; we can sort out a reasonable allowance for accommodation later.'

'I don't believe this is happening.'

He didn't look as though he did either, she thought weakly, and he had never looked more gorgeous, which she really didn't need.

'You are seriously telling me you won't stay here?' he said, after a good thirty seconds when they had stared at each other like two gladiators in mortal combat His voice held a touch of bemused incredulity and it made her want to laugh-something she had thought last night would never happen again. 'The place has a lease for six months.'

'That's not my problem.' She could see he was freshly shaved, the tanned skin begging to be touched- She cut the thought firmly and returned to the attack. 'I am not prepared to be talked about, Hawk, and neither do I want to stay on here under false pretences. You clearly had something other than a work relationship in mind when you took this apartment, and as I have no intention of fulfilling that requirement-' if he mentioned last night she would kill him, on the spot. '-I wouldn't be comfortable continuing here.'

'You really are serious.' How could someone so soft and small and kitten-like be so unreasonable? Hawk asked himself furiously. 'Joanne, this is crazy.'

'I don't think so; it would be crazy to stay here, though.' She could see she had totally thrown him and it felt so good, so wonderfully good, after the miserable night she'd had when she'd walked the beautiful apartment till dawn. She wanted to hate him, all through the long dark night hours she had tried to hate him, but although her head was in agreement her heart just wouldn't fall into line. He was the epitome of the love-'em-and-leave-'em types her mother had fallen for, she'd told herself angrily-only after one thing, shallow, heartless-but still, as the first pink rays had crept over the balcony floor, her heart had wept for what might have been.

'That's your last word on the matter?' he asked grimly.

'Yes.' She stared at him a little nervously now, wondering what he was going to do.

'Right.' He walked across to the telephone and picked it up, tapping in the number in a manner that could only be termed vicious. 'Antoinette?' His voice was icy. 'Miss Crawford and myself won't be in the office till this afternoon, and cancel the lease on Miss Crawford's apartment, would you? It isn't suitable.'

The French girl must have been as surprised as Hawk had been, because he next said, the words bitten out through clenched teeth, 'For a number of reasons,' and then, 'I don't care about that; pay the damn thing in full,' before slamming down the receiver so hard it jumped up again.

'Right, we flat-hunt.' He glared at her, his eyes blue ice. 'Satisfied?'

'You don't have to do that; I can find something later and stay in a hotel for now-'

'I am not leaving France until I see you settled in suitable accommodation that I have personally inspected, right?' The glare intensified. 'You don't know Paris, the side and not so safe areas, and frankly you are a con-man's dream.'

'I am not!' she protested hotly, her cheeks burning scarlet.

'Yes, you are,' he countered, his voice deep now, too deep, its texture making shivers dance down her spine as he eyed her grimly. 'How you've got to the age of twenty-nine without being snared by some man a little bolder than the rest I don't know,' he said darkly. 'Perhaps it's because you're just too good to be true.'

She didn't know if he was being nasty now, especially in view of her abandonment last night, but she couldn't think of anything to say anyway, just staring at him with big, wary honey-brown eyes as she forced herself not to wilt.

'Come on.' He turned to the door, his voice suddenly brisk. 'I had planned to leave France this afternoon; my work schedule is hellish and I haven't got time to waste. I know the agents Antoinette used to find this place; we'll give them a visit.'

'I don't want anything like this-'

'Trust me.' It was said tongue-in-cheek but his eyes weren't angry now, and she had to fight against the flood of relief and joy filling her body. He wanted to find her somewhere where she would be safe; he cared enough for that? Don't be stupid! The voice in her head answered the spurt of hope immediately. You're here to do a job for him and he wants you one hundred per cent the capable machine he expects. If there were difficulties it would affect your work; that is all he is thinking of.

Hawk didn't leave France that afternoon. It was four o'clock before they found her an apartment, after visiting several others scattered all over the city, but immediately she saw it she knew it was the one.

She had insisted on speaking to the agents herself, Hawk's idea of price range being in the super league, and had liked the sound of the converted house, three storeys high with the apartment occupying the top floor, in a quiet square close to the Latin Quarter.

The rain and wind of the night before had given way to weak sunshine when they reached the old cobbled square dotted with gnarled trees, benches complete with old men in berets and young grandchildren about their knees, and a general air of bygone tranquillity that sat well on the stately houses trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite crumbling balconies and flaking paint. Joanne thought it was charming.

'Right, I've seen enough; on to the next one,' Hawk said abruptly as their long-suffering driver parked on the road opposite, and Hawk's gaze followed hers across to the sleepy square.

'Hang on a minute; I haven't seen the apartment yet,' Joanne protested quickly.

'You don't need to, surely?' Hawk said disparagingly.

'Of course I do.' She turned to him, a ray of autumn sunshine turning her smooth bob to red fire. 'It looks lovely.'

'Lovely?' The bemused incredulity was back. 'Lovely? What, exactly, are you looking at, Joanne?'

'I'm looking at happy children with people who love them, who have got time to care, at a quiet little haven in the midst of all the busyness, at those wonderful old cobbles and ancient trees, at-' She stopped suddenly. 'Why? What are you looking at?'

The blue eyes stared back at her, moving over her creamy skin, fine eyebrows, small straight nose and generously full mouth, before returning to capture her gaze again.

'Hawk?' She knew she was blushing at the quiet scrutiny but she couldn't help it. 'What did you see?'

He turned his eyes to the square again, and this time his voice was without expression as he said, 'I saw old trees, a square that needs cleaning up and terraced houses that look like a good wind would blow them down.'

'That's what you see?' She shook her head slowly, the movement causing her hair to shimmer like liquid silk. 'Then I'm sorry for you, Hawk.'

'Don't be.' The reserve was back, stronger than ever, and his voice was frosty as he said, 'You intend to inspect this one, I gather?'

'Yes, I do.' He didn't like it but she couldn't help that, she thought silently.

'And you'll take it whatever now, yes?' he suggested grimly.

'You mean to spite you?'

'Exactly.'

'Is that what you think of me?' She was angry and she was glad of it; it helped to keep the hurt at bay. 'Then you won't want to come and see yourself, will you?' she challenged stiffly.

He didn't answer, giving her a long level look that was quite unreadable, before opening his door and walking round to hers and helping her alight, still without saying a word.

The plump, motherly landlady whose house it was occupied the ground floor, and, she told Joanne in French, the young couple who occupied the second floor were very friendly and very happy. 'Just married, you know?' she added with a beaming smile, her eyes narrowing slightly on Hawk.

'How nice.' Joanne managed a fairly normal smile but made sure within the next few moments that she made her working relationship to Hawk quite clear-there had been a definite matchmaking gleam in the Frenchwoman's eyes.

She didn't know exactly what to expect as she climbed the polished wood stairs-no executive lift here, she thought wryly-but when she reached the top floor and opened the door to the flat her first impression was the enormous capacity for light within the sitting room that faced her. The walls were painted cream, and a honey-fawn carpet and curtains emphasised the rays of mild golden sunshine streaming through the two floor-to-ceiling windows. There was no door to divide the sitting room from the kitchen and dining area, but the clever arrangement of the furniture made each section feel remarkably self-contained.

The pale colour scheme was carried through into the small bedroom and tiny bathroom, and although the square footage of the apartment was small-in fact the whole would probably have fitted with room to spare into the drawing room of the grand apartment she had left that morning-the general effect was one of space and light.

'I love it.' Joanne walked across to the minute balcony which led off one of the French windows, and was only large enough to accommodate two cane chairs and a small eighteen-inch table, and looked at the view across the square. 'And I'm not saying that to be awkward, incidentally,' she added, 'whatever you think.'

'It's small,' Hawk stated flatly.

'It's compact,' she countered quickly.

'And the area isn't the best you could do.'

'Hawk, I never have lived in the 'best' areas,' Joanne said tightly, memories of the children's home, where she had spent the last few years of her childhood after her mother's second marriage had ended so disastrously, burning vividly on the screen of her mind. 'And, as you said yesterday, everything is relative.'

'That's not quite what I said.' He eyed her grimly for a moment, Madame Lemoine hovering in the doorway behind them. 'You're quite sure you won't reconsider the apartment in Montmartre?'

'Quite sure,' she stated firmly.

'And if we look at further apartments you'll come back to this one, won't you?' It was said with such an air of resignation that she wanted to smile, despite the bittersweet pain being with him induced.

She nodded slowly. 'It's friendly, Hawk, and…me somehow. I like it.'

'So be it.' He shot her one exasperated look before walking past and conferring with the little Frenchwoman, Joanne in the meantime wandering round inspecting cupboards and drawer space.

'You can move in tonight.' He came up behind her as she stood looking down into the square again to where an old man and two small children were feeding a noisy squad of jostling birds. 'If you want to, that is.' Madame Lemoine had bustled happily away.

'Yes, I do…thank you,' she murmured awkwardly. 'I…I'm sorry I've delayed you-'

She turned as she spoke, and when her eyes met his felt that little jolt of electricity she always experienced when the full power of the piercing blue gaze took hers.

'My choice.' The words were brief, concise; he was a man who rarely elaborated on the essential, which made it all the more remarkable when he added, 'The sunshine is turning your hair to living flame, do you know that? And your eyes are as dark as a night sky, although sometimes they're the shade of warm honey. Who do you get your colouring from-your mother or your father?' he asked softly.

The question hit her in the solar plexus but she didn't duck it. 'My mother was a natural blonde,' she said stiffly, 'but my father had red hair and brown eyes, according to her. She…she didn't like it, that I took after him.'

'One of the reasons for the foster homes?' he asked quietly.

He hadn't referred to their conversation on that first evening over the last few weeks, and she had convinced herself he had forgotten it, dismissed it as unimportant, although she realised now that was silly. Hawk Mallen forgot nothing about anyone-it was all noted and filed away in that computer-type brain in case it was useful for the future.

'Possibly.' She shrugged, lowering her head and aiming to sidle past him but he caught her shoulders in his large hands and held her fast.

'Was it rough?' he murmured gently. 'Your childhood? Is that why you hold the world in such distrust?'

'I don't.' The suggestion shocked her.

'Joanne, when someone who looks like you do has never formed a close relationship, there's something badly wrong.' His voice was steady and firm and it was clear he wasn't going to let go of either her or the conversation.

'I could say the same about you,' she shot back quickly.

'Yes, you could, but it wouldn't be true,' he said softly, and for a moment the import of his words didn't hit her. Then, as her eyes widened with the knowledge of what he had just admitted, and the pain and searing jealousy attacked in the same instant, he continued, 'But it was a long, long time ago, and anyway, we aren't discussing me.'

'We aren't discussing me either,' she snapped testily, wrenching herself out of his grasp. 'I work for you, Hawk, that's all, and my life is my own, past and present.'

'When do you have fan, Joanne?' He ignored her former words as though she hadn't spoken and it was terribly irritating. 'Or is that a three-letter word that doesn't feature in your vocabulary?' he continued silkily.

'I'm in no doubt it features in yours,' she said tartly, 'although it's spelt S-E-X, right?'

'Ouch.' He smiled, a lazy, sexy smile, before saying, 'I rather walked into that one, didn't I? You don't trust me an inch, do you, my fiery little puritan?'

She didn't like the 'puritan' bit; she wasn't sure if she liked the 'fiery' bit either if it came to it-it suggested a lack of control, and that wasn't at all the image she wanted to present to him. She took a long, silent pull of air, counted to ten, and then said sweetly, 'I'm sure you're an absolutely trustworthy employer, Mr Mallen,' before walking smartly to the door. 'Shall we bring up my things?'

He was grinning as he followed her out of the flat and down the stairs, and as she caught sight of his face she tried, desperately, to hang on to the anger and hurt-it was all the protection she had-but it was difficult He was so seductive when he was like this, and although she knew he was a virtuoso in the seduction techniques it was head knowledge, not heart, and didn't help at all against that magnetic pull he exerted as naturally as breathing.

'I'll take your cases up and leave you to get settled in,' Hawk said as they reached the car. 'There's a few phone calls I need to make.'

'Oh, but I thought we were going into the office?' She was flustered and it showed. 'I can just leave my things-'

'The day's over.' It was; dusk was already falling rapidly into the square, tingeing it with a bluey-grey softness, and there was the bite of frost in the air. 'I'm going to call in and inform Antoinette of the new arrangements, make those calls, and then pick up some bare essentials for you on my way back to my hotel. Okay? One day is going to make no difference one way or the other, Joanne. Go up, unpack, have a bath and relax until you.hear my knock.'

'Hawk, there's no need; I can pop out myself-'

'Just do it, Joanne, will you?' he said with pointed weariness. 'You won the major battle today; you've chosen your accommodation and established you are an independent, tenacious free spirit and I am suitably humbled. Rest on your laurels.'

He didn't look humble-in fact the word was ludicrous when applied to Hawk Mallen, Joanne thought wryly-but he had made his point and she nodded quietly. 'All right. Thank you.'

She saw the dark eyebrows rise sardonically at her meekness and fought against smiling. She couldn't afford to soften in any way, shape or form; this was a battle, and she was fighting as much against herself and her weakening emotions where this man was concerned as against Hawk himself. He was just so dangerous, fascinatingly, hypnotically dangerous, and utterly ruthless in his desire to conquer, and if he ever had an inkling of the true state of her feelings for him… The thought propelled her into the house ahead of him and up the stairs as though the devil himself were after her.

Once alone amid her strewn possessions, Joanne stopped for a moment in her unpacking as she caught sight of herself in the bedroom mirror, noting the tension frown that marred her forehead.

Hawk was right; once she finished unpacking the first thing on the agenda was a hot bath, and she could wash her hair, change, spoil herself a little. He wouldn't be back for at least a couple of hours and the headache that was beginning to drum at the back of her eyelids needed soaking away. She nodded at the serious-faced girl in the mirror.

And once Hawk had dropped a few provisions off she'd fix something light to eat with a hot drink, and probably take it to bed with one of the books she'd brought with her from England. A nice relaxing night in her new home… She glanced round the pretty room in varying shades of lemon and ivory before leaving the suitcases and walking through to the sitting room again. She had been right to insist on moving from that first apartment, she told herself with a feeling of deep relief. She could be herself here, in this little oasis from the pressures that would undoubtedly come her way as Bergique & Son's new manageress. In fact she could have been happy-if only a certain tall, blue-eyed individual hadn't blazed on her horizon like a threatening black meteor.

The threatening black meteor was back at just gone seven, his arms full of groceries and his face-although she didn't like the tender pang that accompanied the thought-grey with tiredness.

Joanne, on the other hand, had bathed, washed her hair and spent a contented hour or two arranging her belongings before crashing out in front of the TV. The resulting feeling of guilt was overpowering, and when he placed the bags in the kitchen, remarking as he did so, 'There's a couple of bottles of good wine in that lot, and steaks and so on,' her following words were inevitable.

'Would…would you like to stay for a meal?' she asked hesitantly.

'Great.' It was immediate and satisfied, and although she knew he had set the whole thing up she couldn't be angry. He did look exhausted, and if she had accepted the first apartment he would be back in England now, so it was all her fault…in a way. 'I'll open the wine, shall I?' he asked with suspicious meekness that only confirmed the whole exercise had been planned.

'What about the car, the driver?' She gestured at the window to the square outside. 'Aren't you going to tell him?'

'I came by taxi.' His eyes glinted wickedly.

'And you didn't think to ask it to wait?' she murmured sarcastically. 'How fortunate I suggested you stay.'

'I had faith in your compassion.' He smiled slowly. 'Where's the corkscrew?'

She gave up. He couldn't be shamed; she should have known-he was impossible!

'Here.' She opened a drawer and gave him the corkscrew. 'But it's just dinner, okay? I'm as tired as you are and I need my bed.'

'I need your bed, Joanne,' he said, with a ridiculously lewd expression that was supposed to make her laugh.

It did, but it also sent her heart thudding as a cold clear warning hit her brain. Don't forget, he's never more dangerous than when he's amusing and charming, like now. You've no defence against this man but he doesn't know that, so play it cool and keep things easy.

The red wine was mellow and fruity, the sort that tasted of a thousand summer days and must have cost a small fortune. With Hawk perched on a breakfast stool watching her while she worked, preparing a salad to go with the steaks, Joanne consumed two glasses without even being aware of it, until her head became a little muzzy and she found herself giggling at something he said.

'I think I need some food.' She took a couple of raw mushrooms and popped them into her mouth, one by one. 'What on earth's in that wine anyway?'

'Just grapes and sugar and-'

'You know what I mean,' she admonished gravely. 'You aren't trying to get me tipsy, are you?'

'Would I?' The sapphire-blue eyes were laughing at her and it should have mattered-but it didn't.

She nodded solemnly, but then, in the next moment, he had taken the salad bowl and set it to one side, folding her into his body without saying a word.

Joanne's mistake was in opening her mouth to protest, because he simply seized the chance to plunder it, his tongue sending tremors of desire into every nerve and sinew.

He had already taken off his jacket and tie, his shirt open at the neck, and as her palms pressed against his chest she could feel the prickle of dark body hair under the silk and the combination was unbearably erotic.

'You're beautiful, Joanne, just beautiful,' he whispered softly as his mouth nibbled at her lower lip. 'You've no idea what you do to me.'

She had, oh, she had, if it was just a fraction of what he did to her, she thought helplessly.

'I could eat you alive, do you know that?' His mouth moved to her earlobe and she thought she would die. 'Every single inch of you.' His hand covered her breast, caressing it slowly through the thin cotton of the T-shirt she had changed into, and immediately the tip flowered beneath his expert fingers, aching and ripe.

She arched against him, her hands going up to his shoulders as she pressed herself against the hardness of his body, and then, as a sizzle and a splutter from the grill touched her senses, she jerked away, her voice agitated. 'The steaks! I can't burn the steaks on my first night here; what would Madame Lemoine think?'

'Damn Madame Lemoine.' But he let her move away and rescue the food, settling himself back on his stool as he purposefully poured them both another glass of wine, although Joanne determined not to have another drop until she had eaten.

They ate at the tiny dining-room table that was barely big enough for two, and Joanne made sure the third glass of wine lasted until dessert, a wonderful chocolate mousse piped with thick fresh cream that tasted divine.

'That was absolutely gorgeous.' She was licking her spoon clear of even the faintest trace of chocolate as she spoke and raised her eyes to see Hawk's narrowed gaze resting slumberously on her face.

'You look like a contented little cat,' he said huskily. 'I can almost hear you purr.'

'I love chocolate mousse,' she admitted with a faintly embarrassed smile. 'It's so decadent.'

'What else do you love, Joanne?' he asked softly. 'Do you realise I don't know the first thing about you besides the black and white information in your personnel folder? What music do you like? What books do you read? Talk to me.'

Talking was safer than not talking, and so she talked, guardedly at first, and then more freely after Hawk opened the second bottle of wine. And he responded in kind, telling her about his childhood, his youth, and then his desire to carve out a name for himself beyond that of Jed Mallen's grandson. The room was intimate and shadowed, lit only by the glow of the standard lamp in one corner, Hawk having turned the main light off before they ate, and Joanne was just thinking things were a sight too cosy for her peace of mind when Hawk said, 'Time I was making tracks.'

'What?'

His voice had been easy, cool, and she didn't feel like that; in fact she felt far from it He had been leaning back in his seat for the last half an hour, his arms crossed over the broad expanse of his big muscled chest, and the open shirt collar displaying a hard tanned throat and the beginnings of black curling body hair. The silky material of his shirt seemed to emphasise rather than diminish his magnetic masculinity, and, try as she might, she had been struggling to dispel the thought of what he would look like without it for the last little while-and failing miserably. He looked darkly brooding, his Italian genes very much to the fore, and tough, and sexy, and…

'It's been a long day and you said you were tired,' he said softly.

She stared at him, trying to hide her irritation and ashamed of the resentment that had flared, hot and strong, at his offer to leave. He didn't want to kiss her. Well, that was fine, fine, she told herself silently; she would only have had to put him in his place if he had tried-whatever Hawk's place was. 'I am tired,' she agreed stiffly. 'Thank you for all the provisions you brought in; I really must pay you-'

'Don't be silly.' He interrupted her lazily, standing up and stretching like a powerful black beast of the forest, his piercing blue gaze never leaving her unknowingly vulnerable face that betrayed her confusion and hurt all too clearly. 'Look on it as a house-warming present if that makes you feel better. I only bought the bare essentials, by the way; the bulk of the order will be delivered some time after six tomorrow so make sure you're back by then.'

'Yes, I will, thank you…' He really was going to go, she thought numbly as she watched him reach for his jacket and shrug it over his broad shoulders, slipping his tie into one of the pockets as he did so. Whatever she had expected it wasn't this.

Hawk knew that, and his voice was an easy drawl as she walked with him to the front door. Tonight was not the night, much as his aching loins tried to persuade him differently. She had opened up more than he had expected, but she was still like a nervous doe, ready to bolt before the hunter.

When he took her-and he would take her-it would be with her full capitulation, mental and physical, and she would want him as much as he wanted her. He didn't question why her absolute surrender was so important to him, and his goodnight kiss was long and unhurried, his hand tender as it cupped her jaw and the gentle eroticism of his mouth controlled and determined.

'Goodnight, Joanne.' When he lifted his head she was trembling. 'The car will pick you up at eight in the morning.' And then he was gone.