Mistletoe Mistress

CHAPTER SEVEN

Joanne didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed nine hours later when Hawk phoned, at seven in the morning, to say he was on his way to the States to deal with an emergency that had arisen in one of the Mallen subsidiaries. He wished her well in the new job, told her he would be in touch at some point to discuss how things were going, and that was that.

She put down the phone with a feeling of disbelief. So… Her restless night, the agitation at the prospect of seeing him that morning which had had her up and eating breakfast before six, had all been for nothing. He had happily upped and gone.

She sat down suddenly cm one of the chairs and gave herself a thorough talking-to. Why shouldn't he just go? He was her employer, that was all, and he had done what was necessary and introduced her to her new staff. There was no reason for him to stay another hour in France- not one-and the last person he was answerable to was her. She was just glad-fiercely, overwhelmingly glad- that nothing of any significance had happened last night His actions this morning only proved, beyond doubt, that all her misgivings were spot-on, she told herself miserably.

She was ready and waiting for the car at eight, and the flow of angry adrenalin that had begun with Hawk's cool voice that morning continued to flow all day, working to her advantage as she consumed vast quantities of data and had Antoinette, and the rest of the somewhat lethargic office staff, scurrying about like headless chickens. It was clear that the lackadaisical listlessness that Pierre had allowed to take hold had permeated the entire firm, and also that certain members of the staff didn't appreciate having their cosy little world shaken to its foundations, Antoinette for one.

She was just considering taking the sulky French girl to task in spite of it being their first day together, having asked, three times in quick succession, for a folder which still wasn't forthcoming, when she looked up from her desk to see a tall, heavily built, floridly handsome man in the open doorway, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

'You must be Joanne Crawford?' He spoke before she had the chance to open her mouth, his English almost perfect and accentless. 'I am Pierre Bergique, Miss Crawford, and I must beg your forgiveness for not being here to introduce you to my staff personally yesterday.' He smiled, a wide crocodile kind of smile which didn't reach the hard, calculating black eyes. 'I trust Antoinette is looking after you in my absence?' he asked smoothly.

'Good morning, Pierre.' Hawk had warned her to start exactly as she meant to carry on with this man, and she saw the advice was apt as the toothy smile dimmed a little at her cool response. She couldn't allow him to relegate her to an underling-as his carefully worded greeting had aimed to do-neither could she acquiesce to the notion that he had authority over the staff any more. Pierre knew his position full well, and he was damned lucky not to be in a prison cell at this very moment, she thought tightly.

She rose with measured aplomb, walking round the desk and across the room before she held out her hand and said, 'How nice to meet you…at last. I'm sure things are going to work out splendidly, and rest assured I shan't hesitate to call on your services if I need to.'

Cold black eyes held determined honey-brown ones for a long-a very long-moment, and then Pierre took her hand, raising it to his lips and lightly kissing it before saying, his voice oily now, 'Charmed, charmed, my dear. I had no idea our intrepid new leader would prove to be quite so young and beautiful. Hawk must have been very impressed by your…capabilities.'

'Thank you.' It was all she could do not to whip her hand from his and rub the back of it to erase the feel of his fleshy lips, but she forced herself to smile and wait for a few seconds, ignoring the veiled innuendo in the barbed words, before turning away.

'I understand you will be working from home now, Pierre,' she said calmly as she re-seated herself, hoping the thudding of her heart wasn't making itself known. 'I would prefer that you check with me in the future before you call by so that I can make suite I'm available for you, and avoid wasting your time.'

Hawk had made it clear to Pierre that the offices were out of bounds beyond the occasional visit expected of a figurehead, and the clearing of his debts and the generous salary he was receiving each month for doing nothing were conditional.

'Of course.' It was too quick and too congenial. 'Anything you say.'

She didn't trust him an inch. 'Good.' She forced another smile but her flesh was creeping. This was one ugly customer, Joanne thought grimly, despite the façade of expensive clothes, well-groomed exterior and handsome, smiling countenance. This man could be nasty- she had seen too many like him in her working life to doubt her gut feeling-and she could understand Hawk's insistence that Pierre was virtually barred from crossing the firm's threshold now, although she had thought him a trifle hard when he had first told her.

'Perhaps you would allow me the pleasure of taking you to lunch one day?' The charm was out in fall force, but it was too late; she had seen the man behind the mask and they both knew it.

'Thank you but I'm going to be busy for the next little while getting everything together,' Joanne said politely. 'Maybe after then?' Again they both knew there would be no lunch.

'Of course; just let me know when it will be convenient,' Pierre murmured with silky synthetic civility. 'And now you really must excuse me-a previous appointment…'

Joanne breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him, her body deflating in the chair like a punctured balloon. What a creep, but a crafty, astute creep, which also made him dangerous, and that was what she had to remember. He had been fooling people for years until Hawk had come on the scene and spoilt his little games; she had to be on her guard and take nothing for granted.

The next few weeks were challenging, frustrating, exhausting, at times stimulating and other times disappointing, but despite the hard, grinding work, long hours and mental and physical tiredness Joanne welcomed the pace. It made her so numb, so exhausted by the end of the day that all she could do was fall into bed and slip into a deep, dreamless sleep, sometimes without even having eaten her evening meal. But she could keep her thoughts away from Hawk and that was the main thing.

Sometimes she awoke, at the shrill command of her militant alarm clock, with his name on her lips and the faint recollection of shadowed memories buried deep in her subconscious, but mostly she could steel herself to deal solely with the job in hand, and she was glad of it.

He had rung two or three times a week since she had been in France, and she always came off the phone a quivering heap and desperately thankful he couldn't see how the sound of his deep, husky, totally male voice affected her.

Useless to tell herself he was ringing purely to see how the Mallen investment was progressing, that she meant nothing to him, that she was one of dozens, hundreds, of women whom he would invite to share his bed if he felt so inclined. She heard his voice and she melted; it was as simple-and as humiliating-as that.

So in the middle of November, on a particularly foul Friday when the rain was slashing at the windows of her office and nothing had gone right, she viewed the apparition in her office doorway as a figment of her fevered imagination and nothing else. Until it spoke, that was.

'Busy?'

Busy? She stared at Hawk as her brain struggled to respond. He was lounging against the open door, big and dark in a heavy leather jacket and black jeans, which were as different from the designer business suits he normally wore as chalk from cheese. The sight of him stopped her breath.

She forced herself to talk, to say something. 'I didn't know you were coming.'

'Neither did I until this morning.' He didn't move or smile.

She waited for him to elaborate, and, when he didn't, rose quietly from behind her desk, setting her face in a polite smile of welcome befitting a humble employee greeting the illustrious head of the Mallen Corporation. 'It's nice to see you again; is there anything specific you want to see me about?' she asked quietly.

'Don't tempt me, Joanne.' The look in his eyes was so blatant, and so sexual, that she blushed hotly as she held out one small hand for him to shake, and when he simply took her fingers in his and drew her close for a moment, his eyes roaming over her face before he kissed her lips in a light stroking movement that was over as soon as it had begun, she was still too stunned at his sudden appearance to offer any resistance.

'So…' He stepped back a pace, watching her with glittering eyes. 'Have you missed me?' he asked with the Mallen arrogance.

'Missed you?' How could he get so instantly under her skin? she asked herself angrily. 'Of course not.'

'Liar.' It was said matter-of-factly but still grated unbearably, tightening her mouth and narrowing her eyes.

'Hawk, I'm here to work and work I have,' she declared firmly. 'What on earth makes you think I've missed you?'

'Because it's impossible for me to have been feeling the way I have without you feeling something similar.' It was so surprising, and so unexpected, revealing as it did the man beneath the cool, arrogant exterior, that she just stared at him without saying anything. 'I've been sleeping you, eating you, tasting you,' he said softly. 'It's driving me nuts, Joanne. Every time I shut my eyes at night there's a slender titian beauty there, with honeygold eyes and the sort of figure that makes a man ache.'

'Hawk-'

'It makes me ache-hell, how it makes me ache,' he murmured huskily. 'I'm in and out of that damn shower all night.'

'You're talking about sexual attraction-'

'I know; believe me, I know,' he agreed with a sardonic lift of his eyebrows.

'And I'm sure a man of your considerable experience could easily find a number from his little black book to take care of things,' she continued firmly, as though he hadn't interrupted. She was not going to be swept back into his orbit and then discarded so abruptly again; she just wasn't.

'Perhaps I haven't got a little black book?' he suggested softly.

'And perhaps pigs fly?' Joanne said sweetly, desperately glad the trembling in her stomach hadn't communicated itself to her voice.

'You think I'm the worst sort of philanderer, don't you?' It was a statement, not a question. 'And after I've been so restrained too,' he added sadly.

'Huh.' She had seen the wickedly amused glitter in the sapphire eyes and she wasn't fooled.

'Enough of this sparkling repartee.' He grabbed her suddenly, lifting her up and swinging her round as he kicked the door shut. 'You're going to spend the weekend with me.' It was another statement rather than an invitation.

'I am not.' It was hard to think while held close to his big masculine body, but the answer was instinctive anyway. He looked so good, he smelt so good, she wouldn't dare spend time with him.

'Reconsider.' He kissed her again, but this time it was no brief salutation but a long, deep, hard invasion that sent every nerve and sinew into overdrive. She found her arms snaking up to his broad shoulders and had to clench her fingers to restrain them, determined not to give in to the quivering hot excitement. 'Please?' he added softly as he lifted his head.

'No, I'm here to work-'

'Not at the weekends; even the wicked slave-driver Hawk Mallen doesn't expect that. Besides, you've been working too hard,' he said with sudden seriousness. 'You've lost weight, you look drawn.'

'Oh, thank you so much,' she muttered sarcastically, trying to pull away but knowing she wouldn't have any effect on the steel-hard arms. So he didn't like the way she looked now?

'But even more beautiful,' he added gently, his mouth twisting with amusement at her reaction. 'You have an ethereal quality now, as though a breath of wind would blow you away.'

'Hawk, let go of me.' She turned her head towards the door, worried Antoinette and the rest of the office staff would wonder why the door was shut, or, worse still, knock and walk straight in. Antoinette would make a meal of such a tasty titbit.

'Not till you agree to spend the weekend with me,' he said firmly. 'I can stay like this all afternoon; I'm enjoying it.' There was swollen evidence to prove he meant what he said, his hard body stirring against the soft swell of her stomach even as he spoke, and making her legs feel weak at his alien masculinity.

'What…what do you mean by 'spend the weekend'?' she asked breathlessly, fighting against the urge to arch against his maleness, and then betraying her arousal helplessly with a tiny moan as one large hand stroked a sensual path from her throat to her waist, lingering possessively on the swell of one ripe breast.

'I want to show you France, my suspicious little siren.' He moved her slightly from him in order to look down into her flushed face. 'Although I can be persuaded otherwise,' he added softly. 'My hotel room has the biggest double bed you've ever seen-'

'Hawk!'

'Okay, okay.' His eyes crinkled as he gave the devastating smile he used so rarely, and she felt the impact right down to her toes. 'I promise I'll behave; how about that? No petting, no lovemaking-just a weekend spent in each other's company. I'm leaving for the States again first thing Monday morning and I know the next couple of weeks are going to be the very devil. I just wanted to be with you, Joanne; that's the top and bottom of it.'

It might have been calculated, he might be being manipulative again, but she couldn't struggle against the overwhelming desire to be with him when he looked at her like that And he had promised…

'All right.' She felt such a burst of happiness that she wanted to press herself into him and pull his head down to hers, and to fight that impulse she quickly stepped back a pace, purposely forcing his hands to drop to his sides. 'But a promise is a promise,' she warned shakily. 'And you've promised no lovemaking.'

'And you'll keep me to mine, no doubt,' he drawled wryly. 'I always thought women were the weaker sex, but since meeting you I've had to change my mind. I certainly chose well in Bergique & Son's new manager, if you deal with Pierre half as sternly as you deal with me, the poor guy won't know what's hit him.'

It was said mockingly, his eyes laughing at her, but a little chill crept into her heart as she turned away towards her desk. She wanted to be with him because she loved him; it might be foolish, crazy, but that was how it was. But Hawk? Hawk didn't know the meaning of the word love, and she forgot that at her peril. He wanted her body, he perhaps wanted an agent in the nest of vipers he had uncovered too, but anything permanent, with any sort of future? No chance.

The weekend began on the Friday night with a wonderful wander through the colourful streets, boulevards and cobblestone lanes, under a dark moonlit sky that had banished even the smallest rain cloud. The beautiful city, with its hundreds of statues, museums, countless churches, fountains and squares, narrowed down to one tall, dark, handsome man for Joanne, and a pair of piercingly blue, riveting eyes. Everything else faded into oblivion.

They ate at one of the many restaurants dotted around the streets of the gourmet capital, where taste, like the other senses, was taken so seriously. The restaurant was small and nondescript from the outside, and the interior wasn't much better, but the food was out of this world.

They feasted on crudités variées, a mixture of raw vegetables with oil and vinegar, followed by steak au poivre which melted in the mouth, and was ably enhanced by the excellent champagne Hawk had ordered. The dessert-un mystére, which turned out to be vanilla ice-cream with meringue in the middle and chopped nuts on the outside-was perfect to follow the steak, and when Joanne accepted a second helping Hawk couldn't hide his surprise at her appetite.

'You said I was too thin,' she reminded him drily as she lifted her spoon and prepared to attack the delicious concoction. 'You ought to be pleased.'

'I am, oh, I am,' he assured her gravely, 'but I did not say you were too thin. You looked weary, that was all.'

Weary? Heart-sore, bone-achingly sad, perhaps, she thought painfully. I'm fine.' She beamed at him, determined to give nothing away. It's just been hectic, that's all, and I've needed to be fully alert at all times.' But never so much as now. 'There are one or two things I need to discuss with you, incidentally; we are going to have to reschedule-'

'Not now.' He interrupted her with a lazily raised hand that was none the less authoritative. 'The weekend is ours; Monday morning is soon enough for you to once again become the super-efficient career woman Bergique & Son know and love.'

'I don't know about the love,' she said wryly. Over the last few weeks she had been pleased to discover she was being treated with respect-grudging respect in some quarters-by her staff, and there were several now whom she liked, and who she felt liked her, but it had been an uphill struggle.

Since the incident with Pierre in her office, Antoinette had fallen into line, the sulkiness disappearing as though by magic and the girl appearing, to all intents and purposes, to be fully committed to her new boss. But… And there was a big 'but', Joanne thought pensively. She didn't trust the beautiful French girl, not one little bit. The turn-around had been too quick and too complete- something smelt fishy.

'I said Monday morning is soon enough to think of work.' Hawk's voice was a little put out and Joanne suddenly realised she was staring into space, and that it was highly likely Hawk didn't have too many women do that in his presence. She was surprised she had, to be honest, but the creepy, goose-pimply unease she had been feeling for days, if not weeks, had momentarily intruded into the evening and absorbed her in its shadow.

'Sorry.' In view of all the humiliation and pain she had suffered through him she couldn't resist adding, 'I was daydreaming,' as she gave him a cheerfully innocent smile.

'Charming.' The sapphire gaze was penetrating, but he smiled back. 'You believe in keeping your men humble, is that it?'

Humble? Hawk Mallen? The raw sexuality and powerful aura didn't lend themselves to humbleness, she thought breathlessly as the devastating smile did its usual damage to her equilibrium. In fact you might as well have asked the fierce bird of prey from whom he had taken his name to be humble, as the big dark man watching her so closely.

'I don't have men in the plural,' she prevaricated sweetly, knowing her colour was high. 'As you well know.'

'And heartily approve of,' he said solemnly. 'I think one man is more than enough for you, and, funnily enough, I know just the man…'

That evening was the beginning of the most wildly happy two days she had ever known, and, amazingly, Hawk kept his promise-apart from the odd lingering kiss he assured her didn't count.

He picked her up from her apartment on Saturday morning very early, but already the November day was promising that the rain of the last week was a thing of the past, as it allowed a cold but bright sunshine to bathe everything in its light.

The sports car Hawk had hired for the weekend was lean and low and fairly ate up the miles as it headed towards the medieval majesty of Burgundy, passing Cistercian abbeys, dignified towns of stone, fortified hilltop villages and wonderful roaming countryside, on its way to Dijon.

They ate lunch at a charming little hostellerie, and the toasted ham and cheese sandwiches, followed by barquettes au marron-pastry boats loaded with almond paste, chestnut cream, and sealed in with milk chocolate on one side and coffee icing on the other-were sublime. But anything would have tasted sublime-because she was with Hawk. And it frightened her. Frightened, exhilarated, excited, but mostly frightened. Because it would end. It had to.

They reached Dijon just after one in the afternoon- Joanne having insisted they stop and wander round one of the towns on their way-and the once-capital of the Flemish-Burgundian state was at its regal best in the bright sunshine.

'An afternoon of improving your mind?' Hawk asked lazily, after they had parked at the edge of a delightfully ancient little market-place, where Hawk bought them both the most enormous ice-creams. 'We can visit the Musée des Beaux-Arts, and perhaps you would like to see the Well of Moses? It is a very powerful sculpture, very moving.'

'Is it?' She licked a blob of strawberry ice-cream from the corner of her mouth, and Hawk's eyes followed her pink tongue, his gaze slumberous and hot. She was looking at a real flesh-and-blood sculpture that would knock the Well of Moses into a cocked hat, Joanne thought silently, with an irreverence that would have made Claus Sluter turn in his grave. 'I don't mind what we do.'

'A submissive and beautiful woman… My cup runneth over,' Hawk drawled mockingly.

Later that evening, after they had dined at the elegant and luxurious hotel where Hawk had reserved rooms- 'Two singles,' he had emphasised sadly as they had sipped their pre-dinner cocktails. 'Now, I deserve some credit for that at least, Joanne-' He suggested a walk in the beautifully landscaped gardens that were lit as brightly as day with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny swinging lanterns.

She stared at him warily. From what she had seen of the gardens earlier that evening as they had watched a sunset that was all vermilion, glowing mauve and deepest rose-gold, they were the epitome of a romantic stroll for two-complete with hidden bowers, tiny fountains and the inevitable love-seats dotted about the most intimate corners.

'I don't know…' The mellow, incomparable wines of the region, two of which she had imbibed pretty freely at dinner, were not conducive to good control.

'Well, I do.' He solved her dilemma by taking her hand and drawing her up from her seat, and again she found herself relishing the power, the authority, the sheer masculinity in his lean, strong frame, which had drawn the eyes of more than one predatory female during their meal.

And she knew what most of them were thinking. Why, why, is he with her? But he was, and it was her he had asked to walk with him…

This intoxicating thought carried her out into the gar-dens in something of a smug daze, but as the cool night air stroked her face, its warning caress carrying the scent of starry, frost-touched nights, cold reason asserted itself.

Her mother had been the sort of woman who had allowed men to use her, time after time after time, and then walk away when they had had enough. She didn't know if her mother had loved these men-she had certainly felt more for them than she had her own flesh and blood, that was for sure-but there had been something, some elemental driving desire to be loved, that had proved weakening and dangerous. Could those sorts of things be passed on in the genes?

As Hawk tucked one of her arms in his, the strength and bulk and smell of him overwhelmingly intoxicating, her mind raced on.

She knew he couldn't-or wouldn't-accept the concept of a monogamous lifestyle, that he didn't want to even try. She was a passing whim with him, perhaps a challenge that had stirred his jaded appetite for a while, added to which her usefulness at Bergique & Son couldn't be ignored. In fact-and here her mind balked a little as she made herself face the truth-he was a loner, a man who answered to no one, kept his own counsel and liked it that way. He would never settle down, he just wasn't the type, and that was exactly- exactly-the sort of man her mother had been inexplicably drawn to, despite all rhyme and reason, in the same way a moth was drawn to the bright light that would ultimately spell its destruction.

'What are you thinking about?'

His voice was soft and deep, and its very gentleness made her speak before she considered her words. 'My mother, actually,' she said quietly.

'Do you miss her?' There was no shred of surprise in the calm voice, although it couldn't have been the answer he was expecting.

'Not in the way you mean; she wasn't that sort of mother,' Joanne said with painful honesty.

They had walked into a part of the garden that was almost Victorian in its layout, very sheltered and pretty, and now, as he drew her down on to a lacy wooden seat, it felt as though they were the only two people alive in all the world. The night was breathtakingly still, not a sound from the hotel in the distance disturbing the tranquillity, and when Hawk said, 'Tell me about her, about you, about your childhood,' the strange, almost dreamlike quality of the night loosened her tongue.

He was a good listener-too good-and when she fell quiet, some twenty minutes later, it was with the realisation she had said far more than she intended.

'I'm sorry, Joanne.' And he was, and also murderously angry with the woman who had borne her and then cast her aside at such a young, vulnerable age. The anger he was trying to hide made his voice grim, hard even, and she cast a quick troubled glance at him before looking straight ahead again.

'It's all right,' she said stiffly. He was annoyed with her for going on the way she had, she thought wildly. She shouldn't have said all that-she couldn't believe she had; he had probably just wanted a few light facts about her early life, not an in-depth year-by-year account. He must think she was pathetic-

'No, no, it isn't,' he said flatly, still in the same forbidding voice. 'Every child should know it's loved and wanted.'

'Were you?' She wouldn't have dared to ask normally, but here it seemed right, and she wanted to turn the conversation from her.

'Loved and wanted? Very much,' he said quietly. 'My mother…my mother was the sort of person who lived to make others happy, and her whole life revolved around my father and me, and her friends. You could say she was her own worst enemy.'

'By loving her family?' Joanne protested.

'By caring too much-for my father at least' He raked a hand through his short black hair. 'She never revealed, by one word or action, the misery he inflicted upon her. She simply fought through every day of her life trying to make things right that could never be right I can't accept that sort of emotion can be called love-it is obsession, the most damaging sort of obsession.'

'You're saying that simply because you can't handle the fact that love exists,' Joanne said quietly. 'Perhaps she considered that the good times she had with him were worth all the pain and anguish.'

'Then she was a fool.' The words were dragged out of the depths of him, his voice harsh and jagged. 'Just as your mother was a fool. And I still think that what my mother felt for my father, and your mother felt for her husbands and lovers, was obsession, not love. I can't accept-' He stopped abruptly, a muscle clenching at the side of his jaw, before he said, 'What the hell? None of it matters in the long run.'

'Hawk-'

'I'll show you what's real one day, Joanne.' His voice was savage and cold, and made his following words all the more chilling. 'I'll make love to you until nothing and no one exists, until the earth melts away and all you can see and hear and touch is me. I shall kiss every inch of your body, see you mindless beneath me, begging for what only I can give you. And you'll want me-you'll want me so badly you'll be on fire-but we'll both know exactly what we are doing.'

'And it won't mean anything?' she asked faintly, caught up in his blackness.

'Of course it will mean something.' He caught her face in his hands, his eyes urgent now and the terrible anger fading. 'It will mean one hell of a lot but we won't be fooling ourselves, don't you see? You are a casualty of your mother's obsession with this fantasy called love-'

'No, I don't want to hear this.' She jerked away from him, her voice shaking. This was all wrong; he had twisted everything to make it all wrong but she couldn't find the words to tell him…

'Shh. Shh, now.' Suddenly he was tender, frighteningly tender, folding her into his big hard frame and holding her close to his heart for a long moment, before lowering his head and taking her trembling mouth in a kiss that was pure enchantment. 'So fierce and so brave, so beautiful…' His voice was a soft caress against her lips and she couldn't fight it-or him.

One moment he was fire and brimstone, the next fiercely tender, and the effect was hypnotic. She didn't understand him-she didn't have a clue what went on in that ruthless male mind, and perhaps it didn't matter anyway, so long as he didn't guess the state of her true feelings towards him. Because one day soon his desire for her would wane, when someone else more suitable caught his fancy, and that would be that. He would give up the chase, retire gracefully, and no doubt allow the new lady the pleasure of licking his wounds.

He explored her mouth slowly, taking his time, and her bones dissolved into a warm, aching throb before he raised his head again.

'You're still holding me to that promise?' His voice was dry, very dry, and she just knew he knew she wanted to say no.

She nodded. The tumult of sensuous pleasure his lips had induced was not conducive to clear speech, and she didn't intend to give him the satisfaction of hearing her shaky whisper.

'Pity.' He bent and kissed the tip of her nose before pulling her to her feet. 'Great pity…' he drawled easily, his mouth drawn to hers again in a searching, lingering kiss that sent waves of pleasure right down to her toes, before he lifted his head and slipped an arm round her waist as they began to walk down the secluded little path again.

He could kiss, he could really, really kiss, she thought fretfully, desperately hoping her trembling hadn't been noticed by that wicked narrowed gaze. But then, he'd had plenty of practice, hadn't he? It was easy for him to remain controlled, cold even.

And why, why had she told him all that about her childhood, let him in like that, when she knew he wasn't really interested and would view it exactly as he had, with barely concealed contempt?

'Is that the first time you've shared with anyone about your mother?' The deep gravelly voice was quite expressionless, and, tucked into his side as she was, she couldn't see the look on his face to gauge how best to reply, and simply decided to go for the truth.

'Yes.' She paused a moment before continuing quickly, 'It simply hasn't cropped up before-'

'Now don't spoil it with a lie.'

'How dare you-?'

'I'm honoured you trusted me enough to tell me, Joanne.' He stopped, moving her round to face him as he held her within the circle of his arms, his face deadly serious and stopping all coherent thought in her head. 'I'm glad she's not around any more because I would have had a hard job to keep my hands off her, but…I'm glad you told me.'

No, don't; don't do this to me. She stared up at him, her honey-brown eyes wide and swimming with emotion. The fire and brimstone she could cope with, the ardent lover…possibly-certainly the ruthless, hard businessman was a cinch-but this tender, quiet side of him that she had seen over the last twenty-four hours was something else. Something…devastating.

'Come on.' He moved them on again, and now there was a wry quirk at the corner of the hard, firm mouth. 'Keep moving, my nervous little fawn, because when you look at me like that I'm very tempted to do something I've never done before in my life.'

'What?' she asked nervously.

'Break a promise.'

Joanne awoke the next morning with her heart singing and her pulse racing at the thought of another whole day with Hawk. She gave herself a stern talking-to in the shower, and again when she was drying her hair and getting dressed in black leggings, high black boots and a long baggy cream jumper, but the singing remained.

She loved him. Utterly, completely-against all the odds and every grain of common sense, she loved him. And she was going to take this last day of the magical weekend-which would probably never be repeated- and enjoy it.

They left Dijon after breakfast to travel southwards towards the time-mellowed villages of Provence, the delightful contrasts of southern France adding to the enchantment of the day. Hawk made for Cassis, a picturesque fishing village on the coast, where they enjoyed a delicious alfresco lunch of freshly caught crab sitting on the verandah of a seafood restaurant, with the weak November sun warming their heads while they ate.

The afternoon was spent strolling round the capital of Provence, Aix-en-Provence, and visiting the fine cathedral, although Joanne noticed very little beyond the tall, dark man at her side. She was falling more and more in love with him-she couldn't help it-and it scared her half to death, making the time bittersweet.

It was late afternoon and they were walking along a road bordering a gracious square, when Joanne noticed two small children with their noses pressed against a shop window, watching a clockwork Santa Claus filling his sledge with toys. The laughing little tots were enraptured, their mother standing indulgently to one side as she smiled at their rosy faces, and as they passed she nodded at them and they nodded back, although Joanne felt her face had frozen.

'What is it?'

She hadn't thought Hawk had noticed, and now she tried to prevaricate as she said, her voice bright, 'I'm sorry?'

'Something in that little scene back there upset you. Why?' He stopped dead, turning her round to face him and looking down into her eyes, his gaze piercingly intent as he repeated, 'Why, Joanne?'

'I don't know what you mean.' Enough. Enough soul-baring for one weekend, she thought desperately as she stared back up at him, so big and dark and handsome in his black leather jacket and black jeans. Tomorrow morning, or the next day, he would be gone-probably for weeks, maybe for months-and she wanted to get through this weekend with nothing but pleasant memories to look back on.

Whenever they parted, whatever the circumstances, she was always left feeling vulnerable and broken, and she didn't want that this time. She had to master this overwhelming longing to draw close to him, to lower her defences and let him in, because it wouldn't mean to Hawk what it meant to her. He didn't understand what this exposure of her innermost self was costing her.

'Yes, you do.' He wasn't going to let it go; she could read his determination in the set of his mouth and narrowing of his eyes. 'Was it the children? Was that it? Or-'

'No, it wasn't the children,' she said quietly, horrified at the possibility he might think she was neurotic about children and families after her revelations the night before. 'They were sweet and their mother looked nice.'

'What, then?' he persisted softly. 'Tell me; I want to know.'

'I just don't like Christmas, that's all.'

She made to walk on but he caught her arm as she moved out of the circle of his arms, swinging her back to face him, his brow furrowed with enquiry. 'When I say tell me, I mean tell me,' he said firmly. 'That wasn't an answer. Explain.'

'Hawk, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but why should I?' she said tightly, trying to hide the panic his insistence was causing. 'If I don't like Christmas it's no big deal, is it? Lots of people the world over find it one big headache-it's so commercial.'

'You're not lots of people,' he said softly. 'You're thatched country cottages with roses round the door and big fat tabby cats, you're roasting chestnuts and log fires, you're snowmen, and frosted spider webs and a hundred and one other things I could think of, so…' He paused, his eyes blue light. 'Why don't you like Christmas, Joanne? And don't give me the 'commercial' garbage either.'

She stared at him helplessly, suddenly overwhelmed by the most awful feeling that she wanted to cry. She couldn't, she couldn't, she told herself fiercely. It would embarrass them both and there was no logical reason for it anyway; just because he'd said something nice… If it was nice-perhaps he meant she was predictable and boring? But he hadn't said it that way…

'Well?'

His voice was very gentle, and to combat the emotion that was causing a physical pain in her chest her own was almost harsh as she said, 'Christmas was always a difficult time when I was a child, that's all. The home…the home did its best, but it wasn't like family.'

From the age of nine, after her mother's disastrous second marriage had ended so abruptly, she had resided permanently in the children's Home with no more placements with foster parents, and it had been then that the full significance of her isolation had washed over her.

She had been dispatched back just two weeks before Christmas, confused and heartbroken at her mother's rage towards her, and had cried herself to sleep for the next few nights, longing for even a glimpse of her mother's face.

And then Christmas Eve had come, its mystery and wonder taking hold of her even through the turmoil and pain, and she had been sure, so sure, her mother would visit her. Why she had been so adamant she didn't know, even now, but only her mother could make everything all right, and how could she not come at Christmas? And so she had waited, and waited… And the long day had eventually drawn to a close, and still she had sat at one of the windows looking out into the snow-filled darkness, until one of the home's helpers had persuaded her to go to bed. It had been March before she saw her mother again…

'Don't look like that.' His voice was strained, and it brought her out of the black reverie with a peculiar little jolt, her eyes focusing on his face instead of the small, lost child in her mind.

'Like what?' she asked shakily, her face very pale.

'Crushed, defeated,' he said with a painful grimness. 'We will forget this conversation; I will not allow it to spoil what little we have left of the weekend.'

The tone of his voice stunned her even as she found it impossible to determine exactly how he was feeling, and the next moment he had swept her along the street, his arm about her waist, as they made for the car.

'We are going to have a wonderful meal-I know the very place-and then I am going to fly you back to your apartment in time for you to be tucked up with your cocoa and hot-water bottle before midnight.'

His voice was mocking and light, but as her feet were hardly touching the floor it was some moments before she could gasp, 'Fly? In the air, you mean?'

'Is there another way?'

'But how?' They reached the car and she leant against the smooth bonnet as she repeated, 'How, Hawk? I mean-'

'A friend of mine has a private airfield near here, and I told him we'd be along this evening,' Hawk said calmly, as though he were suggesting they call by and have coffee with someone. 'I do have a pilot's licence if that's what's worrying you.' He raised his eyebrows sardonically, thoroughly enjoying her open-mouthed surprise.

'But what about the car?' she asked weakly.

'It will be collected.'

How the other half lived. She stared at him with wide eyes, not sure of what to think. He clicked his fingers and the world snapped smartly to attention, doffing its cap as it did so. How could she imagine, even in her wildest dreams-and there had been a few of those since she had fallen in love with Hawk-that she could ever mean anything more to him than a passing pleasure?

As he opened the car door she slid inside with a careful smile, even as the pain in her heart caught her breath. The weekend was over. Reality was back.