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'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 h
