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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 i
s.' 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.
