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'That's what I mean, Joanne,' he drawled mockingly, temper and aplomb apparently quite restored. 'Bergique & Son won't grind to a halt because you leave the helm briefly. If there's one thing I've learnt in life it's that no one is indispensable, however much they like to imagine they are.' 'I don't imagine anything-'
'I do.' Suddenly his eyes were blue fire, hot and sensuous. 'Hell, you wouldn't believe what I imagine…' He pulled her into his arms almost roughly. 'You're in my head, do you know that? Locked in there, all long legs and creamy smooth skin… You drive me crazy.'
He bent his head and his mouth was hungry on hers, so hungry it lit an immediate flame in the core of her. She didn't want to respond to him; it wasn't fair that he could move in and out of her life like this, taking her up and then dropping her at will, but she might as well have tried to stop the rhythm of the tides as withstand him.
'I've thought about you every moment,' he whispered against her lips. 'Shy, beautiful Joanne. What is it about you that I can't get out of my mind?'
She opened her mouth to answer, to tell him that he couldn't fool her with all his sweet talk, but he took the words before they were uttered, his lips and his tongue probing as he folded her more deeply into him, wrapping his big dark overcoat round her as he enclosed them in a blanket of warmth.
'Say you'll come with me, Joanne.' She was utterly captivated by the time he raised his head again, lost in the flowing river of sensation that had turned her fluid. 'I want to spend some time with you, to show you my home, my friends. Say you'll come?'
This was a planned assault, an orchestrated campaign to get what he wanted, but even as the warning flashed through her mind she knew she was going to say yes. It was the gentleness that had
done it, the languorous tenderness he had displayed that was so very un-Hawk-like and consequently terribly seductive.
'Well?' His voice was husky and deep. 'You'll say yes?'
'Would it make any difference if I said no?' she asked shakily, that tiny instinct in the back of her mind forbidding the total capitulation she longed to give. 'Would you take any notice?'
'You know I wouldn't.' He smiled, a wry little smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 'But it would be good for my ego to have you there with me instead of fighting every inch of the way.'
'Your ego needs help?' she asked disbelievingly, pulling away an inch or two to look more closely into the devastatingly attractive face.
'Around you, yes.' She couldn't read anything in his deadpan expression, the mask he was so good at adopting suddenly very firmly in place. 'But I'm a big boy now; I can take it,' he added with mocking dryness, before turning and walking with her still held within the circle of one arm to the stairs. 'I'll see you to your door.'
'There's no need.' She was trembling but she couldn't help it. Here, in the hall, with the possibility of Madame Lemoine or the other flat-dwellers liable to appear at any moment, she had had some protection. But upstairs…
'Joanne, I've been waiting for over four hours to see you; I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I was cold…until I held you in my arms, that is,' he said with wry self-derision at his all too obvious arousal, the alien power of which she had felt as he had held her close. 'I'm going to see you to your door, and then leave you to your chaste little bed, okay? I'm bushed too.'
She couldn't answer so she just nodded, the confession that the great Hawk Mallen, the powerful and authoritative figure who had the world at his fingertips and a reputation for ruthlessness that was second to none, had been waiting for four hours in the hall of a little French house to see her rendering her dumb.
'Goodnight, little fawn.' They had stopped outside her front door and he cupped her face gently, his eyes piercingly blue as they looked into hers. 'Hell, you're lovely…' This time the kiss was fierce and burningly hot as he slipped his hands beneath her open coat and under the soft wool of her waist-length jumper, his fingers encircling the soft swell of her breasts and branding her skin with heat. She could feel him shaking as his tongue penetrated the sweetness of her mouth, his body rock-hard against hers, and his heart slamming against his chest like a sledgehammer.
Her love for him, stimulated by the need he couldn't hide, was sending her up in flames and she found she was breathing his name as she kissed him back with ever increasing passion, her head swimming and a wild clamouring in her senses that caused her to press deeper and deeper into the powerfully muscled body against hers.
'Damn it, Joanne, another minute and I shan't be able to stop.' His voice was a low growl of frustration and need, and as he unwound her arms from round his neck she saw his control was paper-thin. 'And that would really blot my copy-book, wouldn't it?' he stated with grim amusement. 'Your body might be willing but there's still that hesitation in your eyes that tells me you don't trust me yet.'
'It's important that I trust you?' she asked shakily. Trust him? She'd die for him.
'Strangely, yes.' He stood looking down at her, his face shadowed and dark and his big body taut and still. 'Yes, it is. Get some sleep, Joanne, and I'll see you in the morning.' His voice was suddenly cool, almost remote, and he had turned on his heel and begun to walk down the stairs before she could reply.
Los Angeles was everything Joanne had expected and more, but the shock of Hawk's sudden appearance, added to the long plane journey and electric tension that was gripping every nerve and sinew, rendered her almost deaf, dumb and blind on their arrival on the balmy West Coast. She was aware of the pleasant temperature-after the icy drizzle they had left behind in Paris the warm soft air that resembled a mild spring day in England was wonderfully relaxing-but little else registered on the drive from the airport to Hawk's home in Beverly Hills, the mental and physical exhaustion that had been steadily building for the last few weeks paramount.
Hawk seemed to understand perfectly, taking care of her in the same way he did everything else-calmly, firmly and with absolute authority, so that she was whisked effortlessly from pillar to post almost without being aware of it.
As they drew up outside Hawk's mansion, Joanne's impression of high, impenetrable walls-the perimeter surround being ten feet high-was overtaken by one of light and colour and life as they left the car and walked to the open door, where a pretty little maid was waiting for them.
The hall was vast and dominated by the biggest Christmas tree Joanne had ever seen, a vision of gold and red, with antique golden baubles, stars and ribbons, tiny flickering red candles and gold-berried ivy, all of which matched the deep red sofas scattered about the lushly carpeted expanse. Several piles of ravishing gifts were stacked under the tree, wrapped up in shiny gold paper and tied with green and pistachio ribbons.
'It's beautiful.' Joanne's voice was a soft murmur but Hawk heard it, and also recognised the dazed, vacant note as being indicative of near collapse.
'And it will still be here tomorrow,' he said quietly, 'along with the rest of the house. For now it's bed for you.'
'What?' Even in her tired state the word 'bed', when spoken by Hawk Mallen, was not to be ignored. She hadn't quite summoned up the nerve to ask him what the sleeping arrangements for this little holiday extravaganza would be, and she still couldn't find the words, but it didn't matter. He had read her mind. As always.
'I'm sorry, Joanne, but you can't get your itchy little fingers on my body tonight,' he said sardonically, with a cool disregard for the listening maid that brought mortifying colour flooding into Joanne's pale face. 'You'll have your own suite while you are my guest; kindly see that you stay in it without any midnight ramblings.'
'Hawk, that's not funny-'
