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'You believe that?' Joanne asked with painful directness.
'Don't you?'
'I…I think Hawk wants me because I am unattainable.' Joanne shifted restlessly in her seat. 'You have said yourself he is chased by some of the most beautiful women in the world-successful, rich women, women who are used to his lifestyle and enjoy it. Perhaps he just wants the thrill of the chase for once, to pursue rather than be pursued?'
'The man I was telling you about, the man in the story, is not a fool,' Jed said slowly. 'Perhaps when the one perfect jewel comes along he will recognise it for what it is.'
Joanne stared hard at the handsome face in front of her. Was he really saying he thought she was the right partner for his grandson, or was this incredible conversation a subtle suggestion to the contrary? If she was this 'jewel', Hawk certainly hadn't acknowledged it in the months she had known him and Jed Mallen must know that. Oh, she didn't know what to think, how to feel. She had enough problems struggling to keep her head above water with one cold, hard, enigmatic man, without taking on his grandfather too!
'I have enjoyed this afternoon immensely, but I must be going.' She stood up as she spoke and was going to hold out her hand for a formal farewell, but something in Jed's face-a fleeting sadness, a loneliness too deep and real for words-prompted her to lean forward on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. 'Thank you for sharing the…the story with me,' she said softly.
'Think about it,' he countered quietly. 'Please?'
'Yes, I will.'
She thought about nothing else as Jed's chauffeur drove her back to Hawk's home, but was left with nothing more concrete than a string of impossible questions.
Could anyone break through the ice that encased Hawk's heart? And if they did, would he want them for a lifetime, or just for a short while, until he became bored and restless? Could any female handle Hawk now that he had become so cynical and cold? She didn't feel she could, even if he wanted her for more than a brief fling. She didn't have a stable background to draw from, a well of family, or even worldly, knowledge. She wasn't clever or cosmopolitan or wealthy; she was just…herself. And it wouldn't be enough, wasn't enough.
By the time the long, luxurious limousine glided to a halt in front of Hawk's mansion she had faced reality. Dreams were one thing, real life quite another. She was torturing herself to no avail. She was just a passing whim to Hawk, a momentary obsession as he would term it, someone to have fun with as long as the mutual attraction lasted. And she couldn't be like that. She loved him far, far too much.
The next few days were a subtle combination of wild, fervent moments of happiness, grinding pain, poignant self-analysis and intensely fierce grief for what might have been. Hawk set out to make every minute of her Christmas memorable, and the fact that he succeeded only too
well merely added to her turmoil until she began to wonder if she was becoming schizophrenic, especially as Hawk, after that first night, had become the perfect host-charming, attentive, courteous, amusing, and all the time remaining at a very controlled distance.
He had thrown a party for her on Christmas Eve which had begun with carol singers dressed in Victorian clothes and holding lanterns, and had finished, as the clock had chimed midnight, with warm glasses of mulled wine and hot mince pies.
On Christmas morning she had woken to a little Santa sack of presents at the end of her bed-she had no idea what time of the night he had placed it there-and he had come to sit on her bed with her and open the gifts, all the time being warm and friendly…and constrained. He had kissed her and wished her a happy Christmas, but it had been the kiss of a brother and made her want to scream.
They had spent the day with Jed, and Joanne had worn the ruby pendant and matching bracelet Hawk had given her-which must have cost a small fortune-and all the time she had been waiting for one sign, one word, to show she was something more than just- Just what? she had asked herself that night in bed. What was she? She wasn't a girlfriend, she wasn't a lover, she wasn't even a straightforward house guest. Jed had asked to see her and she had been brought for the audience with his grandfather post-haste. She'd cried herself to sleep.
It was on the afternoon of her last day in America, when Hawk was driving her home after a day spent with some old-and, Joanne had discovered to her surprise, very normal and amusing-friends, and the sky was a river of purple and gold and scarlet, that things came to a head.
'Isn't it beautiful?' He had stopped the car on the top of a hill where the outlines of bare trees were silhouetted against the magnificent, colour-drenched sky, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the whole of the world. 'I often come here about this time of night when I'm home just to look at the sunset.'
'Do you?' She had seen this side of him more and more over the last few days-the softer, more vulnerable, gentle side of him. She had discovered he was a man who wasn't afraid to admit an appreciation of scenery and art, who could get on all fours and play with his friends' children like a five-year-old, who loved animals and was tender with anything weak and defenceless. She would rather not have discovered it-it didn't help her love to die-and die it had to.
'My mother used to come here too,' he continued quietly. 'She used to make the excuse she was exercising the dog, but after she died-' He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath before he said, 'After she died, I understood why she needed to escape sometimes.'
'What happened to the dog?' It was an inane question, she realised immediately after she had said it, but the look on his face was breaking her heart.
'Bertie? He died shortly after my mother was killed.' Hawk turned from the windscreen to look at her then, his blue eyes silver in the twilight. 'He was an old dog; my mother had bought him when I started school-for company, I guess-and once she had gone he just sort of gave up. He adored her.'
'She must have been a lovely lady,' Joanne said softly.
'Yes, she was.' He flexed his long legs in the confines of the low, sleek sports car and turned fully to face her. 'Much like you.'
'Me?' Her breath caught in her throat before she reminded herself it didn't mean anything, not really.
'Yes, you,' he said huskily, his gaze sensuous. 'You- with your hair of fire and your big golden eyes; I want you more than I have ever wanted any other woman, Joanne-do you know that? And I have never trodden so warily, so carefully before.'
'You like the concept of the hunter after the prey?' she asked with painful directness.
'Prey?' The black brows beetled as he frowned. 'Is that how you see this? I don't think of you as a victim, Joanne, just the opposite in fact I see you as a beautiful, desirable woman, but a woman who is more than able to hold her own in this crazy world we inhabit, and do it with integrity and courage too.'
Words, words, words, but what did they really mean? She stared at him, her face tense and unhappy. He was an enigma, this dark, cynical, cold man who had a drawing power so strong, so magnetic that it pole-axed lesser mortals, leaving them stunned and exposed.
'We would be good together, you know it, and I don't mean just the sex,' he said now, his handsome face shadowed and his hair blue-black. 'I want you with me, Joanne, really with me. I want to wake up in the morning and see you lying beside me, and know you'd be there in the evenings so we could discuss our days together. I want to eat with you, laugh with you, share the good times and the bad…'
