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'No, listen,' she said fiercely. 'You listen to me. I don't want to have to wait for the phone to stop ringing, or worry about who you're with or what you're doing when you aren't with me. I couldn't live like that, don't you see? I want you to love me like I love you, and you can't, you can't,' she finished on a sob that almost choked her.
'You don't know what you're saying.' But his voice was shaky and he was perfectly still, the last glow from the dying sky outside the car windows strangely poignant to the moment.
'I know, Hawk.' She drew herself up proudly. 'I love you, hard as I know you'll find that to believe. And perhaps another woman could love you and still accept that the way you want it is the way it has to be, but I can't. I don't want you for a few months or a few years, I want you for ever, and to tell you anything different would be a lie. You've told me you always want the truth and that's the truth.'
'You're telling me you want a ring on your finger before you share my bed,' he stated flatly.
Joanne's face went still whiter but she forced herself not to flinch. 'No, that would be blackmail and quite useless with most men, let alone you,' she said shakily, willing the storm of emotion that was threatening to tear loose from the very core of her to be still. 'In fact if you asked me to marry you I would say no,' she continued bravely. 'A ring or a piece of paper means nothing if that's all it is, and it would be with you, I know that.'
'Then what the hell do you want?' he ground out savagely.
'I want you to let me walk out of your life,' she said tautly. 'No recriminations, no bitterness, just a simple goodbye. And…and I want you to look around for another manager at Bergique & Son's. I'll…I'll stay till you've found someone else, of course, but then- Then I want to go.'
'You're telling me on the one hand that you supposedly love me, and on the other that you want to run out on me?' Hawk bit out with a fury that stunned her. 'What the hell sort of love is that?'
'My sort,' she said quietly, lifting her chin as she spoke.
'Then it stinks.' He grasped her shoulders, jerking her towards him. 'If you love someone, you're supposed to want to be with them,' he growled angrily.
'How would you know?' Suddenly there was hot molten rage flowing through her veins and she welcomed it, its cauterising power sealing her bleeding heart and allowing her to throw off his hands with an anger that matched his.
'I know.' He was breathing heavily, his eyes flashing blue fire. 'I was in love once, a lifetime ago, and I wanted to be with her but she had other ideas.'
'And so you let her go?' Joanne said quietly, her rage dying as quickly as it had been born. 'Well, that was love, wasn't it?'
'I let her go because I despised her.' His voice was as cold as ice. 'She betrayed me with a friend I loved like a brother; the two of them had been having an affair behind my back for weeks before I found out. But they lived to regret it; I made sure of that. And it taught me one thing, and for that I'm grateful-love is just another name for a physical act.'
'No.' Her voice was a whisper of pain. 'You loved someone who didn't exist, an image she'd projected. You never did love her.'
'What do you know about it?' he bit out cruelly.
'Your mother couldn't stop loving your father whatever he did,' Joanne said huskily. 'I'm sure she tried to-it would have made things so much easier, after all-but she couldn't, just as I couldn't stop loving you whatever you did I don't want to love you, Hawk-in fact you are the last man in the world I would have chosen to love-but I can't help it. The only protection I have, the only thing I can do not to become like your mother-broken, tortured-is to live without you, to let go. That's what I meant when I said I wouldn't marry you even if you asked me; it would be history repeating itself, and I think you, even more than me, would find that abhorrent.'
'So it is over?' he asked with rigid control.
'It never even began.'
CHAPTER TEN
Her brave words-noble almost, she told herself with bitterly searing self-contempt-came back to mock her desperate misery once she was alone in her suite.
Hawk had driven home in the encroaching darkness without another word, his face as black as thunder and his hands, gripping the leather-clad steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles had shone white.
He'd spoken briefly when they'd entered his home, and his voice had been curt and cold. 'I presume you would rather eat here than dine out?'
'Yes, please.' She had tried to match his detachment but failed miserably. 'Perhaps if I could have a tray in my room…?'
'What a good idea,' he'd said grimly. 'I will make sure Conchita is aware of it.' And then he had watched her as she had climbed the beautiful winding staircase, his eyes boring into the back of her head with every step she took.
If she had needed any confirmation that his heart was encased in stone, she'd had it this evening, she told herself miserably as she sat staring blankly into space in the magnificent suite of rooms. She had known he wouldn't exactly be overjoyed to hear that she loved him-still less that his plans to bed her had been thwarted-but surely one kind word, one understanding glance or even a sympathetic silence wasn't beyond him?
It was she who was suffering, after all-not Hawk. It was her heart that was broken, her feelings that were lacerated beyond repair… She gave herself up to a deluge of self-pity and despair. His pride had no doubt been dented a little-his ego taking a bit of a hammering in the process-but he didn't love her, so her refusal to sleep with him was a momentary hiccup in his life, that was all. And it wasn't as though she had refused him because she didn't find him attractive or that she didn't want him-she had told him how it was. The tears continued to flow, hot and acidic.
She was still struggling for composure when Conchita knocked on her door half an hour later to enquire what she would like for dinner, and she forced herself to listen quietly as the little maid relayed several alternatives the cook had listed.
&
nbsp; 'I don't mind, Conchita.' The thought of food was repugnant anyway. 'Tell Cook I'll have whatever Mr Mallen is having.'
