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The Hawk and the Lamb

Page 7

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Gradually, as Elizabeth became certain from his slow, even breathing that he was indeed asleep, and, envying him his repose, she dared study him.

With the earring on the ear facing away from her, the flamboyant pony-tail tucked beneath his head and the brutally masculine features relaxed he didn’t look half as threatening to her peace of mind. The power of those coldly penetrating, cynical grey eyes was extinguished. Relief surged through her, soothing her fraught nerves. He was just a man, like any other. She mustn’t allow his unexpected appearance to shake her resolve. Granted the task she had to perform regarding him was not one she would have chosen to do, or one that she felt entirely comfortable with but, as Uncle Simon had pointed out, Hawk Hotels had its own corporate security staff so J.J. Hawkwood himself had probably taken advantage of similar surveillance reports in the course of his various business dealings.

What incredibly dark hair and eyelashes he had. Both were thick and glossy, the blue-black eyelashes forming lush crescents just above his high cheekbones. There was not a strand of grey to be seen and the shadow along his smoothly shaven jaw was as singularly dark as his head. Did he dye his hair? Uncle Simon had said that Hawkwood was thirty-eight, and it was unusual for a man of that age in such a stressful position of authority not to show a bit of distinguished grey. The harsh angles of his face, while strong and vital, certainly weren’t youthful, but there was little other physical evidence of ageing.

Elizabeth looked at his thin mouth, controlled even in sleep, and wondered what sort of woman Serena Corvell was to put herself at his mercy. She had a very powerful urge to look at the envelope in her bag, but she decided that, with the way her luck was currently running, he would wake up and catch her red-handed.

Ruefully she conceded that many women would find the combination of raw physicality and cynical charm irresistibly attractive, especially allied as it was with money and power, but Elizabeth's one brush with reckless love had convinced her that passionate physical attraction was an inherently unstable and completely unreliable indicator as to the depth of one's genuine feelings and the worthiness of one's partner.

Of course she wasn’t totally unaware of the brutal sex appeal of the sleeping man—she was still a woman— but she felt protected by her shrewd assessment of his unsympathetic character. He would be hell on wheels to love. Poor Serena Corvell.

Elizabeth wrenched her eyes off the sleeping man, de­ciding that she was brooding far too much on what didn’t concern her. Heavens, she had much more important things to think about than feeling sorry for a foolish woman who had fallen in love with an accomplished rake.

The old-fashioned word made her smile. But then, she was an old-fashioned girl in many respects. If she hadn’t cared about things like love and honour, respect and loyalty she wouldn’t be here now.

Cautiously Elizabeth leaned towards the window, wondering if she would be able to see the sea through the clouds that flitted past the window. There was plenty of blue down there, but was it sea or sky? She thought she glimpsed a thin white arc that could have been a coral reef and as she leaned further across the sleeping man to see it the plane suddenly shuddered and plunged sickeningly before levelling out again. The hand on which she was leaning slid violently off the arm of the seat and skidded down between two relaxed male thighs.

Elizabeth instantly tried to snatch her hand back but was appalled to discover that the gold chain looped several times around her wrist had somehow become en­tangled in the buttons of J.J. Hawkwood's fly. Of course, he would be wearing expensive original Levis 501s in­stead of the common-or-garden zip variety!

The breath hissing through her teeth in embar­rassment, Elizabeth twisted and yanked at her captive hand, but the chain, though thin, was strong.

'Whatever you're doing, chérie, don’t stop...but please, be gentle with me...'

Elizabeth froze, her eyes fleeing to his face. He was wide awake and watching with interest her delicately frantic struggles with his fly.

She refused to blush. He must know damned well that her actions were totally innocent. She fixed him with her most haughty stare, somewhat ineffectual behind her dark glasses, and said in the deep, authoritative voice that made students cringe, 'My bracelet is caught.'

' Perhaps if you kept your hands out of men's jeans it wouldn’t happen.'

She gritted her teeth. 'I was looking out the window. The plane hit an air pocket and I fell. It was an accident.'

His eyes fell to the hand trapped intimately across his lap. 'Really?' he murmured, as if he didn’t believe her.

Arrogant jerk! 'Look, are you going to help me or not?' On second thoughts that was a silly thing to say. The blush she had valiantly held at bay overwhelmed her as she waited for the retaliation that she was sure would be mockingly provocative. He seemed to enjoy flustering her. Why, Elizabeth couldn’t fathom.

'What do you suggest?' He was still studying her soft, pale hand with its short, unvarnished nails. Her wrist was caught against the placket of his jeans while her hand arched up, straining not to touch the taut denim where it pulled across his loins.

'Just—' She wasn’t quite game to ask him to un­button his fly so she said hastily, 'Just untangle the chain. I think the catch must have got looped around a button because I can’t find it...'

'So it did,' he said blandly, and, as if divining her thought, calmly began undoing the flat metal buttons on his jeans, watching her fleeting expression of shocked fascination swiftly superseded by one of conscious distaste.

Anxiously Elizabeth began to try and work herself free, only to have him clasp her wrist firmly and hold it until she stilled her premature movements.

'You're only compounding the problem. Don’t be in such a rush—'

'Then hurry up!' she spat at him.

'Chérie, believe me, the slower you take these things the better it will be—'

'Who for, you or me?' she was driven to snap in a furiously sarcastic undertone. She was acutely aware that just under her hovering palm was the most masculine part of his anatomy, and she had no intention of dis­covering whether this ridiculous incident was having any physical effect on him. Her imagination, however, was not so easy to control.

He stopped what he was doing, still holding her wrist with one hand. 'Why, Miss Lamb, whatever are you suggesting?'

He was laughing at her. The mouth was still a thin, straight line but she knew that inside he was roaring. Elizabeth had never been more grateful for the dark glasses. She was very close to bursting into tears of fury and distress.

'Just shut up and do it!' she begged him, aware, too late, of a presence in the aisle behind her half-turned back, speaking simultaneously with her hushed outburst.

'Would you like another glass of—oh! Uh—perhaps I'll come back a little later...' The air hostess backed hastily away and now the awful man let his amusement conquer him completely.



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