The Price of a Wife

'Do you like children?' he asked quietly.

He had no idea what this conversation was doing to her, and she drew on every scrap of strength she had won over the last few years and answered flatly, her voice even, 'I suppose so. I don't really come into contact with any.'

'The original career woman?' There was a note in his voice she couldn't quite place, but his face was relaxed and pleasant. Nevertheless she felt he disapproved of her, of the negative reaction he had sensed and misunderstood, and it hurt. It was stupid, crazy, but… it hurt.

'You don't get to the top by playing happy families,' she said levelly.

'No, I guess you don't, at that. But you sure as hell miss a lot if you don't.' He stared at her, hard, for one more moment before indicating the drink in her hand. 'Finish that and we'll have another before we leave.'

She didn't normally drink—alcohol of any description always went straight to her head—but tonight she downed the drink in one swallow and held out her glass to Luke with a devil-may-care soreness in her heart.

He thought she was an ambitious career woman, hellbent on getting to the very top of the tree? Well, maybe she was. In any case it was an impression she had deliberately fostered through the last few years, hiding behind a mask that protected as well as concealed, so she couldn't very well blame him now if he believed it.

She sipped the second drink slowly; the first cocktail already doing peculiar things to her head. Or was that Luke's presence? she asked herself as she smiled at some witty, dry remark he had just made. He was all charm tonight, but the dark, formidable side of him was still just a breath away, and she realised suddenly that he would be an intimidating adversary to deal with in business—or anywhere else for that matter.

And there was still that cool, easy assurance about him, the utter belief in his own power, that reminded her of Peter. It repelled her even while she couldn't deny the little trickles of excitement shivering down her spine. And from the covert glances that had been thrown in their direction from more than one or two pairs of female eyes it appeared she wasn't the only one to be affected, either.

As she finished the last of the pink liquid he smiled at her, his eyes slightly narrowed as they washed over her small, beautiful face and moist lips. 'Shall we go?'

He took her aim as they walked out of the hotel and she took a deep, silent pull of the warm summer air, but it did little to steady her nerves. You are in control. You are in control. She repeated the refrain over and over in her mind, and by the time she was seated in the large, sleek car with that big, powerful male body in close proximity she had restored a little of her faltering equilibrium.

'Nice car.' She needed to say something to break the tension that was so tangible she could almost reach out and touch it.

'It is adequate,' he said with cool smoothness.

Was he really so calm and composed? she asked herself as the engine growled into life. It was intensely aggravating that she was reduced to a nervous wreck while he was the original ice-man. But then everything about Luke Hawkton was aggravating, and being alone with him like this was the last thing she had wanted.

There was something about him—something…primitive. The word shocked her, but the more she rolled it around her mind, the more she knew that it fitted the cultured, sophisticated man next to her, in spite of the layers of civilisation that sat so powerfully on the dark frame. In the intimacy of lovemaking, when exploring the secrets of sensual delight, he would be primitive…

She jerked herself away from the dangerous path her thoughts were following with a physical movement as she chastised herself harshly. What did she know about it anyway? she thought bitterly. She was hardly an authority on the subject of men! She didn't know what made Luke Hawkton tick; she didn't have a clue. And what was more she didn't want to know either. She kept that assertion to the forefront of her mind throughout the long drive and the necessary social chit-chat, and when they arrived at the secluded and very exclusive restaurant she steeled herself for the evening ahead as though she were going to her doom.

They were shown to their table with all the ceremony normally accredited to royalty, and the head waiter appeared like a genie as they sat down. Although the conversation was in German, Josie was aware that the power of the Hawkton name was well known as the tall, middle-aged man clicked his fingers at the wine waiter, who glided to their side.

'White or red?' Luke asked her smoothly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she rarely drank either and would prefer a glass of iced mineral water when some perverse sense of pride reared its head. 'Red, please.' She smiled brightly. In for a penny, in for a pound. If she was going to give a performance as a hard-bitten career woman she would need help from somewhere, and she was loath to reveal anything of the real Josie to this man.

'Red it is.'

When yet another waiter handed her the ornate menu she was immensely thankful to see that it was printed in German, French and English, although even so most of the dishes were unknown to her.

'The lobster and avocado salad is very good here.' He spoke after she had been eyeing the list for a few moments, Ins voice casual as he kept his eyes on his own menu. 'And perhaps I could suggest the fricassee of veal to follow, with sauté potatoes, honeyed pineapple, carrots and creamed mushrooms?'

'That sounds very nice.' She nodded her approval, and as Luke spoke swiftly to the waiter in rapid German the wine waiter came back, his face wreathed in smiles as he poured a small amount of what was clearly a very expensive wine for Luke to taste.

Once they were alone again she forced herself to speak lightly as Luke settled back comfortably in his chair, his strange silver-grey eyes narrowed on her face. 'You speak excellent German.'

'Thank you.' He bowed his head briefly in a gesture that was curiously Latin. 'My nanny was German, my father English and my mother Italian, and we had houses in France and Italy as well as England so I was speaking several different languages at an early age without even thinking about it.'

'A privileged upbringing.' No wonder he had such a big opinion of himself, she thought silently. He'd probably been treated like a little prince from the day he was born.

'Yes, it was.' She had tried to keep her voice even and without expression but as his mouth tightened she felt he had sensed her criticism. 'I was most fortunate. But even the comfortable blanket of enormous wealth can't still fate's hand.'

'My twin brother died when he was just fourteen. Leukaemia,' he added abruptly. 'So although I might have been a spoilt little brat up to that point I then grew up very quickly.' His voice was cold now, and stiff. So he had discerned her disapproval, she thought as a wave of guilt and shame turned

her cheeks scarlet. What could she say now?

'I'm sorry.' She looked him full in the face and didn't try to pretend. 'I'm very sorry about your brother and for jumping to conclusions. I had no right to do that.'