Mistletoe Mistress

'He can't hold me to anything, can he, with my contract?' Joanne asked anxiously. 'I know it says three months' notice, but surely in the circumstances he'd be prepared to be reasonable?'

'I don't think 'reasonable' is a word that features in Hawk Mallen's vocabulary,' Charles said slowly. 'Look, ring him back and ask him exactly what he wants to see you about. That's only sensible, and if you're still not happy…'

'I shan't be happy; of course I shan't be happy,' Joanne said flatly. 'Would you be happy going out to dinner with Hawk Mallen after speaking to him the way I did? He's probably after my blood.'

'As long as that's all he's after,' Charles said darkly.

'What do you mean?'

'Joanne…' Charles's voice held the patience that characterised his relationship with her. 'I know you don't preen and powder like the average female but you must look in the mirror sometimes, surely? You're a very attractive woman, and Hawk Mallen is definitely very much a man. I didn't say this this afternoon, but he doesn't only work hard, if you get my meaning; the play is done pretty energetically and with great effect too.'

'No, he made it clear it wasn't a date, Charles; he actually spelled it out. Besides which I hardly think someone like Hawk Mallen would look twice at me.' She smiled to herself at the thought. 'He must have his pick of women.'

'No doubt,' Charles said drily.

'But I will phone him back. I can't see any point in meeting him,' she said resolutely.

'Ring me if there's any trouble.'

There was trouble, but she didn't ring back, deciding that it was her problem, not Charles's. Hawk Mallen wasn't in the building, Sue on Reception told her politely, and no, she had no idea where he could be contacted. She could give her the name of the hotel where he was staying at present if she'd like to ring there? Joanne did like, but he wasn't there either. She left messages in both places for him to contact her if he returned, and then paced the floor for the rest of the afternoon waiting for the telephone to ring.

By six o'clock she was panicking badly; by seven she had had a bath and washed her hair, and a feeling of inevitability had settled over her like a blanket Whether he'd got her messages or not he wouldn't ring; she should have known, she told herself resignedly. He had made up his mind he was going to talk to her tonight, and that, as far as he was concerned, was that.

What did one wear when going out to dinner with a megalomaniac? she asked herself helplessly as she surveyed her wardrobe. Especially a fabulously wealthy, dark, attractive one, who frightened her half to death and was probably gunning for her blood? Was he going to prove awkward? Take pleasure in telling her he was going to put the knife in with future employers and so on? Or was he going to hold her to every last day of her contract? She could leave anyway-it would just mean a loss of salary and other benefits-but it wouldn't look too good with prospective employers.

The carefree days of the last month seemed like another lifetime as she glumly pulled a high-necked, long-sleeved cocktail dress in crushed black silk off its hanger. The dress was expensive but the style demure; it gave the impression of a controlled, capable woman in charge of her own destiny, which was exactly what she wanted for the night ahead.

Her hair was trimmed in a sleek bob just above the nape and she normally wore it loose, but she needed the extra sophistication having it up would give her, she decided nervously as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She was all fingers and thumbs, but eventually it was secured in a neat chignon at the back of her head, a pair of tiny gold studs her only jewellery, and a touch of mascara the sum total of her make-up.

There-calm, cool and competent, she decided silently as she looked into the long full-length mirror in her bedroom, seeing only the elegant dress with its matching shoes, and quite missing the beauty of her glowing red hair and honey-brown eyes which complemented the black silk perfectly.

Hawk Mallen missed neither when Joanne opened the door to his knock at exactly eight o'clock, her colour high again as she saw him framed in the doorway, big and dark and lazily self-assured.

'I've been trying to contact you all afternoon.' It probably wasn't the best of opening lines, but her brain seemed to scramble at the sight or sound of this man.

'And now you have.' He smiled easily, but it didn't reach the riveting blue eyes and she knew instantly, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had received her messages and guessed the reason for them.

'I…I was just going to ask what this was all about.' She had raised her chin slightly as she spoke without being aware of it, and the subtle gesture spoke volumes to the man watching her so closely.

'All in good time.' He gestured to the room beyond. 'Do you have a wrap, a jacket…?'

'Yes. Oh, come in.' She stepped back so hastily she nearly pivoted on the three-inch heels which were much higher than those she normally wore, recovering herself just in time and feeling her face grow even hotter in the process. This was going to be a riot of an evening, she told herself desperately, walking carefully through the tiny square hall and into the lounge where she had placed her jacket and handbag. She couldn't even stay upright, let alone impress him with her woman-of-the-world persona.

'Nice flat.' He had followed her, and as she turned the room immediately shrank in deference to his presence, his impressive height and build seeming to fill the pleasant light surroundings.

'I like it.' She couldn't for the life of her manage her normal social smile as she stared at him before moving hastily away, her face still flaming, and busying herself adjusting the brilliance of the wall lights. She reached for her jacket and bag. 'Shall we?' She nodded to the front door but he didn't move, surveying her with cool, narrowed eyes for a long, heart-thudding moment.

'I'm not going to eat you, you know,' he said softly. 'You're not Little Red Riding Hood and I'm not the Wolf. Well…' He paused, his eyes narrowing still more. 'You're not Little Red Riding Hood anyway,' he added sardonically.

'I didn't say-'

'You didn't have to.' He interrupted her before she could finish and again the incredible self-assurance hit a nerve.

'Mr Mallen-'

'Hawk,

please,' he interjected softly.