Mistletoe Mistress

'No, of course not.'

He didn't elaborate further and she didn't like to ask, but when, nearly half an hour later, they still hadn't arrived and the concrete jungle had given way to an altogether more pleasant residential aspect, she was just on the verge of nerving herself to enquire as to the exact location of their destination when Hawk drew off the wide, tree-lined street and on to what was virtually a private road. 'Hawk? Where-?'

'Hang on a moment.' As she'd spoken a pair of massive wooden gates, which wouldn't have been out of place in a bank, had appeared in front of them, set in an eight-foot-high brick wall that was formidable. As the driver's window wound down he inserted a small key into a little box and immediately the gates glided open, revealing a long winding drive threading through beautifully landscaped grounds.

'Who lives here?' she asked nervously, her eyes turning to the hard dark profile as the powerful car moved smoothly forward.

'A business colleague.' If he heard the note of panic in her voice he didn't comment 'He's emigrating to Canada shortly and has given me first option on the house before he puts it on the open market He's taken his family to Bermuda for a few days so suggested I might like to browse round and make up my mind for when he returns. He's due back tomorrow but it's been one hell of a week and this is the first opportunity I've had to call by.'

'You're thinking of buying a house in England?' she asked faintly. She knew he had a mansion of a place in the States, Beverly Hills, no less, as well as a bachelor pad in New York-the office grapevine had been full of it-but why England? He had told her he had no intention of overseeing Concise Publications any longer than it took for Charles's replacement to settle in, but then, the Mallen Corporation was huge. Obviously they had far bigger fish to fry in London than Charles's operation, so why not a home here? She knew he hated the anonymity of hotels; he had been nothing if not vocal about the subject for weeks.

'Maybe.' The blue gaze flashed over her worried face and shining red hair before returning to the windscreen. 'Maybe not. I loathe hotels, that much is common knowledge, but in the States and Italy I've got my own places-' the office gossip missed the one in Italy, Joanne thought wryly '-and I usually stay with a friend when I'm in Germany. Other countries normally only necessitate a brief visit.'

Friend of the female gender? She was surprised at how much the thought hurt. No, not hurt, she corrected quickly in her mind, her face flaming as though

she had voiced it. Irritated, annoyed, that was all, and only then because she hated the thought of any man clicking his fingers and women falling into line, be they Germans, Italians, or little pink Martians with blue spots.

'Hmm, impressive.'

His voice focused her eyes on the imposing residence at the end of the drive, and she had to agree with him- it was impressive all right. The house was three storeys tall, liberally covered in red and green ivy with myriad windows and the sort of front door that would grace any stately home. It was huge, splendid, the sort of place that would take a small army to run and maintain it, and Joanne hated it on sight.

It didn't improve on further acquaintance. The interior was larger than life, the last word in elegance, but Joanne couldn't believe that real flesh-and-blood people lived in such a dignified, coldly perfect mausoleum of a place- especially children.

She said little as they were shown round by a young attractive housekeeper who looked as though she did modelling in her spare time, but then neither did Hawk, beyond refusing refreshments at the end of the tour and ushering her out to the car with the minimum of goodbyes.

'Well?' They stood at the bottom of the curved stone steps, looking out across the vast expanse of bowling-green-smooth lawn surrounded by massive oaks. 'What did you think?' he asked expressionlessly. 'Some kind of edifice, eh?' His American accent was suddenly much stronger-she normally barely noticed it-and she paused for a moment before answering.

Should she prevaricate, humour him? she thought flatly. All Americans loved stately homes-it was an appreciation given to them along with their mother's milk-and this home was certainly stately. If he intended to buy it, and she told him what she really thought, he wasn't going to be very pleased. But he had asked. And he had a mania for the truth…

'It's certainly that.' She paused again. 'But…'

'But?' he asked coolly.

'I'm sorry, it's beautiful, but as a home it just wouldn't be my cup of tea,' she said colloquially.

'There's no warmth, no real feel about it I'm sorry,' she added again when he still didn't speak.

'You're a roses round the door girl?' The tone was cynical in the extreme, and immediately her hackles rose.

'Probably.' And she was damned if she was going to apologise for the fact to him.

'A cottage in the country, with resident cat, dog and pigeons, not to mention a couple of fat healthy babies thrown in?' he continued derisively.

She felt her temper rise but didn't even try to hold on to it. 'If I ever got married, and frankly that's not on my agenda, I'd much prefer what you've just described than that…that so-called edifice,' she bit back heatedly. 'And if you're insinuating that makes me naive, so be it Money isn't everything, you know. Just because you've been born with a silver cutlery set, let alone a spoon, it doesn't make you an authority on what other people should like.'

'Indeed it doesn't,' he said gravely.

'And considering you're always belly-aching about the truth you shouldn't object when you get just that,' she continued hotly.

'Belly-aching?'

'Added to which I didn't ask to come and look at your wretched house; in fact I didn't have any say in the matter-something which is not unusual with you!'

'Joanne, I don't like the house-'

'And you might be a multi-millionaire with the power to scare people half to death, like poor Maggie, but you function just the same as everyone else, Hawk Mallen, at root level-the same bodily needs, the same requirement to bathe, to eat, to go to the loo-'

'Please, don't go on; delicacy forbids it.'