Mistletoe Mistress

'You're talking about an affair.' She couldn't believe this conversation was taking place, but at the same time it was almost as though she had been waiting for just this from the first moment she had laid eyes on him.

'I'm talking about enjoyment, the giving and receiving of pleasure,' he said softly. 'I want you, Joanne, I admit it; I haven't felt like this in a long, long time. We could be good together; I could make you want me in a way you've never wanted a man before.'

'Hawk-'

'What was his name, Joanne, the man who made you retreat into this formidable glass tower you inhabit?' he asked with a sudden intensity. 'Whatever he meant to you, whatever it was like, with me it will be better. I would always be totally honest, there would be no guessing games, no cruelty. When it was over, whoever ended it, it would be quick and final-'

'I don't want a relationship with you.' He was propositioning her on the one hand and telling her he would finish it cleanly on the other? she thought dazedly, anger providing a welcome shot of adrenalin that went some way to quelling the hurt. How dared he? How dared he assume she was just waiting to fall into his arms like an overripe peach? And what about him anyway? If anyone retreated into towers it was him, although his were made of inches-thick steel.

'Yes, you do, although you can't bring yourself to admit it,' he said with an assuredness that hit her on the raw.

She stared at him icily, and something of her utter outrage must have got through because he took his hand from over hers, leaning back in his corner of the cab as he surveyed her with narrowed blue eyes.

'Does my taking the job in France have anything to do with this conversation?' she snapped tightly. 'And I want this wonderful truth that you're always going on about, mind.'

'I offered you the position at Bergique & Son because I feel you would be an asset to the Mallen Corporation,' Hawk said coolly. 'Any personal liaison with me is something quite separate.'

'But it wouldn't go amiss to have a nice warm bed waiting for you when you visit?' she asked tartly. And any emotional involvement would mean he was completely sure of her loyalty to the Mallen empire. That, probably, was what all this was about; he was certainly cold-blooded enough to think that way. Oh, he was just a cynical brute of a man. And to think she had actually been grateful for all his apparent thoughtfulness yesterday, for the way he had steered her through the last difficult goodbyes, for his generosity over the leaving party, for his accompanying her to France to ease the way for her. Ease the way! Fury combined with humiliation at her naivety. It had all been about trying to manipulate her to his will, and in such a way that Hawk, and the Mallen empire, couldn't lose.

'I take it that's a no to my suggestion we get to know each other better?' he asked drily.

'Dead right.' It was scathing.

'Pity. Patience is not normally one of my virtues but it looks as though I'll have to draw on hitherto unused resources,' he drawled slowly. 'But I can wait, Joanne, when I have to. And something tells me you are well worth waiting for.'

'Do you expect me to thank you for that observation?' she asked cuttingly, praying that the trembling in her stomach wouldn't r

eveal itself to the rapier-sharp gaze.

'It would be nice.'

The dark amusement was the last straw. 'Hawk, whatever impression I might have given you I don't go in for tawdry little affairs,' she said tightly, her voice quivering with the force of her emotion. 'When I give myself to a man it will be because I love him, all of him, not just his body or the cheap thrill of a few weeks or months of sexual gymnastics-'

'Wait there a moment.' He cut into her fury with a raised hand as he straightened in his seat 'What are you saying here? You aren't asking me to believe that you haven't…' His voice trailed away and hot colour washed over her in a burning flood as it dawned on her what she had revealed. 'I don't believe it…'

'I'm not asking you to believe anything,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster in the circumstances, 'and whatever interpretation you put on my words is your own; I have no intention of explaining anything to you.'

'Joanne-'

'I just value myself as something more than a body on two legs, all right?' Or as a useful little tool for the Mallen empire, she thought hotly as the humiliation and embarrassment became almost more than she could bear. Oh, why hadn't she kept quiet?

Hawk was used to shrewd businesswomen, or rich young females who flitted from one affair to another like graceful, bored butterflies, or-oh, a million and one other connotations on the theme. One thing he wasn't used to were twenty-nine-year-old virgins who acted like outraged paragons when he suggested they might get to know each other better-albeit very much better, she thought weakly.

Not that she was ashamed of what and who she was- she wasn't; she just hadn't meant to broadcast it to the one person, above all others, who would be sure to treat the news with contempt.

Not that Hawk Mallen looked contemptuous-stunned would have been a better description, she thought flatly. No doubt he was already regretting the waste of a couple of days when he could have been frying other, more obliging fish. The thought prompted her to say, but not with as much tartness as she would have liked, 'I think it better that I go to France alone in the circumstances.'

'What circumstances are you referring to? I wasn't aware anything had altered.' He met her eyes as he spoke, and Joanne wasn't to know it was the finest piece of bluffing Hawk Mallen had ever indulged in-and that in the dog-eat-dog world of high business where a poker face and an expressionless voice could mean the gain or loss of millions.

The flight to France, and journey to Bergique & Son which was situated in the heart of Paris, was conducted in a tense, screaming silence that had Joanne's nerves stretched as tightly as piano wire by the time they arrived at the pleasant, stone-clad building close to the Seine.

Hawk had said very little since their conversation in the taxi in England. Beyond pointing out one or two of the sights to her once they were in the car on the other side of the Channel he had only spoken to enquire if she was comfortable on the plane, if she would like a drink, and other such social niceties. Joanne had answered him in monosyllables, not because she was trying to be awkward but because she could only manage to force one or two words past the constriction in her throat.

It didn't help that the elegantly attractive stewardesses hadn't been able to keep their eyes off him either-she was sure that given the least bit of encouragement he would have had two telephone numbers pressed on him, and in spite of her earlier rejection of his advances it had rankled-painfully. He was a free agent, all the model-type beauties in the world could come on to him and she wouldn't have the slightest right to object, but…it still rankled.

She had found herself watching him from under her eyelashes, seeing how he responded to the subtle-and once or twice not so subtle-overtures by the two glamorous women, but he hadn't even appeared to notice them. Not that that meant anything, she told herself tetchily. With all the women who no doubt threw themselves at him every day of the week he could afford to be choosy. And that brought her back to the unescapable conclusion she had been forced to earlier, which was hurting more and more despite her telling herself, every minute, every second, that she was a complete and utter fool to care.

Hawk Mallen had a whole host of adoring females who would be only too pleased to be at his beck and call; he needed another one like a hole in the head. So why had he propositioned her? Partly because he was attracted to her, yes, she had to give him that, but also because it would be very useful for him to have a nice devoted mistress installed at Bergique & Son to keep an eye on things for him, and also oblige with a warm bed when he deigned to visit France. Two birds with one stone. Clever.