Mistletoe Mistress

The question hit her in the solar plexus but she didn't duck it. 'My mother was a natural blonde,' she said stiffly, 'but my father had red hair and brown eyes, according to her. She…she didn't like it, that I took after him.'

'One of the reasons for the foster homes?' he asked quietly.

He hadn't referred to their conversation on that first evening over the last few weeks, and she had convinced herself he had forgotten it, dismissed it as unimportant, although she realised now that was silly. Hawk Mallen forgot nothing about anyone-it was all noted and filed away in that computer-type brain in case it was useful for the future.

'Possibly.' She shrugged, lowering her head and aiming to sidle past him but he caught her shoulders in his large hands and held her fast.

'Was it rough?' he murmured gently. 'Your childhood? Is that why you hold the world in such distrust?'

'I don't.' The suggestion shocked her.

'Joanne, when someone who looks like you do has never formed a close relationship, there's something badly wrong.' His voice was steady and firm and it was clear he wasn't going to let go of either her or the conversation.

'I could say the same about you,' she shot back quickly.

'Yes, you could, but it wouldn't be true,' he said softly, and for a moment the import of his words didn't hit her. Then, as her eyes widened with the knowledge of what he had just admitted, and the pain and searing jealousy attacked in the same instant, he continued, 'But it was a long, long time ago, and anyway, we aren't discussing me.'

'We aren't discussing me either,' she snapped testily, wrenching herself out of his grasp. 'I work for you, Hawk, that's all, and my life is my own, past and present.'

'When do you have fan, Joanne?' He ignored her former words as though she hadn't spoken and it was terribly irritating. 'Or is that a three-letter word that doesn't feature in your vocabulary?' he continued silkily.

'I'm in no doubt it features in yours,' she said tartly, 'although it's spelt S-E-X, right?'

'Ouch.' He smiled, a lazy, sexy smile, before saying, 'I rather walked into that one, didn't I? You don't trust me an inch, do you, my fiery little puritan?'

She didn't like the 'puritan' bit; she wasn't sure if she liked the 'fiery' bit either if it came to it-it suggested a lack of control, and that wasn't at all the image she wanted to present to him. She took a long, silent pull of air, counted to ten, and then said sweetly, 'I'm sure you're an absolutely trustworthy employer, Mr Mallen,' before walking smartly to the door. 'Shall we bring up my things?'

He was grinning as he followed her out of the flat and down the stairs, and as she caught sight of his face she tried, desperately, to hang on to the anger and hurt-it was all the protection she had-but it was difficult He was so seductive when he was like this, and although she knew he was a virtuoso in the seduction techniques it was head knowledge, not heart, and didn't help at all against that magnetic pull he exerted as naturally as breathing.

'I'll take your cases up and leave you to get settled in,' Hawk said as they reached the car. 'There's a few phone calls I need to make.'

'Oh, but I thought we were going into the office?' She was flustered and it showed. 'I can just leave my things-'

'The day's over.' It was; dusk was already falling rapidly into the square, tingeing it with a bluey-grey softness, and there was the bite of frost in the air. 'I'm going to call in and inform Antoinette of the new arrangements, make those calls, and then pick up some bare essentials for you on my way back to my hotel. Okay? One day is going to make no difference one way or the other, Joanne. Go up, unpack, have a bath and relax until you.hear my knock.'

'Hawk, there's no need; I can pop out myself-'

'Just do it, Joanne, will you?' he said with pointed weariness. 'You won the major battle today; you've chosen your accommodation and established you are an independent, tenacious free spirit and I am suitably humbled. Rest on your laurels.'

He didn't look humble-in fact the word was ludicrous when applied to Hawk Mallen, Joanne thought wryly-but he had made his point and she nodded quietly. 'All right. Thank you.'

She saw the dark eyebrows rise sardonically at her meekness and fought against smiling. She couldn't afford to soften in any way, shape or form; this was a battle, and she was fighting as much against herself and her weakening emotions where this man was concerned as against Hawk himself. He was just so dangerous, fascinatingly, hypnotically dangerous, and utterly ruthless in his desire to conquer, and if he ever had an inkling of the true state of her feelings for him… The thought propelled her into the house ahead of him and up the stairs as though the devil himself were after her.

Once alone amid her strewn possessions, Joanne stopped for a moment in her unpacking as she caught sight of herself in the bedroom mirror, noting the tension frown that marred her forehead.

Hawk was right; once she finished unpacking the first thing on the agenda was a hot bath, and she could wash her hair, change, spoil herself a little. He wouldn't be back for at least a couple of hours and the headache that was beginning to drum at the back of her eyelids needed soaking away. She nodded at the serious-faced girl in the mirror.

And once Hawk had dropped a few provisions off she'd fix something light to eat with a hot drink, and probably take it to bed with one of the books she'd brought with her from England. A nice relaxing night in her new home… She glanced round the pretty room in varying shades of lemon and ivory before leaving the suitcases and walking through to the sitting room again. She had been right to insist on moving from that first apartment, she told herself with a feeling of deep relief. She could be herself here, in this little oasis from the pressures that would undoubtedly come her way as Bergique & Son's new manageress. In fact she could have been happy-if only a certain tall, blue-eyed individual hadn't blazed on her horizon like a threatening black meteor.

The threatening black meteor was back at just gone seven, his arms full of groceries and his face-although she didn't like the tender pang that accompanied the thought-grey with tiredness.

Joanne, on the other hand, had bathed, washed her hair and spent a contented hour or two arranging her belongings before crashing out in front of the TV. The resulting feeling of guilt was overpowering, and when he placed the bags in the kitchen, remarking as he did so, 'There's a couple of bottles of good wine in that lot, and steaks and so on,' her following words were inevitable.

'Would…would you like to stay for a meal?' she asked hesitantly.

'Great.' It was immediate and satisfied, and although she knew he had set the whole thing up she couldn't be angry. He did look exhausted, and if she had accepted the first apartment he would be back in England now, so it was all her fault…in a way. 'I'll open the wine, shall I?' he asked with suspicious meekness that only confirmed the whole exercise had been planned.

'What about the car, the driver?' She gestured at the window to the square outside. 'Aren't you going to tell him?'