Mistletoe Mistress

'Of course it will mean something.' He caught her face in his hands, his eyes urgent now and the terrible anger fading. 'It will mean one hell of a lot but we won't be fooling ourselves, don't you see? You are a casualty of your mother's obsession with this fantasy called love-'

'No, I don't want to hear this.' She jerked away from him, her voice shaking. This was all wrong; he had twisted everything to make it all wrong but she couldn't find the words to tell him…

'Shh. Shh, now.' Suddenly he was tender, frighteningly tender, folding her into his big hard frame and holding her close to his heart for a long moment, before lowering his head and taking her trembling mouth in a kiss that was pure enchantment. 'So fierce and so brave, so beautiful…' His voice was a soft caress against her lips and she couldn't fight it-or him.

One moment he was fire and brimstone, the next fiercely tender, and the effect was hypnotic. She didn't understand him-she didn't have a clue what went on in that ruthless male mind, and perhaps it didn't matter anyway, so long as he didn't guess the state of her true feelings towards him. Because one day soon his desire for her would wane, when someone else more suitable caught his fancy, and that would be that. He would give up the chase, retire gracefully, and no doubt allow the new lady the pleasure of licking his wounds.

He explored her mouth slowly, taking his time, and her bones dissolved into a warm, aching throb before he raised his head again.

'You're still holding me to that promise?' His voice was dry, very dry, and she just knew he knew she wanted to say no.

She nodded. The tumult of sensuous pleasure his lips had induced was not conducive to clear speech, and she didn't intend to give him the satisfaction of hearing her shaky whisper.

'Pity.' He bent and kissed the tip of her nose before pulling her to her feet. 'Great pity…' he drawled easily, his mouth drawn to hers again in a searching, lingering kiss that sent waves of pleasure right down to her toes, before he lifted his head and slipped an arm round her waist as they began to walk down the secluded little path again.

He could kiss, he could really, really kiss, she thought fretfully, desperately hoping her trembling hadn't been noticed by that wicked narrowed gaze. But then, he'd had plenty of practice, hadn't he? It was easy for him to remain controlled, cold even.

And why, why had she told him all that about her childhood, let him in like that, when she knew he wasn't really interested and would view it exactly as he had, with barely concealed contempt?

'Is that the first time you've shared with anyone about your mother?' The deep gravelly voice was quite expressionless, and, tucked into his side as she was, she couldn't see the look on his face to gauge how best to reply, and simply decided to go for the truth.

'Yes.' She paused a moment before continuing quickly, 'It simply hasn't cropped up before-'

'Now don't spoil it with a lie.'

'How dare you-?'

'I'm honoured you trusted me enough to tell me, Joanne.' He stopped, moving her round to face him as he held her within the circle of his arms, his face deadly serious and stopping all coherent thought in her head. 'I'm glad she's not around any more because I would have had a hard job to keep my hands off her, but…I'm glad you told me.'

No, don't; don't do this to me. She stared up at him, her honey-brown eyes wide and swimming with emotion. The fire and brimstone she could cope with, the ardent lover…possibly-certainly the ruthless, hard businessman was a cinch-but this tender, quiet side of him that she had seen over the last twenty-four hours was something else. Something…devastating.

'Come on.' He moved them on again, and now there was a wry quirk at the corner of the hard, firm mouth. 'Keep moving, my nervous little fawn, because when you look at me like that I'm very tempted to do something I've never done before in my life.'

'What?' she asked nervously.

'Break a promise.'

Joanne awoke the next morning with her heart singing and her pulse racing at the thought of another whole day with Hawk. She gave herself a stern talking-to in the shower, and again when she was drying her hair and getting dressed in black leggings, high black boots and a long baggy cream jumper, but the singing remained.

She loved him. Utterly, completely-against all the odds and every grain of common sense, she loved him. And she was going to take this last day of the magical weekend-which would probably never be repeated- and enjoy it.

They left Dijon after breakfast to travel southwards towards the time-mellowed villages of Provence, the delightful contrasts of southern France adding to the enchantment of the day. Hawk made for Cassis, a picturesque fishing village on the coast, where they enjoyed a delicious alfresco lunch of freshly caught crab sitting on the verandah of a seafood restaurant, with the weak November sun warming their heads while they ate.

The afternoon was spent strolling round the capital of Provence, Aix-en-Provence, and visiting the fine cathedral, although Joanne noticed very little beyond the tall, dark man at her side. She was falling more and more in love with him-she couldn't help it-and it scared her half to death, making the time bittersweet.

It was late afternoon and they were walking along a road bordering a gracious square, when Joanne noticed two small children with their noses pressed against a shop window, watching a clockwork Santa Claus filling his sledge with toys. The laughing little tots were enraptured, their mother standing indulgently to one side as she smiled at their rosy faces, and as they passed she nodded at them and they nodded back, although Joanne felt her face had frozen.

'What is it?'

She hadn't thought Hawk had noticed, and now she tried to prevaricate as she said, her voice bright, 'I'm sorry?'

'Something in that little scene back there upset you. Why?' He stopped dead, turning her round to face him and looking down into her eyes, his gaze piercingly intent as he repeated, 'Why, Joanne?'

'I don't know what you mean.' Enough. Enough soul-baring for one weekend, she thought desperately as she stared back up at him, so big and dark and handsome in his black leather jacket and black jeans. Tomorrow morning, or the next day, he would be gone-probably for weeks, maybe for months-and she wanted to get through this weekend with nothing but pleasant memories to look back on.

Whenever they parted, whatever the circumstances, she was always left feeling vulnerable and broken, and she didn't want that this time. She had to master this overwhelming longing to draw close to him, to lower her defences and let him in, because it wouldn't mean to Hawk what it meant to her. He didn't understand what this exposure of her innermost self was costing her.

'Yes, you do.' He wasn't going to let it go; she could read his determination in the set of his mouth and narrowing of his eyes. 'Was it the children? Was that it? Or-'