Mistletoe Mistress

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.'

'And don't laugh at me!'

When, in the next moment, she was pulled into his arms and his mouth descended in a kiss that was all fire and sensation, she never even thought about struggling. As her head began to spin she felt herself folded even more securely against the hard bulk of him, the kiss becoming warm, sensuous, coaxing, turning her legs to jelly and her limbs fluid That delicious fragrance, peculiar to him, was all about her, fuelling the need, adding another dimension to the sexual fever that had flared so suddenly she couldn't fight it.

His mouth was experienced, his tongue exploring, and the ripples of desire that were flooding every part of her body far too sweet to deny.

The cold October afternoon, all the warnings she had given herself for weeks, the fact that this was Hawk Mallen-Hawk Mallen-weren't real any more. All that was real was this world of light and pleasure and sheer sensation behind her closed eyelids, a world she hadn't known existed, hadn't imagined in her wildest dreams.

And then it stopped. His head lifted from hers, his arms released her, and his voice, controlled, tight even, spoke as matter-of-factly as though they had been discussing the weather. 'Lunch, I think?'

CHAPTER FOUR

She must have been mad, quite, quite mad. Oh, Joanne… She ground her teeth in frustration, twisting violently in the bed, which was already a heap of tangled covers, before flinging herself jerkily to the edge and sitting up in one irritable, furious movement How could she, how could she have let Hawk Mallen dominate her senses so completely earlier that day, after all the warnings she had given herself for weeks?

That first evening, back in September, she had made a cast-iron resolution never to become vulnerable around him, never to let her defences down, to maintain a distance at all costs. And she had kept it through all the following weeks of working together; she had been calm, efficient, in control. Or, at least, she had thought she was in control.

The notion that Hawk had allowed her to think that way while he had been quietly biding his time had her eyes narrowing in a face that was already flushed and cross. It hadn't been difficult to maintain a distance over the last few weeks, if she thought about it, because Hawk himself had been the same. What had been his idea? Lulling her into a false sense of security before he struck?

She shook her head bewilderedly as she rose from the bed, slipping her thick, cosy towelling robe over her nightie before wandering over to the window and gazing out over the sleeping night, the darkness dotted here and there by the odd light, which showed there were other night owls who couldn't sleep.

She had to be careful not to let her imagination run away with her here. Okay, he had let her know he found her interesting enough to suggest an evening out at the theatre, but he had known, like her, that if she accepted it would of necessity be a one-off before she left for France, and very probably he had been at a loose end and had thought she would fill a convenient slot And the kiss at lunchtime? Well, he'd made it very clear how he'd considered that! Her cheeks burnt and she yanked the belt of the robe more tightly round her slim waist.

It hadn't touched him at all; in fact once he had released her he had dismissed the moments when she had been in his arms without so much as a word, walking over to the car and opening the passenger door with an air of- What? she asked herself wearily. Coldness? Indifference? Self-assuredness? And she had noticed that all through lunch and the rest of the afternoon back at the office he had been very careful not to have any physical contact of even the most platonic kind.

'Not that I wanted any.' She spoke the words out loud with a kind of defiance, her arms crossed over her middle and her hands clutching her waist 'I can do without any come-on from Hawk Mallen; in fact that's the last thing I want.'

The realisation that she was talking to herself dawned as she heard the hollow note in her words, and she shut her eyes tight for an infinitesimal moment before stalking into the kitchen and fixing herself a cup of hot milk, intensely irritated with both herself and Hawk. She didn't need this, she really didn't-post-mortems on past conversations were bad enough at the best of times and two o'clock in the morning was most definitely not the best of times, not with a busy day looming in front of her and a desk full of urgent correspondence.

No doubt Hawk was fast asleep. She gulped a mouthful of hot milk so fast it burnt her throat. Oh, blow him, blow Mallen Books, France, Bergique & Son… everything.

She finished the milk, snuggled down in bed, blanking her mind of everything but the warm comfort of the electric blanket without and the hot sweet milk within. It was a trick she'd learnt in the blackest days of her childhood, and although it was harder than normal tonight to prevent thoughts from intruding she managed it-just- slipping into a troubled slumber populated by cloudy dreams as soon as she pulled the covers up round her ears and shut her eyes.

'All ready for tomorrow?'

'I think so.' Joanne tried to keep all trace of nervousness out of her voice as she answered Hawk's expressionless enquiry. 'I was going to ask you for the tickets and so on, actually; I've been meaning to for days but it's been so hectic…' The last few days since their lunchtime date had passed in a whirl.

'Don't worry, it's all in hand. I'll bring them along tomorrow morning when I pick you up.' He had raised his head from the papers on his desk as he had spoken, his voice steady, and as the piercing eyes met hers she knew