Mistletoe Mistress

'a black fairy story if you like, and then it is up to you what you do with it.'

She said nothing, sensing that whatever he was about to do he wasn't doing lightly.

'Once upon a time a baby boy was born to a couple who appeared to have everything. There were no more children, so when the couple die in an accident, when the boy is a man, he has no siblings to stand with him in his grief. His sorrow at this time is not normal, because he has learnt things about his parents, dark, hidden things- things that have rocked his very foundations. Their death increases his already considerable wealth substantially, taking him into the super bracket and attracting women of the more…avaricious type. But he is not a fool, this man; he has lived with riches all his life and he knows their drawing power. However, one female comes along who is more clever than the rest, more…cunning. You follow me so far?' he asked quietly.

'Yes.' Her heart was thudding so hard it was echoing in her throat.

'He falls for her-lock, stock and barrel, as you English say. He needs someone at this time, someone who is wholly his, someone to take away the pain and uncertainty that came with the shock of his parents' untimely death and the subsequent revelations that were even more of a shock. And she knows this-oh, yes, she knows it all right-and she plays him like a virtuoso in the art of love-which indeed she is.'

She couldn't bear to hear it and yet she needed to hear it all; it explained so much.

'He asks her to marry him and she accepts-prettily, of course-and the invitations are sent, the presents begin arriving. And then he visits his best man one afternoon with some details about the wedding arrangements-he has known this friend since boyhood and he is more like a brother-and what does he find but his fiancee and friend flagrante delicto, in fact in the very act of copulation.'

Jed turned to face her then, the sapphire-blue eyes that he had passed on to his grandson blazing with rage in spite of it all being so long ago.

'The ultimate triangle-perhaps even funny if it wasn't so tragic. But worse is to come. Once word gets around about the broken engagement-and word gets around very fast in the sort of high-society circles this man moves in- several of his close friends are brave enough to tell him what they feared to say before-that it is not the first time this lady has been embroiled in a scandal. She has been involved with married men, had many lovers, both before and since knowing this man. It is not something a proud young man of twenty years of age wants to hear.'

'And…and this man-what does he do?' Joanne asked numbly.

'I think you know,' Jed said quietly. 'He becomes disillusioned, cynical, he takes the world by the throat and plays the game by his own rules, and in the process hardens and becomes cold, very much…very much like his grandfather,' he finished softly. 'But there is still the need to love and be loved there, hidden deep in the secret recesses of his heart, buried where no one can see it.'

'You believe that?' Joanne asked with painful directness.

'Don't you?'

'I…I think Hawk wants me because I am unattainable.' Joanne shifted restlessly in her seat. 'You have said yourself he is chased by some of the most beautiful women in the world-successful, rich women, women who are used to his lifestyle and enjoy it. Perhaps he just wants the thrill of the chase for once, to pursue rather than be pursued?'

'The man I was telling you about, the man in the story, is not a fool,' Jed said slowly. 'Perhaps when the one perfect jewel comes along he will recognise it for what it is.'

Joanne stared hard at the handsome face in front of her. Was he really saying he thought she was the right partner for his grandson, or was this incredible conversation a subtle suggestion to the contrary? If she was this 'jewel', Hawk certainly hadn't acknowledged it in the months she had known him and Jed Mallen must know that. Oh, she didn't know what to think, how to feel. She had enough problems struggling to keep her head above water with one cold, hard, enigmatic man, without taking on his grandfather too!

'I have enjoyed this afternoon immensely, but I must be going.' She stood up as she spoke and was going to hold out her hand for a formal farewell, but something in Jed's face-a fleeting sadness, a loneliness too deep and real for words-prompted her to lean forward on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. 'Thank you for sharing the…the story with me,' she said softly.

'Think about it,' he countered quietly. 'Please?'

'Yes, I will.'

She thought about nothing else as Jed's chauffeur drove her back to Hawk's home, but was left with nothing more concrete than a string of impossible questions.

Could anyone break through the ice that encased Hawk's heart? And if they did, would he want them for a lifetime, or just for a short while, until he became bored and restless? Could any female handle Hawk now that he had become so cynical and cold? She didn't feel she could, even if he wanted her for more than a brief fling. She didn't have a stable background to draw from, a well of family, or even worldly, knowledge. She wasn't clever or cosmopolitan or wealthy; she was just…herself. And it wouldn't be enough, wasn't enough.

By the time the long, luxurious limousine glided to a halt in front of Hawk's mansion she had faced reality. Dreams were one thing, real life quite another. She was torturing herself to no avail. She was just a passing whim to Hawk, a momentary obsession as he would term it, someone to have fun with as long as the mutual attraction lasted. And she couldn't be like that. She loved him far, far too much.

The next few days were a subtle combination of wild, fervent moments of happiness, grinding pain, poignant self-analysis and intensely fierce grief for what might have been. Hawk set out to make every minute of her Christmas memorable, and the fact that he succeeded only too well merely added to her turmoil until she began to wonder if she was becoming schizophrenic, especially as Hawk, after that first night, had become the perfect host- charming, attentive, courteous, amusing, and all the time remaining at a very controlled distance.

He had thrown a party for her on Christmas Eve which had begun with carol singers dressed in Victorian clothes and holding lanterns, and had finished, as the clock had chimed midnight, with warm glasses of mulled wine and hot mince pies.

On Christmas morning she had woken to a little Santa sack of presents at the end of her bed-she had no idea what time of the night he had placed it there-and he had come to sit on her bed with her and open the gifts, all the time being warm and friendly…and constrained. He had kissed her and wished her a happy Christmas, but it had been the kiss of a brother and made her want to scream.

They had spent the day with Jed, and Joanne had worn the ruby pendant and matching bracelet Hawk had given her-which must have cost a small fortune-and all the time she had been waiting for one sign, one word, to show she was something more than just- Just what? she had asked herself that night in bed. What was she? She wasn't a girlfriend, she wasn't a lover, she wasn't even a straightforward house guest. Jed had asked to see her and she had been brought for the audience with his grandfather post-haste. She'd cried herself to sleep.

It was on the afternoon of her last day in America, when Hawk was driving her home after a day spent with some old-and, Joanne had discovered to her surprise, very normal and amusing-friends, and the sky was a river of purple and gold and scarlet, that things came to a head.

'Isn't it beautiful?' He had stopped the car on the top of a hill where the outlines of bare trees were silhouetted against the magnificent, colour-drenched sky, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the whole of the world. 'I often come here about this time of night when I'm home just to look at the sunset.'

'Do you?' She had seen this side of him more and more over the last few days-the softer, more vulnerable, gentle side of him. She had discovered he was a man who wasn't afraid to admit an appreciation of scenery and art, who could get on all fours and play with his friends' children like a five-year-old, who loved animals and was tender with anything weak and defenceless. She would rather not have discovered it-it didn't help her love to die-and die it had to.

'My mother used to come here too,' he continued quietly. 'She used to make the excuse she was exercising the dog, but after she died-' He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath before he said, 'After she died, I understood why she needed to escape sometimes.'

'What happened to the dog?' It was an inane question, she realised immediately after she had said it, but the look on his face was breaking her heart.

'Bertie? He died shortly after my mother was killed.' Hawk turned from the windscreen to look at her then, his blue eyes silver in the twilight. 'He was an old dog; my mother had bought him when I started school-for company, I