by Kay Hooper
He didn’t try to stop her or go with her, but Kendall could feel his eyes boring into her back all the way to the hotel doors. By the time she reached her room, she was in control again, although too tired to think about much of anything.
She took a shower and washed her hair, then slipped into a loose robe and went into the bedroom to find her dryer. Deliberately, she kept her mind blank while she dried her hair, unwilling to probe old wounds or wonder if she was about to acquire new ones.
Someone knocked on the door as she was putting the dryer away, and Kendall frowned as she checked her watch on the dresser. After five. She crossed the room to open the door, feeling her heart begin to beat unaccountably fast.
A red-jacketed waiter immediately swept in, propelling a small cart in front of him.
“But—I didn’t order anything,” Kendall protested blankly.
“Compliments of Mr. Madison, Miss James.” The young waiter grinned engagingly as he gestured to the small plate of sandwiches and pitcher of iced tea on the cart. “He said to tell you that dinner would be served at eight downstairs.”
Kendall didn’t tell him that she’d read the hotel’s brochure and knew very well when dinner would be served. She stepped closer to the cart and pointed to a small bowl. “And this?”
“Milk.” The young man glanced rather warily at the spotted cat lying on the foot of the bed and staring at him balefully. “Mr. Madison sent it up for your cat.”
“I see.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Would you—express my appreciation to Mr. Madison, please?”
“Of course, Miss James.” He started for the door.
“Just a minute—” Kendall reached for her purse, but the waiter was shaking his head.
“Mr. Madison took care of it, miss.” He closed the door quietly behind him.
Kendall stared at the closed door for a moment, then looked wryly down at her cat. “Mr. Madison took care of it,” she muttered to the extremely detached feline. “Gypsy, I think we’re in trouble.” Two hours later, after the snack and a much-needed nap, Kendall stared at her closet indecisively. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to brave the dining room. Room service would be safer. She had a rueful feeling that Hawke—with his talent for “taking care” of things—had probably arranged a cozy little table for two. Not that it was wise to assume anything where he was concerned. Still—the safe thing to do…
Kendall had never been one to opt for safety over possible danger. She was, her father had once told her irritably, positively reckless. Among other things.
The dress she chose was, ironically enough, one that she had fallen in love with for its illusory qualities. It was backless, strapless—and remained in place, apparently, by willpower and imagination. It defied every law of gravity and tended to spark some rather basic instincts in men. Kendall had always believed that the dress had been the cause of an Arabian sheikh’s sudden desire to make a certain blond American his third wife.
Material as fine—and nearly as transparent—as a spider’s web cupped her full breasts lovingly and clung to the remainder of her body with a mind of its own. Beginning with a shade of gold almost exactly matching her tanned flesh, the material gradually darkened to the deep brown of the ankle-length hem. With every movement it shimmered and whispered seductively.
Closing her mind to the possible consequences of wearing such a dress, Kendall put her shoulder-length hair up in a smooth chignon, and then applied light makeup. She wore no jewelry, except for tiny diamond studs in her pierced ears.
She stood before the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door for a moment and stared at her reflection. High-heeled sandals gave her added height and lent her an air of regal dignity. She thought, anyway. As for the dress … well, only time would tell if her decision to wear it had been prompted by sheer insanity.
She heard a knock at the door as she was dropping her room keys into a glittering evening purse. It might have been intuition, or just a built-in radar where he was concerned, but Kendall wasn’t surprised to find Hawke leaning against the door jamb. And—damn!—she might have known he’d look devastating in a dinner jacket.
Sternly commanding her senses to behave and her wits to remain sharp, she said brightly, “Well—this is what I call service. Have you come to escort me to dinner?”
“Yes…” His gray-eyed rapier glance moved slowly up her body, settling at last on her inexplicably flushed face. “My God, but you’re beautiful,” he breathed huskily.
Kendall stared up at him for a moment, shaken not by what he had said but by the expression in his eyes. She had seen desire in a man’s eyes before, but nothing like the naked wanting glowing in the shadowy depths of his gaze. And the fact that he made no effort to hide or disguise his desire disturbed her even more.
He would not, she realized then, play the gradual, gentle courtship game. He would not attempt to woo her with flowers and soft words and moonlight strolls. He intended to take what he wanted.
Kendall had a sudden cowardly impulse to fold up her tent and steal away. Fighting back the unfamiliar sensation, she swallowed hard and murmured, “Thank you,” to the compliment.
He took her hand and drew her out into the hall, reaching to pull the door shut behind her. “And I,” he added wryly, “will be the envy of every man in this hotel.”
She made no effort to draw away when he continued to hold her hand and lead her down the wide hall, but she was beginning to feel rather as a fox must feel after hearing the sound of the huntmaster’s horn.
“By the way—I haven’t forgotten what happened by the pool.”
“Did something happen by the pool?” she countered innocently, watching him press a button to summon the elevator as they reached the end of the hall.
“Something.” He stared down at her a bit broodingly. “I haven’t quite figured out what it was, but something definitely happened. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why you nearly went into a trance after saving Robbie’s life?”
“Shock.” What was taking the elevator so long?
“No, it wasn’t shock. In fact, you were in complete command of yourself. A bit surprising, that.” One long finger stabbed the button again. “I would have expected you to panic—given your personality, that is.”
“I think I’ve been insulted.” Her voice was light, concealing the worry she felt. Stepping out of character by the pool had been a mistake, and Kendall was afraid that she would pay dearly for it. He was slightly suspicious of her innocent act now, and she had no idea how to allay those suspicions.
“Not at all.” The elevator doors opened as he spoke, and Hawke led her into the car. Pressing the button for the lobby, he added coolly, “I was just making an observation. After all, honey, how many sweet, helpless women save lives without batting an eye?”
“It was—conditioned reflex, that’s all.” Kendall stared stonily at the closed doors, feeling the elevator begin to move smoothly downward. And then one of his hands cut across her line of sight, tapping a red button on the panel. The other hand—still holding hers—pulled her abruptly close to him as the car stopped moving with a slight jerk.
The gray eyes laughed down at her as he carried her hand up to his shoulder and hauled her startled body fully against the hard length of his own. “What is there underneath all that innocence, Kendall?” he asked, a smoky darkness entering his eyes. “I have to find out.”
“The—the elevator,” she managed to protest, her fingers instinctively clutching the smooth white material covering his broad shoulder. “Someone may want it!”
“Let ’em take the stairs.” His dark head bent, lips unerringly finding Kendall’s in a kiss that sent shock waves surging through her body in an uncontrollable tide.
Never had a simple kiss affected her so strongly, and her much-vaunted sophistication went spinning off into nowhere. She was only vaguely aware of her hands creeping to tangle in the dark hair at his nape, felt small astonishment at the fact that she was returning
his kiss. Warning bells were clanging loudly in her head, but Kendall ignored them.
His hands moved over her bare back, pulling her impossibly closer. Searing like a brand, his lips moved on hers, his tongue taking her mouth in a stunning surge of hunger. There was nothing gentle about the kiss, nothing tame. It was raw desire.
Kendall lost something in that moment. Her body recognized the touch of a master—its master—and all the defenses she had learned in a lifetime melted away. There was no rational thought in her mind to argue with her body’s submission; a grinding need such as she had never known possessed her senses.
Hawke seemed to realize immediately that he had scored a point in this subtle game. He drew back only far enough to gaze down at her bemused face, his eyes darkened to some mysterious shade that Kendall found fascinating. “Unfortunately,” he gritted softly, “this is not the time or the place. And I have a feeling that once I have you in my bed, I’ll want to keep you there for a week.”
It was not conscious intent that kept Kendall from completely abandoning her innocent pose—it was sheer panic. He was gazing down at her with an expression composed of desire and pure ownership, and, after what had just happened, Kendall had very little faith in her ability to hold him at arm’s length.
She was caught, well and truly, between a rock and a hard place. Playing the innocent would leave her with almost no defense against Hawke’s determination. And abandoning the charade would, she knew, arouse the hunter instinct in him.
Either way, Kendall had an awful feeling that she was going to end up right where he wanted her.
Putting off the moment of decision for as long as possible, she murmured, “Don’t you think you’re moving awfully fast?”
Keeping one arm around her, he reached to push the button that set the elevator in motion once again. “Not really.” He sounded amused all at once. “As I said before—I don’t have very much time where you’re concerned.”
“What if I don’t like whirlwind romances?”
“I’ll teach you to love them.” He gave her a somewhat mocking glance.
Kendall felt suddenly that someone had hung a tag on her that proclaimed “sold” to all the world. And she didn’t like it one damn bit. She would not—would not—admit that this man could master her! Hard on the heels of that resolve, the elevator doors hissed open, and she found herself staring at several obviously irritated hotel guests. The expressions—particularly the masculine ones—altered, though, to faint grins of amusement.
Fighting an absurd desire to look down and make sure that the symbolic tag she had visualized hadn’t suddenly materialized, Kendall gave them back stare for stare and sedately accompanied Hawke from the elevator. Her coloring didn’t betray her, but she was blushing vividly inside.
He led her through the lobby, not, apparently, the least bit disturbed either by Kendall’s silence or by the knowing looks that followed them. Keeping an arm casually around her shoulders, he led her down a side hall to the tremendous dining room.
Kendall looked around interestedly as Hawke stopped to have a word with the headwaiter. She had known from the moment of entering it that this was a classy hotel; the dining room was ample evidence of that fact. The glittering formal room could quite easily have hosted a presidential ball.
Although the majority of her travels had been spent in various third world countries, Kendall was no stranger to glamour. She could remember nightly parties in diplomatic colonies where there had been conversation in six languages and decorations sprinkled across dinner jackets. It had been a part of her father’s profession that she had always loved—no matter how many times he’d groused about having to deal with diplomats and bureaucrats.
And this room was … Kendall suddenly caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored archway leading into the dining room, and knew immediately why the guests in the lobby had grinned knowingly. She looked as if she’d just been kissed—and very thoroughly too. Her blue-green eyes were dark and disturbed, her mouth tremulous and bearing a faintly bruised look—and her lipstick was slightly smeared.
It was the jolt she needed to snap her out of her state of uncharacteristic meekness.
With vast self-control Kendall reached up to carefully erase the pink smear. Her blue-green eyes took on a shuttered expression in the mirror. Her decision had been made. Out of her depth or not, she wasn’t going to give in to Hawke Madison without one hell of a fight.
With outward serenity she followed the waiter across the large room … to a cozy little table for two. Terrific. Taking the chair that was pulled out for her, she accepted a menu and smiled sweetly at the waiter. Looking across the table at Hawke, she said, “Why don’t you order for me.”
“Delighted.” He smiled at her.
Of course. Kendall propped her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them as she gazed steadily across the table at Hawke with what she devoutly hoped was an unreadable expression. Shoving the episode in the elevator out of her mind, she tuned out Hawke’s voice and considered, very sanely, what she was about to do.
There was nothing simple about it. For the first time in her life Kendall felt a need to prove herself. If Hawke turned out to be the stronger of the two of them, the result would be more than just a summer fling. There was a very good chance, she admitted silently, that she would leave her heart behind when she left paradise. She was shrewd enough—and honest enough—to realize that she could easily fall in love with this man.
That was point one. Point two was even more complicated. No matter how innocent and helpless she had pretended to be, Kendall had never yet allowed herself to be dominated. And Hawke had looked at her, only moments before, with pure possession in his eyes. She would not become his toy.
It could, indeed, very well become the clash of the Titans. And devil take the hindmost.
“You’re staring at me.” He sounded amused.
Kendall blinked and focused on the man across from her. “So I am. Aren’t you flattered?”
His gray eyes narrowed, and Hawke leaned back in his chair to stare at her consideringly. “Somehow I get the feeling that you are not the same lady who got off the elevator with me.”
She wet her index finger with the tip of her tongue and made an imaginary mark in the air. “Give the man a cigar,” she said in a mocking tone.
Surprisingly, an expression of immense satisfaction spread across his lean face. “I was right, then; you aren’t nearly the brainless blonde you pretend to be.”
“Never fooled you for a moment, in fact.”
“For a moment—yes. But only for a moment. I had a feeling that you were going to turn out to be something special, honey.”
She smiled coolly, her manner as different from the pose of sweet innocence as night from day. “I told you before, Hawke; I’m not interested in a summer romance. So if you’re thinking of carving another notch on your gun, forget it.”
He looked wounded. “How crude.”
“But true.” Kendall gestured vaguely at the glitter and glamour surrounding them. “Your business is charm, Hawke; we both know that. The majority of your guests are women, and the majority of your staff are handsome, charming men. A very—restful place for a frustrated soul, wouldn’t you say?”
“And are you?”
“What?” she asked, knowing the answer.
“Frustrated.”
“No.” Her voice was amused. “That’s never been one of my problems.” She sat back to allow an approaching waiter to place their meal on the table, realizing that her remark could easily be taken the wrong way, but not really concerned about it. When the waiter had left, she picked up her spoon to begin on the soup.
Picking up his own spoon, Hawke said conversationally, “None of that changes my mind, you know. But we’ll get back to that later. Tell me, Kendall—why the charade?”
“Why not?” She looked at him wryly. “I am what people expect me to be.”
“You mean men
.”
“Sure. Oh, I could rant and rave about not being valued for who I am instead of what I look like, but what good would that do? My way is much easier. And there’s no harm done.”
“I don’t know about that.” Seriously, he went on. “By being what people expect you to be, you don’t give anyone the chance to see the real you.”
Interested in spite of herself, she frowned thoughtfully. “But how many people really care what’s beneath the surface, Hawke? Not many,” she went on, answering her own question. “We all act out roles we’ve given ourselves, pretend to be things we’re not—or things we want to be. And we build walls around things we want to hide.”
“What do you want to hide, Kendall?” he asked softly.
Ignoring the question, she continued calmly. “It’s human nature. We want to guess everyone else’s secrets without giving our own away.”
“And if someone wants to see beneath the surface?”
Kendall shrugged. “We make them dig for it. You know—make them prove themselves worthy of our trust. Of all the animals on this earth, we’re the most suspicious of a hand held out in friendship.”
Hawke pushed his bowl away and gazed at her with an oddly sober gleam in his eye. “Sounds like you learned that lesson the hard way,” he commented quietly.
She stared at him, surprise in her eyes, realizing for the first time just how cynical she’d become. Obeying some nameless command in his smoky eyes, she said slowly, “I’ve seen too much to be innocent, Hawke. Whatever ideals I had … died long ago.”
He stared at her for a moment, then murmured, “I think I’d better find a pick and a shovel.”
Suddenly angry with her own burst of self-revelation, Kendall snapped irritably, “Why?”
“To dig beneath the surface.” He smiled slowly. “You’re a fascinating lady, Kendall James. And I think … if I dig deep enough … I just might find gold.”
“What you might find,” she warned coolly, “is a booby trap. I’m not a puzzle to be solved, Hawke.”
“Aren’t you? You act the sweet innocent, telling yourself that it’s the easy way. And it’s a good act, very convincing and probably very useful. But it isn’t entirely an act, is it, honey? There is an innocent inside of you, hiding from the things she’s seen.”