by Helen Brooks
'What?' His question had taken her completely by surprise and it showed.
'You don't date—or very rarely. You have a circle of a few close friends, none of whom are male. And you have a way of looking at me with those huge golden eyes as if I was something that had just slithered out from under a stone,' he drawled sardonically. 'It doesn't take a genius to work out that for whatever reason the male animal is a species you find less than trustworthy.'
'Oh, really?' She couldn't remember when she had been so mad. 'I'm surprised you didn't apply the age-old male explanation for all that.' She had meant her tone to be scathing, but it wasn't quite so forceful as she would have liked. His intuition had frightened her, badly. She had been right to feel he was dangerous. 'That I must prefer women? Isn't that what you men usually assume when your egos are dented?'
Part of her couldn't believe that she was having this conversation with the head of Hawkton Enterprises, that she could well be throwing away both this particular project and the job she had worked so hard for at Top Promotions. If he fired her now—and he could, easily—Mike and Andy would be livid with her.
'I have no idea what men do when their egos are dented, Josie; such an… unpleasant calamity has not befallen me to date.' He smiled easily, his equanimity quite unaffected by her all too obvious rage. 'But it sounds painful,' he added drily. 'Now, can we stop this childishness and agree on dinner at eight?'
She immediately thought about arguing some more, but somehow the instruction didn't get through to that part of her brain which governed her responses, because she found herself nodding dazedly as he took the key she had been holding and inserted it in her door, pushing her gently into the room beyond and shutting the door after her.
She stood for some minutes in the quietness of her room before her hand reached for the light switch. Immediately the room was bathed in a soft golden glow from the carefully positioned lighting, and the thick cream carpet and curtains and pale lemon furnishings appeared both tasteful and restful to her tired eyes.
He was generous; she had to give him that. This must be one of the best rooms in the hotel, after all. She shook her head gently as she ran her hand across her face in a quick, confused gesture that spoke of her inner turmoil. He had probably wanted her easily available if he needed to consult her about anything, and his suite was just down the hall… This was all to suit him, that was all it was—
'Stop it.' She swallowed painfully after speaking out loud into the silence. It didn't matter whether he was generous or not. The only thing of any importance was the Night Hawk project. Once that was completed she would have had a terrific boost to her career prospects, an undreamed-of advance up the ladder of success.
And this feeling she had had of late—that it was all futile, empty, that she wanted more, someone to call her own, something to love—well, that was just a classic case of the grass being greener—human nature in all its perversity. Because she had no choice; she had no choice at all, did she? Her options had all disappeared thirteen years ago on a beautiful summer's evening in June amid a mass of tangled metal and burnt rubber.
'You look quite beautiful.' It wasn't so much what he said as the husky deepness in that rich voice that made her heart beat a trifle more quickly as she opened the door to Luke just before eight.
She was dressed simply but expensively in a sleeveless cocktail dress of russet silk, the wafer-thin straps over her shoulders and softly fitted bodice showing the creamy perfection of her skin to its best advantage and the three-inch heels on shoes of exactly the same shade giving her petiteness a small boost. She'd left her hair loose, and it fell in tiny shimmering curls about her face and shoulders, accentuating the fine, heart-shaped face and huge golden eyes.
'Thank you.' She managed a light smile, but the way the black dinner jacket sat on those massive shoulders had given her a nasty moment. He oozed sex appeal—positively oozed it, she thought helplessly as her mind went blank on the conversation front. And she didn't like the warm ache that his male sensuality called forth from the core of her; it was crazy, stupid. She wasn't attracted to the he-man type, not remotely. Not remotely, she told her quivering nerves.
'All ready?' His voice was impersonal now, and she nodded quickly before stepping past him into the corridor and shutting the door firmly behind her.
Ready? No, she wasn't ready, she thought nervously as he put a casual arm round her waist and guided her into the lift, which was waiting at their floor, his flesh burning hers through the silk of her dress.
Once in the lift, she moved carefully to one side, turning to face him as she strove for nonchalance. 'You've stayed here before?' she asked lightly.
'Several times.' If he noticed her manoeuvre to avoid his touch he gave no sign of it, his voice pleasant and untroubled. 'When you travel as much as I do, if you find a good hotel you stick to it, believe me. I like good food, swift service and most of all a comfortable bed.'
This time she refused to let herself blush at what was a perfectly normal conversation after all, although there had been an inflexion in the dark, deep voice that she was sure she hadn't imagined.
'Yes…' Come on, blind him with some riveting repartee, she told herself angrily, but the flagrant masculinity showed no signs of abating, and it had the unwelcome effect of stilling her normally quick tongue. It didn't help that it was completely natural either…
He had to be one of the most attractive, sexy men she had met in a long time, she realised suddenly with a shock of surprise. Women must adore him. 'I really think the launch is going to be the most talked about event for years,' she began quickly. 'I'm sure—'
'Josie?' he interrupted her softly, his voice lazy. 'You aren't working now.'
'But—'
'No buts.' His eyes glinted at her, daring her to argue. 'Don't you ever relax?' he asked silkily.
As they reached the ground floor and the lift opened onto the luxurious reception area she smiled coolly, her back straight. 'Of course I relax,' she said tightly. 'Often.'
'When?' he challenged quietly.
'What?' She stared up at him as he brought her to a halt by turning her to face him, his large hands under her elbows.
'When do you relax?' he asked patiently, his voice soft. 'Really relax, I mean.'
'I… All the time.' Was he flirting with her? she thought nervously. She really didn't know. But what she did know was that the coldly intimidating, ruthless tycoon had metamorphosed into the perfect dinner companion, and of the two she found the latter infinitely more alarming. 'When I'm at home—'
'By yourself?' There was a dry, mordant note in the lazy voice now that immediately grated on her nerves. He turned from her, taking her arm and leading her into the small cocktail bar just off Reception.
'There's nothing wrong with being by yourself,' she said hotly, stung into temper. 'Besides which I have lots of friends, and my cat—'
'Josie, old ladies of ninety have lots of friends and a cat,' he drawled, with inexcusable amusement. 'Now, our table at the restaurant isn't booked until half-past nine, and I'd like you to try a particularly delicious cocktail here before we leave. I'm sure you'll love it.'
'What's it called?' she asked tightly, her temper still at boiling point but unable to do anything about it with the attentive barman hovering in front of them as though Luke were royalty.
'Chaste Delight.' He raised one sardonic eyebrow at her as he spoke. 'Although I rather think that is a contradiction in terms… Good evening, George.'
The silver gaze turned to centre on the barman not a moment too soon as her urge to kick him became almost overwhelming. 'How's your wife?'
'Getting along nicely now, Mr Hawkton, thank you,' the barman said, with a deference that Josie found intensely irritating in the circumstances. 'We've roped the grandparents in to help out a bit; they love it and it gives Frieda a break.'
'Good idea. All hands to the plough—or in this case three ploughs.' Luke glanced at her with a wry smile. 'George's wi
fe recently gave birth to triplets; they don't do things by halves over here. That'll teach you to marry a big, healthy German girl, George,' he continued smoothly as Josie forced herself to smile politely. 'If you'd stayed in the old country you wouldn't have had this problem.'
'No problem, Mr Hawkton.' The other man grinned cheerfully. 'You want to see the mugshots?'
'Do I have a choice?' Luke returned wryly but with a warm smile. 'And while we do that perhaps you'd mix a Chaste Delight for the lady, and I'd better have a mineral water, George. I'm driving.'
Josie steeled herself for what was to follow but it still hurt; it always did. Three little cocoons with tiny faces exposed to the camera in the arms of their proud parents. Three. She kept the smile in place with gritted teeth. It wasn't fair. life just wasn't fair.
'They're very sweet.' She handed the photographs back to Luke as though they had burnt her, and George busied himself with serving their drinks before disappearing to the other end of the bar as another couple wandered in.
'Did I detect a note of boredom there?' Luke asked softly as she took a long, deep swallow of her frothy pink cocktail to quell the trembling in her stomach.
'Boredom?' She was immensely glad of the kick in the drink as she raised purposefully blank eyes to his. 'No, not at all.'
'Do you like children?' he asked quietly.
He had no idea what this conversation was doing to her, and she drew on every scrap of strength she had won over the last few years and answered flatly, her voice even, 'I suppose so. I don't really come into contact with any.'
'The original career woman?' There was a note in his voice she couldn't quite place, but his face was relaxed and pleasant. Nevertheless she felt he disapproved of her, of the negative reaction he had sensed and misunderstood, and it hurt. It was stupid, crazy, but… it hurt.
'You don't get to the top by playing happy families,' she said levelly.
'No, I guess you don't, at that. But you sure as hell miss a lot if you don't.' He stared at her, hard, for one more moment before indicating the drink in her hand. 'Finish that and we'll have another before we leave.'
She didn't normally drink—alcohol of any description always went straight to her head—but tonight she downed the drink in one swallow and held out her glass to Luke with a devil-may-care soreness in her heart.
He thought she was an ambitious career woman, hellbent on getting to the very top of the tree? Well, maybe she was. In any case it was an impression she had deliberately fostered through the last few years, hiding behind a mask that protected as well as concealed, so she couldn't very well blame him now if he believed it.
She sipped the second drink slowly; the first cocktail already doing peculiar things to her head. Or was that Luke's presence? she asked herself as she smiled at some witty, dry remark he had just made. He was all charm tonight, but the dark, formidable side of him was still just a breath away, and she realised suddenly that he would be an intimidating adversary to deal with in business—or anywhere else for that matter.
And there was still that cool, easy assurance about him, the utter belief in his own power, that reminded her of Peter. It repelled her even while she couldn't deny the little trickles of excitement shivering down her spine. And from the covert glances that had been thrown in their direction from more than one or two pairs of female eyes it appeared she wasn't the only one to be affected, either.
As she finished the last of the pink liquid he smiled at her, his eyes slightly narrowed as they washed over her small, beautiful face and moist lips. 'Shall we go?'
He took her aim as they walked out of the hotel and she took a deep, silent pull of the warm summer air, but it did little to steady her nerves. You are in control. You are in control. She repeated the refrain over and over in her mind, and by the time she was seated in the large, sleek car with that big, powerful male body in close proximity she had restored a little of her faltering equilibrium.
'Nice car.' She needed to say something to break the tension that was so tangible she could almost reach out and touch it.
'It is adequate,' he said with cool smoothness.
Was he really so calm and composed? she asked herself as the engine growled into life. It was intensely aggravating that she was reduced to a nervous wreck while he was the original ice-man. But then everything about Luke Hawkton was aggravating, and being alone with him like this was the last thing she had wanted.
There was something about him—something…primitive. The word shocked her, but the more she rolled it around her mind, the more she knew that it fitted the cultured, sophisticated man next to her, in spite of the layers of civilisation that sat so powerfully on the dark frame. In the intimacy of lovemaking, when exploring the secrets of sensual delight, he would be primitive…
She jerked herself away from the dangerous path her thoughts were following with a physical movement as she chastised herself harshly. What did she know about it anyway? she thought bitterly. She was hardly an authority on the subject of men! She didn't know what made Luke Hawkton tick; she didn't have a clue. And what was more she didn't want to know either. She kept that assertion to the forefront of her mind throughout the long drive and the necessary social chit-chat, and when they arrived at the secluded and very exclusive restaurant she steeled herself for the evening ahead as though she were going to her doom.
They were shown to their table with all the ceremony normally accredited to royalty, and the head waiter appeared like a genie as they sat down. Although the conversation was in German, Josie was aware that the power of the Hawkton name was well known as the tall, middle-aged man clicked his fingers at the wine waiter, who glided to their side.
'White or red?' Luke asked her smoothly.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she rarely drank either and would prefer a glass of iced mineral water when some perverse sense of pride reared its head. 'Red, please.' She smiled brightly. In for a penny, in for a pound. If she was going to give a performance as a hard-bitten career woman she would need help from somewhere, and she was loath to reveal anything of the real Josie to this man.
'Red it is.'
When yet another waiter handed her the ornate menu she was immensely thankful to see that it was printed in German, French and English, although even so most of the dishes were unknown to her.
'The lobster and avocado salad is very good here.' He spoke after she had been eyeing the list for a few moments, Ins voice casual as he kept his eyes on his own menu. 'And perhaps I could suggest the fricassee of veal to follow, with sauté potatoes, honeyed pineapple, carrots and creamed mushrooms?'
'That sounds very nice.' She nodded her approval, and as Luke spoke swiftly to the waiter in rapid German the wine waiter came back, his face wreathed in smiles as he poured a small amount of what was clearly a very expensive wine for Luke to taste.
Once they were alone again she forced herself to speak lightly as Luke settled back comfortably in his chair, his strange silver-grey eyes narrowed on her face. 'You speak excellent German.'
'Thank you.' He bowed his head briefly in a gesture that was curiously Latin. 'My nanny was German, my father English and my mother Italian, and we had houses in France and Italy as well as England so I was speaking several different languages at an early age without even thinking about it.'
'A privileged upbringing.' No wonder he had such a big opinion of himself, she thought silently. He'd probably been treated like a little prince from the day he was born.
'Yes, it was.' She had tried to keep her voice even and without expression but as his mouth tightened she felt he had sensed her criticism. 'I was most fortunate. But even the comfortable blanket of enormous wealth can't still fate's hand.'
'My twin brother died when he was just fourteen. Leukaemia,' he added abruptly. 'So although I might have been a spoilt little brat up to that point I then grew up very quickly.' His voice was cold now, and stiff. So he had discerned her disapproval, she thought as a wave of guilt and shame turned
her cheeks scarlet. What could she say now?
'I'm sorry.' She looked him full in the face and didn't try to pretend. 'I'm very sorry about your brother and for jumping to conclusions. I had no right to do that.'
'No, you didn't.' His gaze was holding hers very tightly and then he relaxed suddenly, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, really smiled, for the first time since she had met him. The result was devastating.
Did he know what that warm openness did for him? she asked herself in stunned disbelief. The way it mellowed the hard, rugged features and softened the piercingly keen eyes? He wasn't just attractive, he was… Well, he was…
'But there's no need to look so tragic; you had no way of knowing about John. And for the record we weren't spoilt, not much anyway. My father was a great disciplinarian and my mother, like all Italian women, ruled her house with a rod of iron.'
'All of them?' She smiled as she spoke and he laughed right back, his chuckle appreciative.
'All of them,' he confirmed, just as the waiter arrived with their lobster and avocado salads.
The rest of the evening passed in a warm haze of good food, delectable wine and a mixture of conversation and laughter. The lobster was delicious, the fricassee of veal in its sauce of cream, lemons, herbs and onion was mouthwatering, as were the accompanying vegetables, and the coffee soufflé' Josie chose for dessert was so light she thought it would float out of the dish.
It was as she was finishing the last luscious spoonful of soufflé that alarm bells began to go off in her head like clanging cymbals. In fact it was just as Luke leant across the table and touched her cheek gently with one finger before tracing a path to her mouth.
'I can't remember when I enjoyed a meal so much.' His voice was deep and resonant and did something incredible to her stomach.
'I thought you said you'd eaten here often?' she parried lightly.
'I wasn't talking about the food.' She felt her face flood with colour, and at the same time she realised she was way, way out of her depth. He was an accomplished man of the world, ruthless in business and probably in his private life too, and wealthy—no, not just wealthy, filthy, disgustingly rich—and he'd probably had more women than she'd had hot dinners.