by Helen Brooks
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dinner was another gastronomic treat, and as Josie finished the last of her dessert, a sweet batter pudding called clafoutis that was crammed with fruit and, Luke informed her lazily, a specialty of the Limousin region where Marie, the cook, had been born, she stretched slowly like a small and very satisfied cat.
'It's a wonder you aren't as fat as a pig,' she said lightly as she caught Luke's amused glance across the table. They were sitting on the veranda again, at her request. 'I would be if Marie was my cook.'
'If Marie was your cook that would mean you would be my wife, and I would not allow you to get fat,' Luke said smoothly as he poured them both a cup of coffee from the tray Josephine had just brought to the table. 'Except when you were with child, of course, and even then I would monitor your progress carefully.'
'You don't like plump women?' she asked carefully as the training of years prevented any pain from showing.
'I like plump women, thin women, tall women, short women,' he replied easily, 'as long as they are what suits them. But being fat would not suit you, Josie; you are too tiny, too fragile. You would look like…'
'A barrel?' she suggested drily as he paused for thought.
'Not at all.' He actually looked shocked.
'Well, don't worry.' She accepted her coffee with a nod of thanks, the aromatic wisp of steam from the cup rich and satisfying. 'With the sort of crazy job I've got I burn up the calories as soon as I've swallowed them, so no doubt I'll go into middle age with my figure intact.' Her meaning was clear and he stared at her for a long moment before indicating the quiet gardens beyond the rose bower.
'Drink that and we'll go for a wander down to the beach. It isn't dark yet, and the water looks wonderful on an evening like this as the light fades.'
'Does it?' She wasn't aware that both her voice and her face adequately expressed her apprehension, and when Luke laughed, a harsh, almost violent sound in the quietness, she started visibly.
'Don't do me any favours, Josie,' he said brutally as he watched her colour rise until her cheeks were bright pink. 'I'd hate to think there was any danger of you actually enjoying yourself in my company.'
'That's not fair—'
'The hell it isn't,' he said grimly, before standing up, moving round to her chair and hauling her out of her seat and into his arms before she could find breath to object.
He was angry. Very angry. That much registered as his mouth ground down on hers with a harshness that made her arch away from him, but she was far too tiny to make any impression on the hard steel of his body, and he subdued her effortlessly as he drew her even deeper into him, moulding her against him as he ran his hands down her shape with ruthless disregard for her struggles. And then his mouth softened, the punishing kiss turning into something hot and sensual as he groaned deep in his throat.
No, no, this can't be happening, she told herself frantically as she felt that sweet, consuming flood of sensation take hold of her again, weakening her resolve to fight and turning her legs to jelly. 'I hate you,' she muttered helplessly as his mouth moved to her throat, his lips burning her flesh with thrills of desire.
'No, you don't…' His lips returned to her mouth, probing the sweet moisture within as her lips opened to receive him in spite of herself. 'You want me. You might not like it, or me, but you want me as badly as I want you, and that's not hate.'
He kissed her again, fiercely and with a fire that sent trembling shivers down her spine, until she was soft and shaking against him. Her arms moved up to his broad shoulders and she hung on to him in a world that was pure sensation. She could feel the hard thrust of his arousal against her softness and she was both terrified and thrilled, her breath coming in sobbing pants against his mouth.
She had never understood, never dreamed that a man could wield such complete power by the touch of his hands, his mouth. It had been beyond her comprehension and was all the more shockingly exciting now because of all the closeted years when she had been unawakened.
Luke was breathing hard, and she could feel the trembling in her body reflected in the tremors that were sweeping his own as he cupped one full breast in his hand. Dragging his mouth from hers, he groaned again. 'I can't believe what you do to me, Josie.'
He stroked her skin through the soft silk of her dress, and she had to bite her lip until she tasted blood to stop herself moaning out loud as his fingertips brushed against the swollen, tender nipple, which was engorged and hard and hungry for more than the touch of his fingers.
'You're so perfect, so beautifully perfect…'
Perfect? She froze, an icy dread snaking over the heat that his touch had aroused and freezing it in its path. So he thought she was perfect? And she had let him think that, revelled in his touch, behaved as though she was free to offer more…
She had wrenched herself from his grasp before she finished thinking, turning and running swiftly from the veranda with a suddenness that took him completely by surprise. She heard him call her name once, his voice husky and broken, but she didn't stop until she reached the sanctuary of her room, falling through the door and locking it behind her before she collapsed onto the thick, soft carpet in an agony of pain and shock.
Perfect. The word stuck in her throat and reverberated in her head with a noise that was deafening. He thought she was perfect. She lay there for long minutes without moving, her face wet with tears that were hot and acidic. And that was why he wanted hen Why a man as rich and powerful and magnetic as Luke Hawkton had even spared her a second glance. Because the outward shell had fooled him. Had convinced him that she was a real woman…
'I am, I am..' She fought back against the cruel, merciless voice in her head, shocked that it had reared up with such a vengeance when she hadn't thought such damning thoughts for years. She was a real woman, she told herself painfully. She might not be able to have children, to conceive and bear fruit from male seed, but that didn't make her any less herself. Her intellect, her inner self, her personality, her soul—all those facets that made the whole-were still unimpaired and alive.
And a man like Luke Hawkton? the voice questioned ruthlessly. A man with a double dose of everything that made a man a man? Virile, magnetic, seductive, with a vigorous masculinity that was so powerful it was almost tangible? A man who had already stated that he would expect an heir as his right? How would a man like that view her searing defect?
She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms round her knees as she gazed blindly ahead. She had to stop doing this— resurrecting the fears and doubts and sense of failure that had almost crushed her thirteen years ago. They had no place in her life now. She could function exceptionally well in the world she had chosen and she was good at what she did; the fact that she was here after winning such a prize as the Night Hawk promotion proved it.
She had made a mistake in letting herself respond to Luke and doubled it when she'd let him become aware of the attraction he held for her. From now on she had to be aware of her weakness where he was concerned at every moment; that was where she had gone wrong before. She had trusted in her own strength, the resolve that had carried her for the last thirteen years, but all that didn't count where Luke was concerned.
For some reason he could cut through her defences with a single word, a glance, and she had to be on her guard every second she was around him. Because she wouldn't be able to bear him knowing the truth. That, above everything else she had gone through, would finish her.
The next day was another of brilliant sunshine, and when Josie awoke after what had virtually been one or two hours' sleep she stretched lazily under the pale green sheets as white sunlight poured into the room.
Her somnolent drowsiness ended abruptly as the events of the night before hit her mind and brought her bolt-upright in the big bed. Luke... Her heart began to thud and race and she forced herself to take several long, slow, deep, calming breaths before climbing out of bed and padding across to the bathroom.
It was still only half pas
t six in the morning, and breakfast wasn't until eight, but as she stood under the warm shower with her face raised to the silky flow of water she felt she would need all of that time to prepare herself for the moment when she would have to face him again. She groaned softly at the thought Those silver-grey eyes could be devastating at the best of times, and this—this was definitely not the best of times.
By the time she went down to breakfast, clothed in a short-sleeved coffee-coloured shirt and matching cotton skirt that ended two or three inches above her ankles, she had her nerves under control. Her hair was in a knot at the back of her head and secured with a clip from which not one curl dared escape, hear make-up was tasteful and chic, and the gold studs in her tiny ears and fine gold bracelet on her wrist all proclaimed the same thing. She was in charge of her life and her destiny; she knew exactly where she was going and what she wanted.
In short, she was in control. The fact that she felt like melted jelly inside didn't matter, she told herself tightly as she walked into the large breakfast room that Josephine directed her to. No one could see that.
'Good morning, Josie.' Luke's face was expressionless as he glanced up from his newspaper, his voice cool but pleasant. 'Punctual as always. Top Promotions really are fortunate to have such a paragon of virtue.'
She met his eyes then, forcing herself to begin the speech she had rehearsed the night through. Twenty-eight-year-old unattached businesswomen didn't usually bolt like startled rabbits if a member of the opposite sex kissed them; she knew that. She also knew that she could have put a stop to things going so far weeks ago, right back in Germany, but… But somehow she couldn't send the right signals where Luke was concerned. Bed turned to green with the lift of just one sardonic black eyebrow. So…she was partly to blame for this ridiculous situation, but it had to be dealt with right now, once and for all.
'Luke, last night was a mistake, and I think we need to discuss it,' she said quickly, before Josephine or Madame Marat appeared on the scene. 'If you feel it would be better if someone else from Top Promotions took over now I have no objection—'
'Josie—' The expressionless mask had lifted abruptly.
'No, please let me finish. We're two grown adults—'
He rose swiftly, cutting off her voice as he did so, and she raised her head as he moved to stand in front of her, peering down into her face with the strangest look on his.
'One of us is a grown adult,' he said softly, 'but I'm not quite sure what I am this morning. I should have been the one to clear the air and I should have apologised for my behaviour as soon as you walked in the room; it was inexcusable.'
She was too surprised to say anything. Whatever she had expected this morning it hadn't been this.
'But instead I retreated behind sarcasm, for which I must also apologise,' he continued. 'You did nothing wrong yesterday; the fault was mine and I have no wish that you should cease working on the Night Hawk project. The whole concept is yours and I want you to see it through to the end—the bitter end if necessary,' he added grimly.
As she stared up at him her heart gave a weird little jerk, the sense of confusion and agitation she always felt in his presence increasing tenfold. Why couldn't he be arrogant, contemptuous, cold—all the aspects of his character she had seen plenty of over the last few weeks? she asked herself. The biting mockery and cool derision that he put across so well she could have coped with, albeit painfully. She needed to keep the picture she had of him clear in her mind—that of ruthless tycoon and callous philanderer—but Luke Hawkton the man kept getting in the way here in his own little domain, where he seemed different somehow, more… human.
The panic increased and gave her voice a sharp, icy edge of self-protection. 'Very well. If you prefer me to see the project through to completion then of course I will. You are the boss, after all.'
There was a moment of complete and utter silence after she had dropped her eyes from his, her heart pounding so hard she felt physically nauseous, and then Josephine came bustling into the room with a trolley loaded with several covered dishes of hot food, a plate of freshly baked croissants, preserves, cold smoked ham, cheeses and a pot of steaming coffee.
Luke pulled out Josie's chair for her and she slid into it without speaking, knowing her cheeks were fiery and feeling as bad as if she had just slapped his face. Which, metaphorically speaking, she had, she admitted miserably. Dammit.
But she couldn't have done anything else. She had to hit this thing hard on the head, and if that involved making herself look like an ungracious, bad-tempered shrew then so be it. A man like Luke could have any woman he wanted; he wouldn't waste any more time on her after this. Which was exactly what she wanted… Wasn't it? Yes, Yes, yes, yes. The silent repetition was a valiant try but it failed miserably.
They ate breakfast in a silence Luke didn't even try to break, but as Josie forced down the last mouthful of her croissant, the hot dishes being quite beyond her with her stomach swirling in such an agony of apprehension, he suddenly spoke crisply into the charged atmosphere. 'The appointment with the caterers is at half past nine and the builders will be here at eleven to look at the site and your plans, so if you're ready…?'
'Yes, of course.' She wanted to put out her hand and touch him, to tell him that she appreciated what the apology had cost him in pride and dignity, but to do so would be to court disaster and she knew it.
The caterers' kitchens were immaculate and shining, their administration efficient and smooth and their expertise undeniable. After asking a few pertinent questions, to which she received the right replies, Josie settled down to working out the ins and outs of their requirements, and by the time she and Luke left, at exactly half past ten, she was more than satisfied that she had chosen well.
'You're very good at what you do, aren't you?' They were seated in Luke's low, powerful Aston Martin—she had learned that he had several different cars for virtually every occasion at the chateau—and travelling at some speed along the winding coastal road towards his estate.
'I could say the same about you,' she said lightly, without turning to look at him. He was dressed casually, in a black silk shirt and jeans, and she had felt weak all morning. The beautiful car didn't exactly detract from his image either, she thought silently, but then nothing would. He had it all.
'Yes, you could, but I was talking about you,' he said smoothly. 'Do you always check each detail yourself when you deal with a proposal?'
'Uh-huh.' She nodded as she risked a glance at the hard, tanned profile and then wished she hadn't as she caught a whiff of spicy, sensual aftershave. 'I've found it pays to leave nothing to chance. Even the firms that come with the best recommendations don't always match up to their reputation. It's better to trust no one.'
'Is it…?' The silver eyes narrowed and she wished she had worded that last comment differently. He had a way of picking up on what she said that was disconcerting.
'I think so.' She kept her voice very flat and matter-of-fact, as though she thought they were discussing only her attitude to her work. 'Face-to-face contact is good too, for both sides. They can see I won't tolerate any slackness for one thing. It's amazing how many male-oriented firms still think they know bettor than a mere woman.'
'And do they?' he asked drily.
'Occasionally.' She nodded slowly. 'Yes, occasionally, but that's no problem. I'm always open to good suggestions.'
'I wish.'
Josie expelled a quiet breath, conscious that the silver-grey gaze had flashed swiftly over her face.
'You don't flirt, do you?' he asked softly, making the words more of a statement than a question. 'Not at all. I find that very… refreshing, but also vary disturbing.'
'Disturbing?' She turned fully to him now, sensing and resenting criticism.
'You are young, beautiful, successful and excellent at what you do. With most women one of those attributes would guarantee a certain…confidence. But you aren't confidant, Josie, not deep inside, whore it really counts.
So, yes, I do find that disturbing,' he finished expressionlessly. 'More than disturbing.'
'I don't know what you're talking about.' Her voice was too high and too sharp and she tried to moderate it, her stomach turning over in panic. 'Really, Luke, you do seem determined to make a drama where none exists.'
'Don't I?' he agreed complacently. 'But, you see, I've learnt at least one thing during our short acquaintance, and that is that you never say what you mean. Now, with my vast experience of women—' the hard mouth twisted sardonically '—I'm used to that regrettable little defect to a greater or lesser extent as par for the course. But you're different.' He paused and the butterflies in her stomach went into overdrive.
'With you that defect is not used as an easy way out, part of the male-to-female game to keep me guessing and interested, to titillate and intrigue. Your dishonesty is honest. You would like me to flatter and appreciate your beauty and your gracefulness, like any other woman would, but you don't ask for it—not by word or gesture or even from the depths of those great honey-gold eyes. Why?'
'Why?' She was trembling deep in her stomach at the sudden confrontation, and terrified, more than terrified, at the thought of where it would lead.
'Yes, why?' he repeated slowly. 'If it wasn't so crazy, so ridiculous, I'd think you didn't rate yourself at all, but one look in the mirror would blow that theory to hell. So what is it that keeps you behind that locked door? And don't say it's where you want to be because I won't buy it. Last night you wanted me, Josie; you wanted me so badly I could taste it, feel it, smell it—but it wasn't enough. Dammit!'
There was a thread of anger in his voice now, a rage that she couldn't guess was directed at himself rather than her. 'Why wasn't it enough? How could you let someone stop you living, loving—?'
'I haven't—'
'Don't give me that.' His voice was too hard, and as she flinched he cursed himself for letting his frustration show. Force wouldn't get her out of that steel prison; she'd just retreat further from him again. 'Josie, it's only a man that could make you withdraw from life like you have. What did he do? Beat you? Ill-use you? Or was it some form of mental cruelty, is that it? However much you loved him, however it went wrong, can't you see you're still the winner? You are young and beautiful and desirable and it's his loss, not yours. If he didn't value what he had then you're better off without him—'