Hawk's Prey

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Peterson believes it’s a game we play,’ he drawled in a bored voice. ‘You’re the madly desirable woman and I’m the wicked abductor. Kinky, hm?’ he derided.

  ‘It’s sick!’ She dropped weakly into a chair, at last understanding the driver’s amusement at her predicament, heated colour flooding her cheeks at how well she had played the supposed game. The man must think she was a pervert!

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Whitney,’ Hawk mocked. ‘He assured me it wasn’t the most unusual request he’s received since he began his limousine service three years ago!’

  ‘Just one of them!’ she groaned her mortification.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, the one about the sheikh who—’

  ‘Hawk, I’m really not interested in the idiosyncrasies of an Arab too rich to have anything better to do than play ridiculous games!’

  ‘No, maybe not,’ he agreed slowly. ‘That one did go a bit far. I was only trying to show you that Peterson didn’t find anything unusual in our request—’

  ‘Don’t try and drag me into taking part of the blame,’ she protested indignantly. ‘I’ll never be able to look the man in the face again!’

  He quirked dark brows. ‘Were you thinking of engaging his services in the future?’

  ‘Hawk, all this is very amusing,’—her tone implied she thought it the opposite—‘but it doesn’t alter the fact that I almost had a heart attack when he made me get in the car. I felt so damned helpless, I didn’t know what to do!’

  ‘If Peterson had been a real kidnapper I would lay odds on you emerging the victor from the encounter!’

  ‘Even though I realise there was no real danger I still don’t feel very victorious,’ she said shakily. ‘I thought I was going to die,’ she repeated breathlessly.

  ‘And we both know why you thought that, don’t we?’ Hawk stood up in forceful movements, having all the grace of a natural athlete when he didn’t have a bruised and aching shin, and replaced the orange juice with a glass of whisky. ‘I would have had Martin’s job if he hadn’t called me when he did,’ he revealed grimly. ‘You are definitely fired!’

  ‘You can’t do that!’ She stood up protestingly.

  He raised his brows in cold fury. ‘Forgive me, as the owner of the National I thought I could.’ His tone was thick with sarcasm.

  ‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘You have no reason to sack me, none that would stand up to the union anyway.’

  ‘How about persistent absenteeism?’

  ‘I’m never off sick.’ She shook her head, her expression rebellious.

  ‘I don’t remember using the past tense,’ Hawk announced calmly.

  Whitney blinked her surprise. ‘You have kidnapped me,’ she said incredulously.

  ‘Abducted,’ he corrected smoothly. ‘I don’t know of anyone who would pay a ransom for you!’

  ‘Beresford might,’ she pointed out tightly.

  His eyes flashed deeply gold. ‘Maybe I should telephone and ask him!’

  She knew she had gone too far, had always been able to tell that where this man was concerned. Hawk wasn’t a man to suffer fools gladly, and by meeting Tom Beresford in the way that she had Hawk considered her to be plain stupid rather than just foolish! But carrying her off the way that he had could have scared her to death, and she glared at him angrily. ‘You can’t keep me on board Freedom against my will—’

  ‘Who says I can’t?’ he reasoned coldly. ‘You’ve been on board the Freedom plenty of times before; why should anyone assume this time is any different?’

  ‘Because I’m obviously a reluctant guest!’ Whitney pointed out exasperatedly.

  He gave an unconcerned shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I’ll just tell them that you’re loath to rest as the doctor has told you to.’

  ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she snapped irritably. ‘And just what do you hope to achieve by this display of muscle?’ she scorned.

  ‘Achieve?’ Hawk repeated with cold thoughtfulness. ‘Maybe I’d just like to keep you alive for a few more years.’

  ‘After presenting me with a diamond watch and kicking me out of your life a year ago—’

  ‘I didn’t kick you out!’ he grated protestingly, his body taut with anger.

  ‘Fulfilled your obligation, then,’ she amended heatedly. ‘It amounts to the same thing. After that I’m surprised you care one way or the other what happens to me.’

  ‘Of course I care, damn you!’ He glowered at her across the room.

  Whitney gave a disbelieving snort. ‘That’s why you’ve been so solicitous of my welfare the last year, I suppose!’ she derided.

  ‘Martin would have let me know if anything were bothering you; he told me you were doing fine,’ Hawk dismissed with accusing impatience.

  ‘Of course I’m doing fine, I don’t need you to survive,’ she claimed perversely. Hawk had always had this effect on her; she had resented it when he demanded to know her every mood, and she resented it just as vehemently when he seemed disinterested.

  Hawk’s mouth tightened. ‘This time you just may do!’ he rasped.

  ‘You’re as bad as Martin,’ she sighed. ‘I’m only following through a story, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘On Tom Beresford.’

  ‘Why is everyone so scared of the man?’ Whitney scorned exasperatedly.

  ‘It isn’t a question of being scared of him, and if you weren’t such a baby I’d tell you exactly why you should steer clear of this one,’ he rasped.

  ‘I don’t think I was ever a baby,’ she dismissed. ‘Certainly not since I met you.’

  A pulse jerked in his throat. ‘Was living with me so bad?’

  ‘Worse!’

  ‘Whitney—’

  ‘You know Geraldine is married to Tom Beresford now?’ She inwardly cursed herself for asking the question as soon as it left her lips; of course Hawk would know who the woman he still loved was married to!

  He gave a cool inclination of his head, a shaft of sunlight streaming through one of the windows picking out the gold highlights in his dark blond hair. ‘I received an invitation to the wedding.’ His bored drawl revealed none of his inner feelings.

  ‘The bitch!’ Whitney gasped incredulously, colour heating her cheeks as she realised she had just insulted the woman Hawk loved. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘It’s all right, Whitney,’ he derided drily. ‘I was never blind to Geraldine’s faults.’

  But he loved her in spite of that. It had never made any sense to Whitney, this unquestioning love Hawk had for the other woman. In business Hawk had no peer, the National only one of his successes, and at thirty-seven he was more handsome than any one man had the right to be, his very coolness exuding a power and cynicism that was a challenge to every woman he met. And yet he threw away all that he had to offer on a woman who wasn’t fit to be in the same room as him, let alone in his heart. It just didn’t make sense to Whitney.

  Of course some of her dislike of Geraldine sprang from her own love for Hawk, but she had detested Geraldine even before she had made the mistake of falling in love with Hawk. Mistake, because Hawk was the type of man to inspire the sort of love that would last a lifetime, and his heart belonged to Geraldine.

  ‘Did you go to the wedding?’ She gave a pained frown.

  ‘Of course not.’ His tone implied it had never even been a possibility. ‘And watch some other poor devil go to his doom!’

  Tom Beresford hadn’t given the impression of chafing against his love for his wife when they had spoken earlier. Like Hawk, he gave the impression of granting her every whim and fancy.

  ‘Tom Beresford isn’t like you.’ She spoke without thinking first, looking guiltily across at Hawk as she realised what she had said and how it must have sounded. ‘1 only meant—’

  ‘I know what you meant, Whitney,’ Hawk grated harshly. ‘But you never understood my relationship with Geraldine. And I hope to God you never do!’
>
  She wouldn’t wish the mindless love Hawk had for Geraldine on anyone, and on this proudly arrogant man it was particularly unpleasant to witness. She had tried for a while to make a place for herself in his heart, but even though she didn’t love or want him herself Geraldine had resented anyone else who did. For a long time she had managed to make Whitney’s life a misery.

  ‘Do you think Geraldine knows of Tom Beresford’s method of business?’ She watched Hawk closely for his reaction.

  He shrugged. ‘Geraldine never cared where the money came from as long as there was always plenty of it.’

  Maybe if Hawk’s love for Geraldine had been blind it would have given her hope in the past, but even knowing all the rotten things about Geraldine there were to know Hawk still love her. That sort of love could never be ignored or overcome, it just continued to consume, like a sickness.

  ‘You’ll never be free of her.’ Whitney spoke her thoughts aloud without realising it, blushing as she looked up awkwardly to meet his shuttered gaze.

  ‘Never,’ he sighed.

  ‘Hawk—’

  ‘Whitney, let’s drop the subject, shall we,’ he cut in forcefully, obviously wearying of the subject. ‘I had the Freedom brought up to London with the intention of taking her out at the weekend for a week or so. This has changed my plans somewhat.’

  ‘I don’t see why,’ she protested. ‘If you’ll just let me go ashore—’

  ‘No,’ he bit out before she could finish. ‘You’re staying right here until everyone forgets you were doing a story on Tom Beresford.’

  She remembered the predatory look in the pale blue eyes of the other man and shook her head. ‘That could take weeks,’ she derided impatiently.

  ‘You have weeks,’ Hawk told her in a calm voice. ‘Months, if necessary. After all, you’re unemployed, and you don’t have a cat to feed!’

  ‘I—’

  ‘And don’t even think about carrying out your threat to take this story to another newspaper,’ he added grimly, his eyes narrowed. ‘If you attempt to do that Martin will have to retaliate by quietly spreading the word that the absenteeism story was just that, that really you were sacked for embellishing the facts to get a better story.’

  Whitney paled, knew her career would be at an end if such a rumour were ever started, however untrue. ‘I don’t believe you would do that to me.’ She shook her head.

  Hawk shrugged, his expression cold. ‘Try me,’ he invited softly.

  He had to know that a rumour like that, started from such a reliable source as Martin Groves, would finish her as a reporter forever. Not even a provincial newspaper would employ her after that. And she was damned good at her job. ‘You aren’t doing this to protect me at all,’ she accused.

  ‘Who, then?’ he grated harshly.

  ‘Geraldine!’ Her eyes were bright with anger. ‘If her husband falls so will she! I don’t believe any woman could be that close to a man and not know exactly what lengths he goes to to earn his money!’

  ‘No,’ Hawk conceded. ‘I’m sure Geraldine is aware of every corruption her husband is involved in.’

  ‘Then—’ She broke off as his expression changed, blinking her confusion as he strode purposefully across the room towards her.

  ‘For God’s sake, Whitney, I’m not going to hit you!’ he growled as she flinched, his fingers biting into the tops of her arms enough to hold her in front of him but not enough to actually hurt her.

  ‘What are you—?’

  ‘Be quiet!’ he grated, his head bending as his mouth claimed hers.

  All the breath left her body at the unexpected caress, her limbs trembling as he moulded her body to his, her senses quivering—

  ‘I’m sorry, Hawk, I had no idea—!’ The shocked voice of another man interrupted them.

  Golden eyes gleamed their satisfaction before Hawk turned to look at the other man. ‘It’s all right, Stephen,’ he assured smoothly. ‘Whitney, you remember the captain of the Freedom?’ He quirked dark brows at her.

  She had met the other man several times during previous visits to the yacht, and nodded her head in greeting to him, now knowing the reason for Hawk’s sudden—and devastating—kiss. She daren’t even trust the steadiness of her voice to talk to the tall, distinguished captain!

  Stephen Hollister still looked uncomfortable for having interrupted them at such an intimate moment. ‘I can come back later.’

  Hawk gave Whitney a hard look before nodding to the other man. ‘Maybe that would be best,’ he acknowledged. ‘I was just about to escort Whitney down to her suite anyway.’

  The innuendo in his tone was unmistakable, and with a rueful shrug of understanding the older man left them alone once more.

  Whitney spun away from Hawk’s side as soon as the door closed. ‘And what if dear Geraldine got to hear about that?’ she challenged, hurt by the way he had used her. Her worst humiliation was that he had to know she had responded to him.

  His body tensed, his eyes as hard as the metal they resembled. ‘My staff is paid very well not to gossip about me,’ he bit out. ‘Besides, none of them ever cared for Geraldine.’

  She was so angry she just wanted to unnerve him the way he had disturbed her. ‘And what about Mr Peterson?’ she taunted. ‘Was he paid to forget, too?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered with simple arrogance.

  ‘You didn’t have to kiss me just now to shut me up,’ she told him agitatedly, still able to feel the imprint of his lips on hers. ‘A simple “someone’s coming” would have sufficed! I know I lost my temper with you earlier but I’m not in the habit of causing a scene.’

  ‘I know that,’ he sighed wearily. ‘I just—I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’ He shrugged awkwardly.

  Embarrassed! She was a quivering mass of nerves, was still having trouble breathing, could barely resist the impulse to place her fingertips where his lips had touched hers; embarrassment was the last emotion she felt!

  ‘You were my guardian for six years, shouldn’t you be the one to feel embarrassed at being caught making love to me?’ she scorned, to hide her complete devastation.

  He drew in a ragged breath. ‘Embarrassment doesn’t come into it. You’re right, I should never have kissed you. I’ll have a word with Stephen and tell him to forget what he saw.’

  ‘Don’t forget to explain to him that the kiss you gave me couldn’t possibly have meant anything when you still love your ex-wife!’ Whitney’s eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

  ‘Whitney—’

  ‘Don’t bother to see me to my suite,’ she told him heatedly. ‘I’m sure it’s the same one that I usually occupy!’ She closed the door forcefully behind her, resisting the impulse to lean weakly back against it, her back straight and unyielding as she took the stairway down to the deck that housed the suites.

  She didn’t relax that control until she had the door to the peach and pale cream suite firmly locked behind her; Hawk hated having people walking out on him in the middle of a conversation; she had learnt that at a very young age, having to spend every afternoon for a week of her holiday studying French the first time she had done it.

  She had been fifteen when she had been put into Hawk’s guardianship, when she had met him for the first time at all. She knew he and her father were friends, her father often speaking of him, and she had seen articles about the Hawkworth heir in the same magazines that wrote about her father.

  At that time the two men had dominated the motor-cycle circuits, one of them always taking first place, the friendly rivalry inducing a lasting friendship. Whitney had known what her father did for a living, had been proud of his achievements from the safety of the boarding school he had sent her to when she was eight, her mother having died while she was still a baby. The day James Hawkworth arrived at the school in her father’s place she had known Dan Morgan’s sparkling career had come to an end on the race circuit he had loved so much.

  The teachers at the school had managed to keep the knowledge of the f
atal bike accident from her until Hawk arrived to gently break the news of her father’s death, and because she had known of her father’s close friendship with the younger man she had moved instinctively into his arms to cry over her loss. He had held her until the tears stopped, not speaking, just holding her, and then he had quietly explained to her that her father had left her care to him.

  And so as well as her father’s death she also had to contend with the fact that she had been left in the hands of a complete stranger. At first nothing had changed, Hawk leaving her at the school to finish her last year, the only difference there was being that instead of going home to her fun-loving father during the holidays she now went to the large imposing Hawkworth House in the exclusive part of London where Hawk and his wife lived.

  Never having really known her mother, except from the photographs her father kept, Whitney had envisaged becoming friends with Geraldine Hawkworth. But the first time she met the other woman she had told her what a nuisance she was, and how her guardianship had disrupted her life. Whitney had always known that Hawk came from a very wealthy family, that he had become something of the black sheep when he had chosen to take up racing motor cycles instead of going into the family-run businesses that had made them all so wealthy. Being given the guardianship of a fifteen-year-old girl had necessitated Hawk donning the respectability of the family business rather than the excitement of travelling around the world racing, Geraldine had tartly informed her. And the other woman obviously resented the loss of that exciting life.

  Not that Hawk had ever seemed to blame her in any way, not even when the change in career had such an adverse affect on his marriage. But for years the confinement of business had sat awkwardly on his shoulders, and Geraldine had never made any secret of her dissatisfaction with the new, staid, if equally rich, life she now led. The arguments between the couple had often been horrific those first two years after Whitney left school, Geraldine having a wicked temper.