When Whitney reached eighteen she had suggested to Hawk that now that his guardianship was over she should move out and give the married couple some privacy. It was then that she had discovered that, although she had now reached the age of consent, Hawk was to remain her guardian until she was twenty-one. Her father, perhaps because of his long absences, had always been protective of her, but nevertheless the thought of spending another three years with the bitter Geraldine and the determined Hawk had filled her with dismay.
But the situation between the married couple had suddenly changed. Geraldine began to go out alone, sometimes all night, and it was obvious when she returned the next morning in the same evening gown she had gone out in that she hadn’t just arranged to stay overnight with friends.
Hawk became more withdrawn than ever, concentrating all his energies on his business empire, at last seeming to fit smoothly into this new career he had adopted for her sake, often working late into the evenings. Although the latter, Whitney had been sure, was so that he didn’t have to be at home to witness Geraldine going out to meet what had to be her latest lover. Somehow the role of cuckolded husband didn’t sit well on the shoulders of the man Whitney had come to know—and love. But, as Hawk raised no objection to the situation between himself and Geraldine, Whitney had had to accept that he loved the other woman, no matter what she did, or who she did it with.
Geraldine had finally tired of the life she was living just before Whitney’s twenty-first birthday, asking Hawk for a divorce, which he agreed to give her without argument; how could he hold on to the woman when she obviously wanted to leave!
With Geraldine out of the house while they waited for their divorce, Whitney had tried to get closer to Hawk, to show him that she loved him even if Geraldine had been too stupid to. He had rejected her love by arranging for her to move into her own house, and handing over the diamond-studded watch on the eve of her birthday, the last time they had met before today.
She had been working for the Hawkworth-owned newspaper since she was twenty, and as she knew she was good at the job she had seen no reason to change that; she occasionally saw Hawk striding about the building. He looked older after his divorce from Geraldine became final and she remarried, more cynical than ever, and despite the fact that he had always appeared to be a highly sensual man there had been no women reputed to be in his life, not even casually. Even though she no longer wanted him Geraldine still owned him body and soul. It didn’t matter to Hawk that she had made a fool of him with other men during their marriage, that she ridiculed his love during that stormy time, or that she had become involved with and finally married one of the most powerfully corrupt men in England.
Knowing Geraldine as Whitney did, only too well, and the other woman’s craving for excitement in any shape or form—the more dangerous, the better she liked it—she had a feeling that Geraldine was involved in Tom Beresford’s corruption right up to her beautiful neck.
She also had a feeling that, despite what the other woman had done to him, Hawk was going to protect Geraldine and the happiness she had found with the other man with the last breath in his body if necessary.
God, how she hoped she was wrong!
CHAPTER THREE
THE problem of what she was supposed to wear while on board the Freedom was resolved later that day when two suitcases containing all of her clothes were brought to her cabin by one of the crew. She hadn’t given Hawk the key to her house!
She found him in the library, seated at the mahogany desk there, papers spread out before him. She firmly stood her ground as he looked up at her with a look designed to chill. ‘Has breaking and entering become part of your accomplishments now?’ she demanded accusingly.
He sat back in his chair, perfectly at ease as he unconsciously rolled the gold pen he held between his thumb and fingers. Whitney recognised the pen, she had given it to him for Christmas a couple of years ago. Hawk followed her line of vision, shrugging slightly. ‘You have good taste.’
Not in everything. What sensible woman would fall in love with a married man, a man who had never shown her anything but the indulgent affection of an older brother. Except this afternoon when he had kissed her; there had been nothing brotherly about that! But he had apologised straight afterwards, and there was no memory of the caress in his eyes now.
She nodded abruptly. ‘So do you.’ She indicated the watch she wore. But like her his good taste didn’t run to everything: his choice in women—Geraldine—was deplorable. ‘But you didn’t answer my question just now,’ she added sharply. ‘Did you break into my home to get my clothes?’
‘No.’
‘But—’
‘I used the key, Whitney.’ He indicated her capacious shoulder bag as it lay on a chair in the corner of the room. ‘You left it behind earlier,’ he explained.
Her eyes widened with indignation. ‘And you just looked through it for my key?’
His eyes narrowed to golden slits. ‘Do you have something in there I shouldn’t see?’
Besides a few letters that she considered completely personal she also had the file on Tom Beresford and the photographs that went with it; she never allowed them out of her possession. Except when thrown into complete confusion by Hawk kissing her!
She snatched up the bag, holding it to her. ‘That isn’t the point and you know it. It’s bad enough that you went through my handbag, but the thought of some stranger going to my home—’
‘I went and got your things myself, Whitney,’ Hawk put in softly.
She didn’t know which was worse, the complete stranger or Hawk viewing the home she had made for herself at his request! She didn’t live in the fashionable part of London; the three-storeyed house was Victorian, and she had quickly stamped her own personality on the rooms. There were also a lot of pictures of Hawk about the house, although thankfully a lot of them were coupled with her father and so may not have raised Hawk’s suspicions as to why she should have photographs of her ex-guardian in her new home.
‘At least that’s something,’ she snapped, to cover up her feelings of awkwardness. ‘But why couldn’t you have just asked for the key?’ She scanned the contents of her bag.
‘Don’t worry, there’s nothing missing,’ Hawk grated at her suspicion.
‘Not even the key to my house?’ she scorned, her eyes blazing deeply violet.
‘I returned it once it had served its purpose,’ he bit out.
‘Now nice of you!’
‘Would you rather have worn that same dress for the next few weeks?’ he rasped.
Her mouth tightened. ‘I’d rather go home and continue with my story.’
‘No.’
His tone brooked no argument and from experience Whitney knew he was adamant. ‘What am I supposed to do here all day; I’ll be bored out of my mind!’ she protested at her confinement.
‘You’ve never been bored on the Freedom before,’ he shrugged.
‘I’ve never been held prisoner on board before!’
His expression darkened. ‘You aren’t a prisoner now, either; you just aren’t free to leave!’
‘I like your distinction,’ she scorned.
Hawk sighed. ‘You’re free to move about the yacht as much as you want—’
‘Thanks!’
‘I’m beginning to see why parents ask the question, “where did I go wrong?” so much,’ he snapped. ‘There wouldn’t be any need for this at all if you would just do what you’re told. But we both know you’ve never been very good at doing that, don’t we?’
She blushed, knowing he was referring to the time she had decided to go on holiday with a group of friends against Hawk’s wishes and almost paid for her stubbornness by being raped when she refused to join in the bed-swapping games the others found such fun. Hawk had found her sleeping on a bench at the sea-front. Not once had he said, ‘I told you so’, seeming to realise she had suffered enough from the disillusionment at her so-called friends. Until now.
‘Thi
s isn’t the same thing—’
‘I agree; then it would only have been your virginity you lost!’
He was furious, and she knew that she would be wise to stop while she could emerge from the conversation with some degree of dignity. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. ‘What makes you so sure I even had that to lose?’ she challenged.
‘What makes you think I cared?’ he bit out cruelly.
Whitney flinched, getting no more than she had expected. She gave a shaky sigh. ‘I’m sorry. All that was uncalled for.’
‘I’m glad you realise it.’ He wasn’t so easy to forgive. ‘Now, would you prefer it if I took your clothes back to your home—’
‘Of course not.’ All the fight had momentarily gone out of her. ‘I’ll need them if I’m going to be on here for any length of time.’
‘There’s no “if” about it,’ Hawk rasped.
Whitney knew she had to retreat now, Hawk too coldly angry to be the one to back down. ‘Then in that case I hope you packed a bikini; I can at least get a suntan if nothing else.’
‘No sunbathing.’ Hawk shook his head.
Her eyes widened. ‘Why on earth not? I can assure you that I don’t intend flirting with any of the crew!’ she claimed indignantly.
His mouth tightened. ‘The men are too loyal to me to do anything about it even if you did,’ he drawled confidently. ‘They know, from Stephen on down, that it would cost them their job. When I told you earlier that you could move freely about the yacht maybe I should have said inside it. I don’t want you out on deck where you’re visible.’
‘To who?’ she demanded incredulously.
‘Anyone who happens to be interested!’
Whitney frowned at his vehemence. None of this was in character for Hawk. He was always calm, always in control, he never lost his temper the way that he had today. Something about all of this had definitely unsettled him. ‘You can’t believe I’m really in some sort of danger?’ she derided dismissively.
‘You were the one that received the telephone calls. What do you think?’ he reasoned hardly.
Her face paled as she recalled that unrecognisable, softly threatening voice. It had belonged to a man, but the husky softness of the tone had made it impossible to identify. Nevertheless, the threats had sounded genuine enough, too much so for her peace of mind. ‘Does this mean Tom Beresford gets away with this?’ she groaned.
‘Not necessarily,’ Hawk answered non-committally. ‘Martin tells me you have a file on the man, photographs too.’
Whitney looked at him searchingly, not quite trusting the blandness of his tone. ‘What about it?’ she asked warily.
‘If you give it to me I could go through it, see what you have.’
There was still something about his calmness that made her uneasy. ‘The file on Tom Beresford is at the house,’ she lied, a guilty blush colouring her cheeks. She took an involuntary step backwards as Hawk stood up.
His eyes narrowed at the guilty movement as he sat back on the edge of the desk-top. ‘That’s a pity,’ he said slowly, his head tilted at a questioning angle.
She didn’t like the way he said that. ‘We could always go and get it,’ she suggested eagerly.
‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his head.
‘Hawk—’
‘It’s getting late, Whitney, why don’t you go and change for dinner.’
She chewed on her inner lip. She hadn’t seen Hawk to talk to for almost a year, and yet she couldn’t believe he had changed so much, aloof from her in a way she had never known before. Until she was eighteen and his marriage to Geraldine had deteriorated beyond the point of no return, he had been kind to her in a paternal way. Now he was just plain distant!
‘Formal or informal?’ she asked absently, still puzzled by the change in Hawk.
His mouth quirked. ‘Sean would say formal, I would prefer to lounge.’
Her eyes lit up at the mention of the other man. ‘Sean is still with you?’
Hawk raised dark brows. ‘Shouldn’t he be?’
The fiery Irishman had been Hawk’s chef ever since she could remember, looking more suited to being an engineer in the navy than the master chef that he was, a big jovial man with a loud voice and the kindest blue eyes Whitney had ever encountered. It wasn’t that she was surprised he was still with Hawk—the majority of his staff were very loyal, which was why she didn’t doubt for a minute Hawk would be able to keep her aboard the Freedom for as long as he wished—it was just gratifying to know there was one friendly face on board. Sean had taken her to his heart the moment they first met.
‘It will be nice to see him again.’ She smiled her pleasure.
Hawk grimaced. ‘I wish we had all been awarded that same eagerness,’ he said drily, touching his cheek ruefully where she had hit him with such force earlier.
Whitney gave him an unsympathetic look. ‘Maybe next time you’ll realise a simple invitation would have achieved the same result!’
‘That wasn’t the impression Martin gave me,’ he derided drily. ‘He said you were issuing challenges to anyone who would listen to them. And that you were casting aspersions on my discipline of you as a child.’ He quirked dark brows mockingly.
It hadn’t been Hawk she had been referring to at all, and Martin knew it, damn him. ‘I think I’ll buy Martin a wooden spoon for his next birthday,’ she grimaced.
Hawk laughed, the first time she had seen him do so in a very long time, and she was fascinated by how much younger he looked, the frown gone from between his eyes, looking almost boyish as he continued to grin at her. ‘Send it from both of us, will you,’ he said warmly. ‘I’m sure he passed on that last piece of information as much to annoy me as to get you into trouble.’
‘Probably,’ she acknowledged ruefully. ‘Maybe sending him out on a few assignments would be better than the wooden spoon!’
‘Now that’s cruel!’ They both laughed at Martin’s aversion to leaving his desk.
She had been abducted, was even now being held on board this yacht against her will, and yet at this moment she didn’t care, knew she could stand anything if she could be with Hawk. ‘Where were you thinking of cruising?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Just around the Med for a few days,’ he shrugged, his humour fading.
‘That sounds nice.’ Her eyes glowed at the prospect of being alone with him. They had only ever been alone on Freedom in the past, this the one place Geraldine refused to bring her caustic presence. Maybe Hawk would finally see that she was no longer a child.
He nodded abruptly. ‘Once we’re out at sea you can go out on deck.’
‘In my bikini?’ she teased.
He looked at her steadily for several minutes, his gaze seeming to move reluctantly over the smoothness of her curves beneath her dress. ‘If that’s what you want.’ He turned away, standing up to move back around the desk and sit down. ‘I really do have to finish up here before dinner…’
She took the dismissal for what it was, although she refused to be daunted. Maybe her time on here wasn’t going to be so bad after all. And as soon as they got back to London she intended continuing with the story on Tom Beresford. It had waited all these months for exposure; a week out of time with Hawk wasn’t going to make much difference.
All her resentment at his high-handed treatment of her had gone by the time she joined him for dinner later that evening, feeling pleased with her appearance, knowing the black gown gave her a sophistication Hawk never seemed to have associated with her, her hair loose and flowing.
But her own appearance was forgotten as soon as she looked at Hawk, her heart beat rising in tempo at how sexy he looked dressed in black, too, his shirt casually unbuttoned at the throat. No man should be allowed to be this handsome!
‘You look beautiful,’ he told her huskily.
‘So do you’ didn’t quite sound appropriate—even if he did! ‘I’m glad I realised that your idea of “lounging” didn’t mean jeans and a T-shirt,’
was her only reference to how devastating he looked.
He gave a rueful glance at the candlelit table behind them. ‘It seems I wasn’t quick enough earlier to stop Stephen gossiping with Sean.’
Delicate colour heightened her cheeks. ‘I don’t mind,’ she assured him gruffly.
‘No?’ he quirked dark brows.
‘I—er—I mean, of course, if you don’t,’ she said awkwardly, inwardly cringing at the way she had handled the intimacy. ‘And why should you?’ she added more confidently. ‘As you said, Geraldine isn’t likely to find out.’ She winced as she mentioned the other woman’s name, could have kicked herself as Hawk’s expression became withdrawn.
‘Could we not talk about Geraldine tonight?’ he finally rasped.
She didn’t care if she never heard the other woman’s name again! ‘Fine by me,’ she agreed dismissively. ‘I wonder what Sean has prepared us for dinner?’ she asked conversationally.
Hawk’s mouth twisted. ‘Knowing you were on board, probably your favourite pate and beef Wellington, and to hell with what I like!’
She laughed softly at his teasing, his hand gently on her back as he guided her over to the table. ‘That was before I had to watch the calories!’
He frowned at her across the width of the table, the small oak oval that Sean had obviously decided was perfect for the intimate dinner he was preparing them. ‘Your figure is perfect,’ Hawk grated. ‘It always has been.’
‘Ah, but it won’t stay that way if I indulge in too much of Sean’s cooking.’
‘And what’s wrong with my cooking, I’d like to know?’ Sean joined them from the galley below, placing the plates of pâté before them; he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his only concession to his station the starched white hat on his head.
‘Nothing—that’s the trouble!’ Whitney grinned at him. ‘It’s good to see you again, Sean.’
‘You, too, darlin’.’ He smiled down at her, only needing tattoos on his hands and arms to look like a merchant seaman. He had been horrified when Whitney had suggested it to him, claiming his hands and his arms were his tools-in-trade, and much too valuable to be so abused. Considering the king’s ransom Hawk paid him, perhaps he was right! He also cooked and presented the best food Whitney had ever tasted. ‘I’m glad to see Hawk’s finally come to his senses and seen you for the beauty you are,’ he continued with his usual candour. ‘If he hadn’t have done I may have snapped you up myself.’
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