by Kay Hooper
“It—looks like Rosita,” she whispered, removing the bell from its box and then staring up at Hawke with dazed eyes.
“I hoped it would.” He smiled faintly. “It wasn’t easy to find a dark angel. Most of them are blond and blue-eyed.” Almost compulsively, he reached out to touch her soft hair. “Even the real ones.”
Holding the delicate angel in her hands, Kendall gazed up at him. She saw the rather hard face soften, and realized that she had badly misjudged him by believing that her confession had meant nothing to him. “You didn’t say anything the next day,” she whispered. “About Rosita.”
His hands clasped her shoulders gently. “No. After going over it all the night before, I was afraid that mentioning Rosita would upset you. I wanted to make you laugh.”
Kendall smiled. “Or make me angry?”
There was a responsive gleam in his gray eyes. “Well, if you’re snapping at me, you can’t be sad.”
She looked back down at the bell, her smile dying. “It’s a beautiful gift, Hawke. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” Hawke’s voice dropped suddenly to a husky note. “It’s a magic bell, Kendall. When you ring it, it will always bring you a hawk.”
Kendall stood perfectly still as he lifted the bell from her nerveless fingers and set it gently on the desk. She felt the breath catch in her throat when his hands returned to warmly cup her face, turning it up. There was a look of intensity in his eyes that she had never seen before, touching the woman in her.
“These past three days have been hell,” he said softly, his breath warm on her upturned face. “I picked up the phone a dozen times to call you, just to hear your voice. God, Kendall—”
When his lips touched hers, she gave an almost inaudible sigh and slipped her arms around his lean waist. It wouldn’t hurt, a part of her whispered, to be in his arms for a while. Just a while. Something inside of her needed the touch of him.
His hands slid down abruptly, molding her slender hips and pulling her lower body against his. And then he tore his mouth away with an obvious effort. “Kendall—”
Silently, Kendall rose on her toes, pressing her lips to his and cutting off whatever he’d meant to say. She wasn’t interested in words right now. She didn’t want to talk and she didn’t want to think. All she wanted was for this moment to go on forever.
Immediately, Hawke’s arms tightened around her and his lips hardened in a sudden demanding force. There was undisguised hunger in his kiss, and a drugging power that sapped the strength from Kendall’s legs. She responded to him mindlessly, pressing her body against his until the thunder of his heart felt like her own.
Never in her life had she experienced anything like this. She felt as if she were on fire, burning with a primitive hunger that threatened to escape the frail human container holding it.
Hawke’s mouth burned a trail down her throat, settling at last on the golden curve of her breast left bare by the plunging neckline of her dress. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he grated softly, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through the silky dress.
Kendall dug her nails into his back, gasping as she felt his mouth move hotly against her skin. “I don’t care what I’m doing,” she murmured huskily, feeling his free hand move to the clasp of her dress.
There was a whisper of sound, and the dress slid to the floor, leaving Kendall wearing only a pair of very brief white panties—and a crown. He swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, placing her gently on the turned-down bed and lowering his weight beside her.
Smoky gray eyes moved slowly over her bare flesh, and Kendall felt a peculiar heady excitement at the knowledge that he found her body beautiful. She tugged the shirt from the waistband of his pants, snapping the last button in her impatience as she pushed the garment from his shoulders.
He shrugged it to the floor, then lifted the tiara from her head and placed it on the nightstand, where a lamp burned. Strong fingers raked gently through her hair, sending pins flying, and then his mouth was moving hungrily on hers.
Kendall gave herself up totally to the sensations he was arousing in her. Her tongue met his, tasting and exploring; her fingers probed the length of his spine. She shivered when his hand moved caressingly over her flat belly; moaned when his lips left hers to capture a hardening nipple.
“So beautiful,” he muttered hoarsely, using his lips and teeth sensuously to bring her desire to a fever pitch. “Touch me, Cinderella … your touch is magic.”
Eagerly, Kendall obeyed the command, her hands moving over his lean ribs, exploring the muscled chest and back. But when her fingers discovered his belt buckle, a strong hand covered hers, stopping her impatient attempt to do away with another barrier.
He raised his head, breathing roughly, the gray eyes dark and feverish. “Do you love me, Kendall?” he demanded.
Turquoise eyes blinked in confusion as she stared up at him. “Don’t ask me that now,” she practically wailed.
“What better time is there?” He trapped her restless legs with one of his, capturing her free hand as it tried vainly to wander again. “I’m making love to you, honey. I want to know if you love me.”
Kendall wasn’t thinking very clearly, but she wasn’t about to commit herself to a man she’d known less than a week. It didn’t strike her—then—that she had been willing to make a commitment far deeper than any verbal promise could ever be. “Hawke, please!” She tried to free her hands from his grasp and failed.
“Answer me, Kendall.”
Desire faded slowly as she stared up at him, and her body ached with an emptiness that was frightening. Stubbornly, she remained silent.
“I could take you right now, couldn’t I?” His voice was still rough, the gray eyes hooded now. “But you wouldn’t belong to me. Everything you have to give is still locked inside that beautiful, stubborn head.”
Kendall felt a sudden surge of an unfamiliar yearning emotion. Closing her mind to his words, she lifted her head suddenly from the pillow and pressed her lips to his with a hunger that dimly astonished her. There was someone inside her head, crying out to him silently to take her, to make her his before she had time to think, before she could convince herself that this was wrong.
Hawke groaned deep in his chest and returned the kiss eagerly for a timeless moment, then wrenched his mouth from hers and rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed. In a low, gritty voice containing an odd thread of humor, he muttered, “I am certifiably out of my mind.”
Blankly, Kendall watched as he bent to get his shirt from the floor and then rose to his feet. “Hawke? Where are you going?” Her voice very nearly squeaked with incredulity.
He half turned to stare down at her. “Well, I have three choices.” The slow, measured tone didn’t quite hide the hoarseness in his voice. “A dip in the ocean, the pool, or a cold shower.”
Whispering, she asked, “What about the fourth choice?”
His face tightened and he started determinedly for the door. Over his shoulder, he told her, “I’m trying—desperately—not to think of the fourth, Kendall.”
“But, Hawke …” Her voice halted him at the door. “I—I want you to stay.”
His hand came out to grasp the doorjamb, and Kendall watched the knuckles whiten. Then he turned to gaze across the room at her, the gray eyes intense again. “It’s not enough, Kendall.” At her startled look, his mouth twisted slightly. “I know. Like I said—I’m out of my mind. I should take what you’re offering and be satisfied with it. But I want more.”
Confused thoughts jostled one another in Kendall’s mind, and she could only say weakly, “But I thought you said that you wanted only a summer romance.”
“I never said that, honey.” His voice was very quiet. “You did.”
Kendall was still staring at the empty doorway when she heard the connecting door to his suite close softly. With near-hysterical hindsight, she told herself that she should have demanded a lock for that damne
d door the very first day. The way he waltzed in and out of her “private” suite was ludicrous.
Various emotions jostled for precedence within her, and the winning feeling was sheer frustration. Her body was aching, and she had just literally thrown herself at a man who had somewhat cryptically refused her, stating that he wanted more.
More? Well, that made a hell of a lot of sense! It did, really, but she didn’t like to think about the sense it made. He’d demanded if she loved him, had more or less implied that he wanted her to belong to him.
Kendall knew what that meant. Commitment. He wanted her to commit herself to him. But she wasn’t ready for that. If nothing else, she barely knew the man! True, he was presently indulging in a quixotic fit of romance, but how long would that last? She could very well wake up one day and find herself committed to a stranger.
And exactly what kind of commitment did he want from her? Just—just!—a confession of love? An affair? Marriage? Sarah, she remembered suddenly, had implied that she knew her son had chosen his future wife, and that was even before the episode of the crown and castle.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the glittering tiara on the nightstand. The symbolism was obvious, though a bit elaborate. A castle and crown for a princess. And one did not, she decided with vague reluctance, present a crown to a—what was the term?—oh, yes. Paramour.
And the gaudy valentine bearing the quotation “Come live with me and be my love.”
Dammit. How was she supposed to keep a clear head while being bombarded with that sort of thing? A sneering little voice in her head warned that if she wasn’t careful, she’d wake up one day to find that the handsome prince had turned into a frog.
Ignoring the fact that she was almost naked, Kendall rolled off the bed and went into her sitting room. Then, very carefully, she got the chair from her desk and wedged it beneath the doorknob of the connecting door. Probably a totally useless gesture. When one owned a hotel, it was doubtful that locked doors could stand against one.
But it made her feel slightly better.
She paused long enough to blow out the candle. She stared at the tiny bell, then picked it up and took it into the bedroom. Setting it gently on the night-stand beside the tiara, she stared at both for a moment, then sighed and went into the bathroom to take a shower. A cold shower.
A little while later she went back into the bedroom wearing a sheer shortie nightgown and climbed into bed, muttering to herself. She’d found a faint bruise at the base of her neck while brushing her hair before the vanity mirror. Terrific. Another symbol of bondage to parade in front of the royal subjects.
Choking back a giggle, Kendall settled back on her pillow and stared fixedly at the ceiling. And admitted silently that it was time for a little soul-searching.
Even though she felt nervous at having known him such a short time, she knew that there was a deeper reason why she wanted to avoid committing herself to Hawke. And that reason was sheer fear. In her mind the commitment of love between a man and a woman was the deepest possible bond. It was the reason she had never indulged in the shallow surface relationships that were apparently a worldwide epidemic. Love was a final thing, a giving of oneself to someone else. And she had seen too little love in the world to bestow her own carelessly.
So … if she admitted to Hawke that she loved him, she would be burning her bridges. There would be no chance of escaping without pain if Hawke decided he’d made a mistake.
Suddenly, Kendall sat bolt upright on the bed, her eyes wide and startled as she stared across the room. If she admitted….! Oh, God—it was too late. She was head over heels in love with a man she’d met less than a week before.
And the funny thing was … she hadn’t fallen in love with the handsome prince showering her with gifts and surrounding her with romance. She had fallen in love with the man who had looked down at her with pain and understanding in his eyes and vulnerability in his face. The man who had understood her grief at the death of a child she had loved. The man who had soothed her after a nightmare.
All her life she’d been locked inside a hellish cocoon of cool self-reliance and independence. Her father loved her, but he was a busy man, and she had learned to take care of herself. She had never in her life transferred her burdens to someone else’s shoulders.
She wanted to now.
Kendall lay back slowly on the pillow, and then turned on her side to stare at the tiara and angel bell on the nightstand. Two sides of the man, she thought dimly. A mind that could conceive of an absurd romance, sending “his” lady a crown. And the same mind sensitively giving another kind of gift, one that would always represent a special memory.
God … if she could only be sure! But she was still afraid. Afraid of giving up so much of herself on an impossible chance. Afraid of loving and losing.
And she wished vaguely that Hawke had taken her before she had had the chance to think. It would have been much simpler.
The wish set up a train of thought, and Kendall frowned slightly as she stared at the gifts. Why was Hawke so intent on hearing her commit herself? Usually it was the woman who demanded at least a verbal promise of love before commitment and consummation. Just her luck to stumble on a man secure enough to switch roles. He wanted commitment. He wanted love.
Why? Did he love her? Or was it simply the conquering instinct? No. There was nothing even remotely simple about Hawke Madison. Which was why she couldn’t believe that he loved her. It was too simple.
Rolling over onto her back, Kendall stared restlessly at the ceiling. She was sorely tempted to cast all of her questions and doubts into the sea and just follow her instincts—which would have meant going to Hawke right now, this minute. And to hell with tomorrow.
But she couldn’t do that. Kendall had had very little experience with fantasy in her life. Reality, though … reality she knew very well. She hugged her empty belly and stared upward, refusing to gaze again at the little angel on the nightstand.
The pain had eased, but the memory would always be there. She had loved Rosita, loved her enough so that she had been making arrangements to adopt her. Dreams. Killed by reality. And a part of her had died with the little girl she had loved.
Another loss like that one would destroy her, she knew. And if she gave her love to Hawke and lost … It didn’t bear thinking of. Kendall closed her mind to thought. She was getting nowhere by going over and over this. Logically, there was no way out, and thinking about it wouldn’t suddenly disclose an escape hatch, she knew. And the stakes were far too high to gamble.
Kendall reached over to turn off the lamp, keeping her eyes averted from the bell and tiara. Then she settled back on her pillow and stared at darkness, muttering forlornly to the empty room, “There’s a lot to be said for good old-fashioned lust….”
Chapter 7
When Kendall stepped out of the elevator early the next morning, she was wearing short shorts and a halter top that quite probably would get her arrested. The outfit was so brief that it immediately convinced one hotel guest that she was wearing nothing but golden flesh. He promptly tripped over a potted plant in the lobby.
She heard the resulting thump, but since, in her mind, she was wearing battle armor, Kendall didn’t connect the noise with herself. She strolled across the lobby and stared at Rick for a moment. “Your mouth is open.”
His mouth snapped shut. “Is that a bikini?”
“No.” Kendall glanced down and noted absently that her top provided very little except moral support. She looked back at the manager. “Is Sarah down yet?”
Rick shook his head, still looking a bit stunned.
Kendall sighed. “Well, I’m going for a walk on the beach. Tell her that if she comes down before I get back.”
“Okay. Kendall,” he added as she went to turn away, “do you want me to put that tiara in the hotel safe? Not that I think it would get stolen, but if it would make you feel better…”
Her blank look slowly changed to one of compre
hension, and her voice emerged unsteadily. “You mean—it’s real?”
Disconcerted, Rick muttered, “I thought Hawke had—oh, damn. I really blew it, didn’t I?”
Ignoring the wry comment, Kendall said, “It’s on the nightstand in my bedroom.” She was a little pale, but in control. “Please send someone up to get it. Then see that Hawke gets it back.”
“He won’t take it back.” Rick was obviously disgusted with himself for having let the cat out of the bag.
“Then put it in the safe!” She lowered her voice with an effort, then asked quietly, “Is it an heirloom?”
The manager immediately looked uneasy. “You’ll have to ask Hawke. It was his present.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Pass. I’ve already put my foot in my mouth once today, thank you. Twice would be a habit.”
Kendall decided to be angry. It was a very sane and carefully thought-out decision. Hawke had said that if she was snapping at him, she couldn’t be sad. It wouldn’t be easy to be passionate either, she thought. So she’d be angry. And snap a lot. And maybe—just maybe—he’d never know that she loved him.
“Where is he?”
Rick shrugged and gave a hands-out gesture of innocence. “Beats me. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“Male solidarity.” When Rick only smiled charmingly, Kendall gave him a disgusted look and turned away. That was when she saw Hawke and the romantic-minded Amanda Foster emerge from the elevator.
“I want to talk to you!” Kendall threw the statement fiercely across the lobby, not particularly concerned—at this point—whether or not anyone overheard.
Hawke looked faintly surprised, but strolled across the lobby, devastatingly handsome in a full-sleeved black pirate-type shirt open to the waist, and black slacks. The shirt prompted a thought in Kendall’s mind; she thought she knew now where the tiara had come from.
