by Helen Brooks
'I'm well aware of that,' he said with deep cynicism. 'Believe me, I learnt that at a very early age, courtesy of the sharks and barracudas on two legs who would sell their own grandmother for a quick dollar.' He turned fully to her now, lifting her chin with a thoughtful hand, and she forced herself to remain perfectly still at his touch. 'So you're tough, are you? A thoroughly modem woman of the nineties who knows exactly where she is going and what she wants?'
'Yes.' She stared back at him steadily. 'I've got a good job, a lovely flat and I enjoy my life. What more can anyone ask?'
'Someone to keep you warm in bed at night?' He spoke lightly, but at her tight shrug his eyes narrowed. 'Most women have a nesting instinct, don't they? An urge to settle down eventually?'
'I've no idea.' She forced a smile. 'But then I'm not 'most women'. I'm an individual—me.'
'That wasn't meant disparagingly,' he said quietly. 'But even the most determined career women often combine home and family with a job, and very successfully, too.'
'Yes, they do.' The smile was brittle now. 'But it's not something I would want to put myself through, frankly. I've seen some of those 'determined' career women desperately trying to juggle home commitments, a sick child, a difficult husband, and all the time wearing themselves to a frazzle. It isn't worth it.' She lowered her chin as she spoke, forcing him to withdraw his hand.
'So it's one or the other?'
'For me, yes.' She wanted to brush a loose curl off her cheek, but didn't dare extract her hand from under Luke's coat, knowing he would see the trembling she was trying to hide. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? This conversation was killing her; she was pretending to be something she wasn't.
'Let's hope you don't regret it when you're an old lady and other moguls have taken your place,' he said shortly.
'I won't.' She tried, she really tried to keep all bitterness out of her voice, but those sharp ears must have caught something, because there was a long moment of silence and then his voice was soft when he spoke.
'What was his name, Josie? And don't tell me it wasn't a man who soured you to thoughts of settling down and family life.'
'I prefer my job. What's wrong with that?' she fired back tightly.
'I don't believe you,' he said calmly.
'Well, it's probably not good business sense to argue with the boss, but this time you've got it wrong.' She raised her face and looked at him, which was a mistake. His eyes were fixed on her and a bolt of electrical awareness shot between them, its impact devastating.
'As I've said before, you aren't a very good liar, Josie Owens,' he said softly. 'And that, along with several other things, doesn't quite fit in with the image.'
'I've no idea what you're talking about—'
The last thing, the very last thing she had expected at that precise moment in time was his kiss. His head lowered in one heartbeat as he leant over her and then his mouth was on hers, warm, coaxing and unbearably sweet.
She couldn't believe it for a second, her mouth stunned beneath his, and then as her heart began to pound wildly she was aware of the delicious sensations of touch and taste as he drew her close against him. His lips were sensual and knowing and so, so sure, and the kiss deepened and held until she knew he must feel the trembling she couldn't control.
The angle of his body was pressing the soft fullness of her breasts against the hard wall of his chest, and the rippling warmth from their tender, engorged peaks was heightening what his mouth was doing to her, causing the blood to surge through her veins with an excitement that was almost unbearable. He was an expert, a virtuoso at this… The thought was there, but too remote to make any impression on her entranced state.
And then, with an almost cynical disregard for hex melting capitulation, he adjusted her head against his shoulder as he settled more fully into his own seat again. 'Now that should be more comfortable…'
She heard the words above her head without their impact registering for a few seconds, and then, as she realised that he was asking nothing more, she felt burning colour start at her toes and fire upwards into every part of her body.
'Use my shoulder as a pillow and bring your feet up into the seat. You're so tiny it's like a bed to you anyway.'
He'd stopped. He'd stopped! She did as he suggested simply because her body had gone into automatic as her mind exploded with the knowledge that he was totally unaffected by the kiss. Those few minutes had been the most devastating of her life and he was as unruffled as always, composed and untroubled.
But he must have known how she felt, sensed her response… She bit her lip so tightly she was aware of the salty tang of blood in her mouth. Or had it all been a subtle kind of punishment for her thinking the worst of him? The same kind of thing she had sensed earlier, when he had lifted her into the car? Was he teaching her a lesson, showing her that he could have her compliant and docile in just a few minutes if he put his mind to it?
She almost groaned out loud. Because he could… Damn him, he could. Oh, this was ridiculous. Of course he couldn't. It would only have been a few moments more before she would have pulled away. Of course she would.
'Warm enough?' His voice was deep and cool and she could quite cheerfully have hit him for its steadiness. She managed a nod against his shoulder, not trusting her voice, which she was sure would be as shaky as the rest of her, and then everything else was forgotten as he began a rhythmic, soothing stroking of her hair. 'Try and get some sleep. It's been a long day and you must be exhausted.'
Exhausted? If the circumstances had been different she would have laughed out loud at the incongruity of calling her throbbing, volatile body 'exhausted'. There was a heat, a furore inside her that she had never experienced before, and she didn't have a clue how to handle it.
But then, as the minutes passed and she remained lying against him, the touch of his hand on her hair light and calming, she began to relax and her mind dulled. She couldn't think any more; it was too tiring… She was too battered, too confused…
CHAPTER FOUR
A Doctor, returning from an emergency call to an elderly patient, found them just after two, and by three Josie was back in her hotel room, lying in the warm, scented darkness, trying to force her mind back into the slumberous blankness she had felt in the car. But it was no good...
She watched as dawn began to weave streamers of gold and pink and mauve into the night sky, and then rose impatiently, padding through to the luxurious en suite bathroom and standing under the shower for a full ten minutes while she struggled to come to terms with her shattered emotions. As the warm, silky water splashed a velvety path over her face and body she gave herself a mental dressing-down that was all logic and sense—and didn't help an iota.
Her brain knew that Luke Hawkton was a brief hiccup in her life, that the devastating kiss and embrace in the car had meant nothing to him beyond a wish to comfort and reassure her in the unusual circumstances in which they had found themselves. Reason and sense added that she was just the same person she had been for the last twenty-eight years, and that she and she alone controlled her destiny.
He probably wasn't remotely, faintly interested in her anyway, not with all the sophisticated, worldly and undoubtedly beautiful women who had and still did grace his life and his bed. So why, when her mind knew all that, did she feel as though she was on a collision path with a brilliant black meteor that had a momentous power to ravage and destroy?
'Stop being so stupid…' She spoke out loud as she folded one of the massive fluffy bathsheets round her, her fingers all that visibly remained of the horrific accident that had almost taken her life.
She pulled back the towel as she walked through to the bedroom, pausing in front of the large full-length mirror and forcing her eyes to concentrate on her body, her gaze dissecting and ruthless.
The surgeon had been careful to do a good job. The scar was as low as he had been able to make it, flat and thin, barely noticeable now after thirteen years. Yes… he had done a good
job and had undoubtedly saved her life in the process. She nodded slowly at her reflection. And she was grateful to him for that, very grateful, although she hadn't been at the time.
Later, after her mother had died, she had gone back to the hospital to thank him properly for his skill and expertise, and most of all for his kindness to her when she had been less than appreciative. She still remembered the words he had spoken to her as they had sat in his office, bright sunlight spilling over his grey head from the window just behind him and his eyes full of compassion.
'I'm not going to pretend that your sense of loss at what might have been will ever completely fade, Josie, but I do know you will learn to accept what you can't change. In the initial days after the accident, when you were still in the coma, we tried everything we could to avoid taking such a drastic step, but the internal damage was too severe and surgery was the only option.'
She had nodded her understanding, her heart too full of pain and regret to allow her to speak without breaking down.
'Your parents knew what it would mean to you. They told me that since you were a toddler you'd adored first dolls and then babies, anything younger than yourself. Some girls, women, could adapt to their changed circumstances, but you will never fully do that; you'll team to live with it instead, you understand?'
She had nodded again, more vigorously this time, thankful that he hadn't parroted the empty platitudes she had heard so often in the last few months from well-meaning neighbours and friends.
'You have your eyes, your ears, your intellect, and a body that is healthy and young. It is up to you what you do with these gifts, but, knowing you as I do, I don't think you will let them go to waste. You have lost something irreplaceable, Josie, and the grief will always be there. To mourn is natural, my dear, but life has a way of compensating if you'll let it.'
'A way of compensating.' She pulled the towel tightly around her and sat down at the dressing table as she began to dry her hair. Yes, she had been doing all right in this adult-populated world she had carved out for herself. No, not had been, was. She wouldn't let it be any other way. It was up to her, Luke Hawkton or no Luke Hawkton.
'Good morning.' When Luke surfaced from behind his newspaper as the waiter pulled out her chair he gave no sign that he remembered the happenings of the night before in either his face or his voice. She had expected some form of awareness, mockery, even, of the patent vulnerability she had revealed at his kiss, but the hard male face was set in business mode and the deep voice was brisk and even. The cold, commanding, high-flying tycoon was back in full regalia, the fascinatingly sensual dinner companion a distant memory as she faced him across the breakfast table.
'Good morning.' She was aware that her colour was high, and as the waiter hovered for her order she concentrated on the menu and regained her composure before glancing at him again. It was the lowering of that newspaper that had done it, sent her body into an abrupt awareness of him as she had met the piercing silver-grey gaze so suddenly.
'I'm afraid I've already eaten.' He gestured to the plate that the waiter was just removing before ordering more coffee, his voice pleasant and natural. 'But perhaps we could share a pot of coffee before I dash off? I've a business appointment at nine at the other end of the city and they're sending a helicopter shortly.'
'Are they?' How the other half live, she thought silently. Travelling by helicopter to a business appointment clearly meant as little to him as catching the number fourteen bus to Piccadilly. 'I hope your meeting goes well,' she added politely as her senses registered the jet-black hair slicked back and gleaming with health, the harsh, rugged features that were far more attractive than any pretty-boy good looks.
'So do V He grimaced as he folded the newspaper before settling back in his chair in a way that indicated his ease with himself and the world about him. 'But it won't be very pleasant, at least not initially.
'I have the distinct impression I'm being backed into a corner by certain individuals and I don't like that, I don't like that at all, so it will have to be the tough-guy approach, with all guns firing. All's fair in love and war, but I won't allow myself or the company to be manipulated by anyone, and they might as well realise that straight off.'
She couldn't imagine how anyone would have the nerve to take such a liberty, ever, but she merely nodded a response as the waiter returned with a pot of steaming coffee.
'Are you satisfied with the way things are panning out, Josie?'
'What?' For a stunningly heart-stopping moment she thought he was referring to the night before, before common sense reasserted itself just in time for her to avoid making a complete fool of herself.
'Yes, I think so,' she said quickly, reaching for the cup of coffee he had just poured for her with a smile of thanks. 'Certainly all the main groundwork is straight in my mind, although I may need to liaise with someone in the know fairly frequently over the next few weeks. The fact that you are having the launch in your own grounds helps, of course, although caterers and suchlike tend to be booted months and months in advance these days. Have you a final completion date on the yacht yet?'
'The end of August.' He shook his head slowly. 'It's a little tight but it can't be helped; it will still give us a couple of months to play around with. Mike assures me that's more than enough time.'
Does he? Josie thought grimly. Well, it wasn't Mike who had the responsibility for pulling all the threads together on this one, was it? Mike, unfortunately, had a way of promising the moon at times to prospective clients, in an effort to get their business, and it didn't always bode well for his employees, who were left to pick up the pieces when something in an impossibly tight schedule went wrong.
'I wouldn't put it quite like that,' Josie said carefully. 'There is a great deal to organise and arrange, and the timetable will be a narrow one—'
'You aren't telling me you can't cope with it, are you?' Luke asked coolly.
'No, I'm not saying that.' Josie took a deep breath and forced a polite smile to her face. 'I'm just explaining that we have a great deal of work to do and very little time to do it.' She resented the way he had immediately assumed she couldn't handle the project, but knew she would get nowhere by letting her indignation show. 'But that is what you have employed me to sort out,' she added, with studied control.
'And you feel confident about the project?' He took a long swallow of black coffee. 'That you can please me?'
She eyed him for a moment before she spoke. With anyone else but him—anyone—she would have taken that question purely at face value, but there had been an inflexion in the deep, silky voice she was sure she hadn't imagined. But then his gaze fixed on her again and his face was quite expressionless.
She had to stop imagining things around this man, she told herself firmly; she really did. 'Of course. I wouldn't have accepted the job otherwise,' she replied with careful formality.
'No, silly of me to ask.' The silver eyes narrowed suddenly, but gave no indication of what he was thinking. 'Do you like boats?' he asked quietly.
'I haven't had much to do with any.' She forced a bright smile. 'Only a little rowing boat when I was younger, which wasn't quite in the same league as the Hawkton cruisers!'
'Oh, yes?' He straightened slightly in his seat, his voice interested but casual. 'And whose was that?'
She blinked slightly, suddenly aware that she didn't want to continue the conversation but unable to think of a way to deflect him from this trip into her past. 'My father's,' she said carefully. 'He was a great fishing enthusiast, and as I shared the bug we used to fish most weekends.' She looked down into her cup as she spoke, her body language making it dear the conversation was at an end, but he failed to take the hint.
'Was?' he asked gently.
'He died thirteen years ago.' She didn't glance up as she spoke, her long lashes shading her eyes from his gaze.
'I'm sorry.' There was a moment's pause and then he spoke again, his voice soft. 'That must have been a difficult time for yo
u.' You'll never know, she thought bitterly. 'And your mother?' he persisted when the silence stretched on.
'She died too, a year or so later.' In spite of all her efforts she was unable to keep her voice completely even, a slight throb that spoke of pain causing Luke's eyes to narrow still further into slits of silver light.
'Any brothers or sisters?'
'I was an only child,' she said flatly. 'As were my parents, which had made the Owens clan a very small one.'
'That's a shame. I approve of big families myself.' His voice sounded as though he was smiling but she didn't raise her gaze to his to find out. He was trying to be pleasant, she knew that, but she could do without it. He always seemed to manage to hit her on the raw. 'I always think the rough and tumble of family life knocks off the rough edges, don't you?'
'No.' The one word was abrupt, bordering on rudeness, and very final. 'Do you want me to fax the final calculations for the day's entertainment and the ball to you here when I've completed them?' Josie asked flatly as she raised her face to his. 'They will be accurate to within five per cent of the total figure.'
'That won't be necessary.' As the waiter arrived with Josie's toast and preserves Luke stood up; his voice was curt. 'I shall be back in England in a few days; they'll do then. Thank you for your help on this, Josie; I look forward to seeing you in the future.'
He left even as her goodbye still hovered on her lips, and as she watched him stride out of the restaurant she felt the strangest desire to call him back, before she rebuked herself sharply for such a dangerous weakness. She was doing some promotional work for him. That was all. That was all.
Back in England, she continued to talk logic and sense to herself all week, and the fact that she was immersed in the Night Hawk project helped enormously. She was exhausted by the time she flopped into bed each night but she didn't mind the twelve- to fourteen-hour days that the project warranted. She knew the chaos would the down after the first ten days or so, when all the main points were under control, allowing the theme to emerge.
