"Soldiers?"
"An expression, although I'm sure most of them have had some sort of military training. It would be safer for everyone if you didn't try leaving again."
"Afraid I'll get myself killed trying to escape?"
"Yes."
She blanched momentarily, then fought back. "And you want me to believe you brought me here for my protection?"
He did the deep-breathing thing again. "We'll get back to that later. At the moment we're discussing sleeping arrangements—"
"No, you're giving orders, none of which I find appealing." She turned her head to look out into the black night beyond the window and saw her reflection in silhouette with Hawk's. It was disconcerting, the amount of patience he was obviously exercising, when all he really had to do was tie her up and toss her onto the bed as he had the night before.
He didn't have to be reasonable and explain himself, she knew. Nor did he have to argue with her. He didn't even have to be nice to her. With a shiver, she realized how much worse it might have been if he'd let one of Sammy's men fetch her from the rhododendrons and force her back to the cottage. Hawk had accomplished the deed with unruffled tact.
He was being kind, yet it didn't change the fact that she was his prisoner. She glared at his reflection, then turned and did it again face-to-face. "I'm not going to make this easy for you."
"I didn't think you would," he said mildly, "but that doesn't stop me from trying to make it easier for you."
She barely kept herself from flinching when he trailed a single finger down her cheek, then held the fingertip up for her to see. It was brown with dirt from the rhododendron patch. "You need a bath, Angel. I'm not going to force you, but I do want a shower and I'm going to take it in precisely one hour."
"And if I don't wish to bathe?" she asked.
Hawk leaned a little closer and sniffed. "Then I guess I'll just have to get used to it. Either way, we're sleeping in that bed together tonight and every other night until I say otherwise."
She could no more stop the panic that leaped into her eyes than Hawk could help seeing it.
"I don't know what words will reassure you," he said. "What is it you want me to say?"
"I don't know."
He thought about it for a moment, and knew he couldn't be closeted for days on end with a woman who looked at him through a cloud of mistrust and fear. It was time, he decided, for another level of honesty . . . and he wondered how he knew Angela would respond positively to it.
"Is it because you know I'm attracted to you that makes you not trust what I say?"
Her eyes widened in alarm, and she shook her head vigorously. "But you're not—"
"Yes, I am," he interrupted. "You're a beautiful woman, Angela. A very, very desirable one, though now is perhaps not the time to tell you precisely why. Suffice it to say, my physical response to you is strong and absolute."
If possible, her eyes widened even further. "If this is meant to reassure me, I have to tell you it's not working."
He checked the automatic chuckle and continued to hold her nervous gaze. Her small, fine-boned hands were clenched in her lap, and he covered them with one of his— not because he actually thought she'd hit him, but because he felt that by touching her, she might sense the honesty of his words. A fine tremor radiated from her hands to his, a warmth that was strangely satisfying.
He was inordinately pleased when she didn't pull away, proud that she managed to keep her fears and trepidation under control.
"I've never been so hungry for a woman that I've felt the need to force an unwilling one," he said slowly. "And even though I find you incredibly attractive and exciting, even though I want you so much I can hardly think of anything else when I'm with you, I won't do anything about it"
She managed to blush and look stunned at the same time. "That's impossible."
"That I won't do anything?" He shrugged negligently. "Difficult, yes. But not impossible."
"That's not what I meant. You hardly know me."
"I don't have to know you to want you. This is a physical thing we're talking about here, Angel. It doesn't require the emotional depth that a long acquaintance would bring." Hawk knew he knew her better than he was admitting, but also knew that saying so wouldn't help his argument. Telling Angela that her bravery, her defiance, and her smart, sexy mouth were part of the package that tantalized his senses would be a tactical error.
When she didn't immediately respond, he said, "You can't have it both ways, Angela. First you're worried that I'm going to rape you, then you're surprised when I admit to wanting you. Which is it going to be?"
She looked at him crossly. "I'm going to take a shower. Move."
Keeping any sign of victory or satisfaction from his expression, he got up and went over to the chair where more clothes were draped in plastic bags. "I'll hang these in the closet. There should be something here you can wear tomorrow if you decide you want to."
"Sammy keeps a change of clothes for all his surprise guests?"
"I imagine he's discovered that it's sometimes more discreet to have things available than to have to go looking for them."
"You've obviously taken lessons from him."
His brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"
"The sports bag from hell," she returned without missing a beat. "Last night, I was beginning to think it was bottomless."
"And now that you've gone through it, what do you think?"
He looked more than naturally curious, and she wondered what she'd missed. It was worth, she decided, a second look.
"I think," she said, "that I was much better off never even imagining people like you and Sammy existed."
He nodded as though he agreed, but only said, "I thought you'd prefer washing out your own underthings to wearing what Sammy had on hand."
"Couldn't find anything to fit me?" she asked, intending to goad but failing.
His smile was gentle and more dangerous than anything she'd seen yet. "I assume he has whole drawerfuls of the stuff, but given your state of mind, I thought you'd prefer wearing your own bits of lace and satin."
She opened her mouth to ask how he knew so much about what she wore under her clothes, then blushed hot and red as she remembered his intimate assistance the night before. She had to take several deep breaths before she was able to speak, and when she did, she pretended she hadn't noticed his ungentlemanly reference. "The only thing wrong with my state of mind is the location of my body. I don't want to be here."
"And I can't let you go, so we're at an impasse."
She snagged the pink nightgown in one hand and stood at the bedroom door waiting for him to hang up the clothes, her bare foot tapping soundlessly on the carpet. Hawk no sooner exited the bedroom than she slipped past him and shut the door on his back. Loudly.
The ghost of a smile touched his lips as he went over to the liquor cabinet and poured a finger of Scotch into a heavy cut-glass tumbler. Taking a healthy gulp, Hawk congratulated himself for using Angela's own tactics against her: He'd set out to confuse her—never, of course, veering from the truth—and had succeeded brilliantly.
The fact that she did it to him with less effort than it took to breathe didn't diminish the sweet taste of victory.
* * *
Confusion was one of those gnarly sensations that was as unfamiliar to Angela as being out of control. She was pretty sure she didn't like it, but decided it was better than not feeling anything at all—which was precisely what she'd be experiencing if one of Sammy's men got trigger-happy. Guiding the disposable razor up her shin and over her knee, she thought about the man named Hawk and wondered how he'd react to the cold shower she planned for him. By the time she'd soaked in the steaming bath and washed her hair under the shower, she doubted there would be a drop of hot water left in the tank.
He would have no one but himself to blame. He had, after all, insisted she go first.
Angela sighed almost contentedly, then reached forward to add another splash of boiling water to the tub.
Condemning Hawk to a cold shower was a small enough act of defiance, but all she could manage at the moment. Except for taking first dibs on the razor, but that was minor. It would still do the necessary job on his face once she'd finished with her legs, but she felt a certain satisfaction knowing it wouldn't be brand-new sharp.
I want you so much I can hardly think of anything else when I'm with you.
Despite the almost achingly hot water, Angela shivered. The heat in his eyes as he'd said those words had shocked her to the core, stirring feelings that had nothing to do with the fear and frustration she'd felt from the moment he'd taken control of her life. She shifted uneasily in the water, determined to ignore the fluttering deep in her belly that in other circumstances would be a valid confirmation of her own sexual response.
In other circumstances, not these. Hawk had threatened her life, and it was outrageous to view him from any perspective other than as his unwilling prisoner. Still, it was impossible to ignore the subdued courtesy with which he'd treated her from the moment he'd realized she wasn't one of the bad guys—whoever they were. With the singular exception of his reference to her lingerie, now clean and drying on the heated towel rack, he'd been firm instead of harsh. Considerate, not careless.
Somehow, paying him back with a cold shower didn't seem quite fair, not when he'd made an effort to provide her with basic comforts. It was that dilemma that absorbed her thoughts, confusing a picture that should have been black and white.
Then there was the issue of control. From the moment she'd picked up that gun in the garage, Hawk had taken charge of her life. She wasn't a woman who gave up control easily—never entirely, and certainly never against her will. With brutal efficiency, he'd stolen away that which she wouldn't dream of giving anyone. And with an ease that took her breath away, he held on to what he'd taken. Her life was in his hands and there was nothing she could do or say to change that.
My physical response to you is strong and absolute.
Another shiver racked her body, a reaction that was as purely sexual as Hawk's response to her. Angela had never been one to lie to herself, but at this particular point in her life she was tempted. It wasn't, she mused, that she didn't already have enough to worry about that a tiny lie shouldn't pass unremarked.
Unfortunately, the lie wasn't tiny. Her body's awareness of Hawk was too strong to ignore, now that he had confronted her with his own attraction.
I've never been so hungry for a woman that I've felt the need to force an univilling one.
He'd said it with a quiet insistence that made her want to believe his words. She needed to believe, if only to keep a sense of sanity in a situation that was already too bizarre for logic and reason. Strangely, she almost took comfort in his frankly sexual disclosure. He desired her, but he wasn't going to do anything about it.
Hawk was in control, of himself as well as the situation.
She believed him, and that did surprise her until she recognized that the source of that belief was her own intuition. She'd always prided herself on being a good judge of character.
She was also intensely practical. Last night Hawk had kidnapped and terrorized her. Today he'd kept her prisoner on the grounds that it was for her own protection. He'd made a mistake—believing she was part of an attempt on his life—had admitted the mistake, but the resulting consequences kept him from releasing her.
It made sense, if only because any other explanation failed her. Why else would he do what he'd done last night, then turn around and feign concern for her well-being? It would, she thought, be useful to understand why he'd mistaken her for an assassin. That rather peculiar leap in logic wouldn't occur to most people.
She recalled that Hawk had tried to explain earlier and she hadn't let him. She'd been too consumed by fear—not to mention general annoyance at his usurping her control—to listen. She'd closed her ears, not wanting to hear anything from a man who had, very recently, given every appearance of trying to kill her.
Putting the razor aside, Angela lay back until the waters lapped gently at her breasts, her head cushioned on a towel and her hands resting on the cool porcelain. She was alive and reasonably well, and it was the future she should be concerned with, not the past. It didn't matter that she believed Hawk had made a genuine mistake last night. It wasn't even relevant that he was being kind and considerate in an effort to make up for unwarranted abuses. Her startling attraction to him notwithstanding, she couldn't care less if he was a good guy or bad guy or something in between.
All that was important was that she put as much distance between herself and him as was possible. She didn't belong here any more than people like Hawk and Sammy belonged in her safe, ordinary world. Perhaps, she mused, a new opportunity for escape would present itself in the morning. Failing that, she'd make Hawk's life so uncomfortable he'd let her go in self-defense. With that positive thought, she flicked the drain lever with her big toe and watched as a tiny whirlpool danced between her feet.
Climbing out of the tub on legs made wobbly from extended parboiling, she pulled out the pin that held her hair in a loose knot and shook it free. Her gaze landed on the razor, and she grinned as a naughty idea occurred to her. After a moment's thought as she considered not the if, but the how, she pulled open a vanity drawer. She knelt on the cool tiles, ducked under the drawer, and ran the fragile blade up and down the wooden spar beneath it. When she was satisfied with the results, she rinsed the razor and put it back where she'd found it.
With a bottle of shampoo in one hand and a facecloth in the other, she stepped into the luxurious shower stall and closed the glass door behind her. On the off chance she'd already used up most of the available hot water, she washed and rinsed her hair in a moderate rush.
She could have taken her time. It took what seemed an eternity before there was, at last, a noticeable reduction in temperature. She got out in a hurry before it cooled too much. It wouldn't do, she thought, for Hawk to test the water and decide to wait. Let him get good and settled before he realized there might be a problem.
She wrapped a towel around her head, then pulled on the pink gown, which covered her knees and everything else more or less adequately. Then she put on one of the thick terry robes hanging on the back of the door, picked up her dirty clothing, and was about to leave when she remembered the lingerie she'd left to dry. The panties, bra, and knee-high stockings were still damp, but she scooped them up all the same and tucked them out of sight.
Sharing a bed with the man was one thing. Leaving her underwear flapping in the breeze—so to speak—was quite another.
She took another few seconds to search through the cabinets and drawers, then added a blow dryer and comb to her pile and left the bathroom to Hawk.
* * *
It was nearly midnight when Hawk pulled a short-sleeved Henley knit over his head and tucked it into the clean black jeans Sammy had supplied along with everything else before emerging from the bedroom. He found Angela on the window seat with her knees drawn up to her chest and her fingers curled around a cobalt china mug. Her hair lay thick and soft on her shoulders, the ends curling about halfway down her back, and her face was once again scrubbed clean and bright. The only part of her that wasn't completely covered by the thick white robe was her toes, and only the very tips of those were visible.
She looked cozy and warm, and—with good reason, he reckoned—smug.
He paused just outside the door to give her a good look at the jagged red cut on his jaw where he'd tried to drag the razor through his beard. A shadow of emotion clouded her expression, but it was gone before he could decide whether it was regret or black satisfaction. He didn't really care, except that little tricks like that could achieve surprisingly nasty results. If she'd tried that with anyone less . . . understanding, the backlash might have been more than she could handle.
As it was, he was more annoyed about the hot water—or lack of it—than the razor. Besides, he blamed himself for not checking the blade in the first pla
ce. If he'd learned anything, it was that Angela was a brave, bright, and somewhat bullheaded woman.
It was his own fault he'd nearly sliced off his ear.
"Have a nice shower?" she asked.
He was so surprised that she spoke to him without being prompted, he decided to chalk up the cold shower as his own fault too. It wasn't as though he hadn't noticed she'd been in the bathroom well past her allotted time. He should have suspected she was up to something.
He shoved his hands into his back pockets and nodded amiably. "Yes, thank you. Is that coffee you're drinking?"
"Chocolate." Her voice was low and uncertain, and her gaze narrowed on him. "I can't drink coffee at night."
She said it as though she wasn't aware that chocolate was also loaded with caffeine. Hawk just nodded again and went into the kitchen where he found a jar of decaf. After plugging in the electric kettle, he looked in the refrigerator and cabinets for something to eat. He settled on cheese and bread, and asked Angela if she wanted any.
"Maybe later," she said, leaving him to wonder just how long she planned on staying up. Although he'd slept away most of the afternoon, he wanted to get his body clock back on schedule. There was work to do tomorrow and he needed to be fully awake for it. Six uninterrupted hours of sleep would be helpful. He cut off a few slices of cheese and bread, set them on a plate, and put the rest away. Then he poured boiling water into the mug and stirred until the coffee dissolved.
"I hope you don't mind," he said, "but I'd like to be in bed in another hour."
"And if I do mind?" She looked up at him as he carried the plate to the coffee table in front of the sofa and sat down.
He popped a piece of the smoky Edam into his mouth and considered his answer carefully. "The sooner we both get on a regular schedule, the better we'll cope." He paused, expecting rebuttal. He got laughter, full and ripe and sensuous.
He managed not to choke, but it took great effort.
"I don't know about the world you live in, Hawk, but mine isn't organized according to regular anything. I work sixteen-hour days for two or three months running, then go flat out for however long the meeting lasts, usually three or four days. Odd hours are my life."
Night of the Hawk (LS 767) Page 9
