GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY

by Beverly Barton

  "You're crazy! I don't want Rorie Dean. I wouldn't take her virginity, if she begged me to take it."

  Sam eyed Hawk skeptically. "You're protesting a little too vehemently."

  "Hell! The woman's not my type. I told you, she's plump and soft and sweet. And she's inexperienced. I like 'em long and lean and mean. When I take a woman to bed, I expect her to know what she's doing. "

  "So, considering the fact that Ms. Dean is totally unsuitable—" Sam cleared his throat "—for the mission, you're going to sabotage her plans to accompany you. You're going to make her training so difficult that she'll have no choice but to give up and let you win."

  "I'm going to do it for her own good as well as mine. If I took her into San Miguel, she'd only wind up getting herself killed and probably me along with her."

  "How honest have you been with her about your past?" Sam asked. "Does she know about your connection to Emilio Santos?"

  "All she knows is that I used to work for the government and that I spent some time in San Miguel on an assignment. Since she's not going with me, I didn't see any need for her to know."

  "And if somehow she passes your test and you have to take her with—"

  "That won't happen."

  "All right." Sam walked toward the beach.

  Hawk followed alongside Sam. "Is everything set? The boat? The supplies? Has Murdock been contacted? Will he be ready for me?"

  "Everything is ready. All you have to do is say when. Murdock's put out feelers. He's trying to find out where young Prince Francisco is and what it'll take to—"

  "What do you mean? Isn't the kid living with his grandfather?"

  "Murdock said his informers tell him that no one has seen the prince for nearly a month, that there's a good chance King Julio has sent the boy into hiding to protect him."

  "Damn! Now, not only will I have to figure out a way to get the boy, I'll have to find him first. Does Murdock have any idea where Frankie is now?"

  "Not a clue, but Murdock says King Julio made a smart move, sending the kid away. It looks as if everything is about to blow sky-high. The rebels will probably take La Vega within the next few weeks."

  Hawk kicked the sand beneath his feet. "I need to get into San Miguel now, find the kid and get him out. And I could, if I didn't have to deal with a damn, irrational woman!"

  "Take her with you and you can leave tomorrow."

  "I am not taking her with me!"

  * * *

  Rorie knew what couples in love looked like and how they acted. She'd been around Peter and Cipriana for nearly a year before their deaths. And even after more than thirty years of marriage, there was still a magical quality to her parents' relationship. But she had never felt so left out, so totally separate and apart from the wonders of love, as she felt sitting through lunch with the Dundees and the Landrys. The unguarded touches. The lingering glances. The tender smiles.

  And she had the strangest notion that Gabriel Hawk felt as out of place as she did—perhaps even more so.

  "Make yourselves at home," Jeannie told Rorie and Hawk as she bade them farewell on the veranda.

  "If you need Manton for anything, let him know," Sam said. "Otherwise, he'll stay out of your way. You'll hardly know he's around."

  Elizabeth waved goodbye, her gaze locking with Rorie's for one brief instant. She mouthed the words, "Be strong."

  Jeannie reached out, took Rorie's hand and squeezed gently. "It can be yours, too."

  Rorie gasped, realizing that Jeannie had sensed her desire for love—the passionate, earth-shattering love Jeannie shared with Sam.

  "Have a safe trip," Rorie said.

  She prayed that no one else had guessed what Jeannie's cryptic statement meant. But in the hustle and bustle of departure, she doubted that even Hawk had overheard. She wasn't ashamed of the longing she had kept buried deep within her heart for such a long time; it was just that she didn't want to appear weak and vulnerable—perhaps even romantically foolish—to others. Especially not to Hawk. She doubted he would understand. He didn't seem the type to whom love and marriage and a family meant a great deal.

  Hawk stood on the veranda behind Rorie, watching while the Dundees and Landrys headed for the docks to load into the Dundees' big cruiser. It was a family holiday to take the little kiddies to Walt Disney World—and Sam and Reece acted as if they really were looking forward to spending two weeks trapped in fantasyland with their wives and children. The very thought of it made Hawk shudder. He had never been on a family vacation, even as a kid. Hell, he'd never had a family. Not a real one. Just a succession of foster homes.

  All this idealistic happily-ever-after was a crock. No! For Sam and Jeannie, as well as for Reece and Elizabeth, it was the real thing. But for the life of him, he couldn't understand how a guy like Sam Dundee had let one soft, delicate woman wrap him around her little finger. Of course, Jeannie wasn't just any woman. She was nothing like the women he and Sam had known over the years. Special women like Jeannie, women who knew how to give instead of take, to love one man till the day they died, the ones who wanted marriage and kids—those were the ones a smart guy stayed away from.

  "Well, they're gone," Rorie said.

  Hawk glanced at the woman standing beside him. The late-afternoon sun bathed her in a shimmering gold light, creating a transparent nimbus around her entire body. Aurora Dean looked radiant. Her yellow hair hung about her shoulders like a spun-sugar cloud and her lush, womanly body filled out—to perfection—the simple, little blue cotton dress she wore.

  La dama dorado, he thought for the second time that day. Rorie was a golden lady. Hawk shook his head to dislodge such ridiculous notions. Thinking that there was something undeniably unique about a woman was what got a man in trouble. Rorie Dean wasn't the kind of woman he could take to his bed and then dismiss.

  Clearing his throat loudly, Hawk looked away, out at the ocean. He didn't want to have sex with Rorie! She wasn't his type.

  "So, what do we do for the rest of the day?" she asked.

  If you were just about any other woman, I know exactly what we'd do for the rest of the day. "I suggest you enjoy yourself doing whatever you want. Today will be your last day of freedom for the next two weeks."

  "Then I think I'll take a long walk on the beach before it gets dark," she said. "I have a great deal to think about."

  "All right. I'll see you in the morning." He turned toward the front door.

  "Aren't we eating supper together tonight?" she asked.

  "There's no reason why we should, is there? After all, we'll spend more than enough time together over the next fourteen days."

  "Fine, then. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Five o'clock sharp," he told her. "For a run on the beach and a swim in the pool before breakfast. Then we'll really get to work on trimming you up and training you for action."

  Glaring at him, she smiled, hoping to disguise her irritation. She wanted to tell him that she knew what he was trying to do. But she kept silent. The moment Hawk opened the front door, she turned and rushed down the steps and out into the yard.

  As she walked along the beach, she kept remembering every word that Elizabeth and Jeannie had said to her. The success of the mission for which she'd hired Hawk as a guide and bodyguard would depend on her. On her strength. She could not fail. Frankie's life depended on her. And if Elizabeth Landry was right, so did Hawk's.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  When Rorie marched into the house, after her long walk on the beach, she felt fortified, confident and prepared for whatever happened tomorrow. Times of solitude, meditation and prayer always helped her to focus and return to her daily life energized and ready to conquer the world. She had been called an optimist, a dreamer, even a Pollyanna. And perhaps she was all these things; but beneath the happy smile and the can-do attitude, existed the heart of a realist. Just because she preferred to look on the bright side, didn't mean she wasn't aware that a dark side exis
ted.

  "Hawk," she called out when she entered the foyer. No response. "Hawk?"

  She heard only the sound of the ocean waves mating with the shore in the distance and the distinct tick-tock of the giant grandfather clock in the front parlor.

  "He's probably holed up in his room, plotting my torture," she said aloud to herself, as she made her way down the hallway and into the kitchen. "I don't know why the Good Lord couldn't have sent me a more gentlemanly guardian angel."

  The big sunny-yellow kitchen boasted an array of modern appliances, yet still maintained the charm of yesteryear. An antique table and chairs had been strategically placed so that diners could view the sunset through the French doors leading to the back veranda.

  When she started to open the refrigerator door, she saw a note attached with a magnet. She read the message without removing the paper. Eat whatever you want tonight and enjoy it. It'll be your last supper, so to speak. In the morning, I'm putting you on a diet. Get a good night's sleep. Remember, wakeup is at five o'clock.

  "'I'm putting you on a diet!'" She grabbed the note off the refrigerator and crumbled it into a wad. "There is no end to his means of torture. Strenuous exercise. Dieting. Up at the crack of dawn. Gabriel Hawk is a bully … a tyrant … a devil … and the man who is going to take me to San Miguel to rescue Frankie."

  She tossed Hawk's note into the garbage, then opened the refrigerator and found a prepared plate of chicken salad, surrounded by slices of tropical fruit. She removed the plate and a pitcher of iced tea and placed them on the table. No doubt, Manton had set aside her dinner. She couldn't imagine Hawk preparing the delectable plate of food for her.

  After dinner, Rorie explored her suite of rooms and got the oddest sensation that she was dreaming. That she had dreamed her trip to the island with Hawk. Had dreamed her conversations with Jeannie and Elizabeth. And now she was dreaming that she was a guest in this beautiful paradise.

  Maybe today and tonight were dreams, but tomorrow those dreams would turn into nightmares. Hawk would see to that.

  Rorie took a bubble bath in the luxurious whirlpool tub and used the scented toiletries Jeannie had left in a basket for guests. After putting on her gown, Rorie read for a while, then turned out the lights and went to bed.

  Tormented with memories of the day Frankie was stolen from her arms, thoughts of her parents' worried faces when she'd said goodbye to them yesterday and images of a big, dark and imposing taskmaster, her mind refused her request to sleep. If only she could turn off her mind the way she could flip off a light switch. If only she could stop thinking, stop worrying, stop torturing herself with doubts. Would she be able to survive Hawk's two weeks of training? And if she did, would he keep his word and take her to San Miguel? Would they be able to find Frankie and bring him safely back to the United States?

  Tossing and turning endlessly, Rorie finally flung back the covers and got out of bed. Switching on a table lamp, she nestled on the window seat and looked outside. Countless tiny, sparkling stars studded the ebony night sky like diamond chips on black velvet. The quarter-moon cast a minimum of light. The ocean's heartbeat drummed rhythmically every time the waves kissed the beach.

  * * *

  Hawk rolled up the maps of San Miguel that Sam had left for him and tossed them into a stack in the corner of the room. From the most recent information Murdock had sent, Hawk knew there were now only two possible ways to get into San Miguel undetected. Both meant going by boat, at night. One meant scaling the fifteen-hundred foot-high limestone cliffs on the windward coast. Hawk remembered the thicket wreathing those bluffs, where ceaseless winds and ocean spray shaped the terrain. Considering that route risky and time-consuming, he decided his best bet was the other alternative—anchoring a boat at least five miles off the coast, then taking a raft past the coral reefs and swimming the last half-mile to the deserted, scalloped stretch of volcanic sand-covered beach still patrolled by the king's army. Murdock could take care of the patrol and have a jeep waiting for them.

  If it weren't for Rorie Dean's irrational stubbornness, he would set his plans into motion and be in San Miguel by tomorrow night. Instead, he was stuck here on Le Bijou Bleu, with a woman he couldn't take to his bed. And he faced a possible two weeks of going through the motions of training the woman for a mission that, come hell or high water, he was not going to allow her to undertake.

  Retrieving his shave kit from his canvas bag, he headed for the bath across the hall—the bath his room shared with the third downstairs bedroom. He glanced up the corridor and noticed a light under Rorie's door. She was still awake. It was nearly midnight. He was used to getting by on a few hours' sleep when he was on an assignment, but he was sure she was accustomed to eight hours of rest. What the hell was she doing still up?

  Maybe she was already having second thoughts about this ridiculous training routine and was prepared to go home and let him handle the job alone. Opening the bathroom door, he tossed his case on the vanity, then walked down the hall to Rorie's closed door. He hesitated momentarily, then knocked. When he received no response, he knocked again, louder.

  "Yes? Who is it?" Rorie possessed that slow, syrupy drawl many Southern women had, a seductive-yet-unintentional invitation in the tone.

  "It's Hawk. May I come in?"

  She opened the door cautiously and peeked out into the hallway. He grasped the edge of the door, not completely sure she wouldn't slam the door in his face.

  "You're up awfully late, aren't you?" he asked.

  "So are you," she said.

  She didn't move out of the doorway and indicate for him to come in, so he took a step toward her and grinned when she backed up and out of his way.

  He tried not to notice the way she looked, all soft and feminine in her floor-length pink cotton gown, edged with lace. He tried to ignore the way she smelled, all sweet and fresh and flowery. And he tried to pretend that he didn't find this plump little Southern belle a delectable temptation. But his body couldn't ignore the seduction of hers. He damned his own uncontrollable reaction when his sex hardened.

  Get yourself under control, he warned himself. You don't really want this woman. She's not your type. You can live two weeks without having sex. You won't have any trouble finding a willing woman in San Miguel. La Vega, the capital city, has an abundance of Latin lovelies.

  Hawk eyed the rumpled covers on the bed. "Couldn't sleep?"

  "No. I was restless."

  "Something wrong?" he asked.

  "I had too much on my mind."

  "Not having second thoughts about our deal, are you?" He wished she would move over a couple of feet and get out of the direct line of lamplight that silhouetted her form through her modest-but-thin cotton gown. He could see every round, luscious inch of her body. The contours of her broad hips. The curve of her firm, womanly rear end. The ripe swell of her full breasts. The outline of her shapely legs.

  "Second thoughts?" Rorie's breath caught in her throat. Moisture coated the palms of her unsteady hands. Her heartbeat thumped a little too loudly in her ears.

  She wanted him to leave, to go back to his room and out of her sight. She wasn't used to having a man in her bedroom late at night, with her wearing nothing but a gown. Actually, she wasn't used to a man being in her bedroom at all. And to make matters worse, Gabriel Hawk wasn't just any man. He was overwhelmingly, dangerously attractive in the most basic, primitive way a man could be.

  He stood there, only a few steps away from her, his feet bare, his unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely around his hips, and a thick strand of his long, black hair falling over his shoulder, the tips brushing one tiny male nipple. Rorie deliberately avoided looking any lower than his waist or higher than his knees. She couldn't ogle this man simply because he was good-looking.

  A pink flush rose up her neck and onto her face. Turning from him, she glanced away, out the windows, hoping he wouldn't notice her embarrassment. She didn't want Hawk to think she was interested in him—in that way. She wasn't
. But if he thought she was, he would probably laugh in her face. A man like Hawk wouldn't want a woman like her any more than she wanted him. If ever two people were from different worlds, with opposing sets of morals and life-styles, those two people were Gabriel Hawk and herself.

  Rorie heard his footsteps on the wooden floor as he walked up behind her. She drew in a deep, calming breath and held it. Please, dear God, don't let him touch me.

  "There's no need for you to put yourself through days of torture, when we both know I can't whip you into shape, into fighting form, in two weeks." Hawk gripped her shoulder, then wished he hadn't. Her skin was silky soft yet youthfully firm. Being this close, he could smell not only the flowery scent of the toiletries she'd used, but the sweet, inviting aroma of the woman herself. "I can put you on a bus or a plane for Chattanooga tomorrow," he told her. "And I can be in San Miguel by tomorrow night."

  Rorie tensed. His hand was big and hard, and although his touch was gentle, she sensed the lethal power in his grip. This man probably could break her in two with very little effort. She didn't doubt that he was capable of snapping her neck like a twig. But the fear she felt when his flesh touched hers was not fear for her physical safety, but a deep, primordial, woman's fear of man. He could take her if he wanted and she would be powerless to stop him. And she had to admit that the thought that she might not want to stop him was what scared her more than anything.

  She pulled away from him, moving directly in front of the big windows that overlooked the ocean. "Are you trying to back out of our deal, Hawk?"

  "No, I'm not trying to back out," he said. "I'm just giving you a chance to change your mind before we waste both your time and mine."

  She gazed out the windows at the barely visible ocean, illuminated by only the faint glimmer of pale moonlight.

  "You promised me that if I could survive two weeks of training, you'd take me to San Miguel." She squared her shoulders and turned to face him. "I have to go to San Miguel, so I will find a way to survive the next fourteen days. No matter what you put me through, I won't give up. If you think that just because my body isn't sleek and lean and toned to perfection, I'm going to fail your fitness test, then think again. When a person wants something as badly as I want to get to San Miguel, she will do whatever is necessary."