Elusive Lover

by Carole Mortimer

  Josh walked over and sat down beside her

  "So what did you do with your day?" His tone was friendly, his closeness unnerving.

  But Erin refused to be unnerved.

  "I didn't spend it in Dave’s bed!" she snapped.

  Josh smiled infuriatingly. "I know that. I'm still waiting for my hello kiss," he said softly.

  "Then you can go—” Her protest was cut off by his mouth being placed firmly over hers. It was a kiss he intended taking full pleasure from, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue, the kiss deepening, taking on new dimensions as her mouth opened to accept the intimacy of his. Erin was dazed when at last he raised his head. "Lesson number one," he smiled.

  "How did l do?" She saw his eyes widen, as if surprised by her calmness. This afternoon she had decided to accept her fate, and she would keep to that decision.

  Elusive Lover

  Harlequin Presents first edition December 1982

  ISBN 0-373-10556-8

  Original hardcover edition published in 1982

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  Copyright © 1982 by Carole Mortimer. All rights reserved.

  Philippine copyright 1982. Australian copyright 1982.

  Cover illustration copyright © 1982 by Tom Bjarnason Inc.

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada MSB 3K9.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The Harlequin trademarks, consisting of the words HARLEQUIN PRESENTS and the portrayal of a Harlequin, are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited and are registered in the Canada Trade Marks Office; the portrayal of a Harlequin is registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office.

  Printed in U.S.A.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ERIN groaned with weariness. One more room to do and she could finish for the day. So much for finishing by four- thirty! It was after that now, and as the person had checked out of this last room it was going to take at least half an hour to clean it thoroughly.

  She unlocked the door, and the mess that met her gaze made her groan anew. Whoever had occupied this motel room last night had obviously thrown a party; the air was stale with cigarette smoke and empty beer bottles littered every conceivable surface.

  She left the door open to clear the stale air, and started to clear the beer bottles. This room was worse than they usually were, she would never finish tonight! When Mike Johnston, the owner of the motel, had employed her two weeks ago he hadn’t told her that his wife, the other cleaner, was more often out shopping than she was actually doing any work. He hadn’t told her to expect constant sexual advances from him either!

  It had all sounded so good—but then what wouldn’t after serving greasy hamburgers in an even greasier restaurant for six weeks! Cleaning and vacuuming a few motel rooms had seemed so easy by comparison. The hours had been straight eight-thirty until four-thirty, with two clear days off a week, as a waitress she had been working shift hours, and more often than not her days off were counted as compulsory overtime. The trouble was the same thing was happening here, plus she had to fight off the advances of the men who stayed here, men who seemed to think that their rent for the night included making love to the maid in the morning.

  The most recent one had been only this morning, a young boy of her own age who had tried to pull her into bed with him. Not that he hadn’t been good-looking—he had; she just didn’t go in for the casual sex these men expected of her.

  The idea of coming to Canada had seemed so exciting—to actually visit the place where she had been born, had lived in until she was three years old, when her parents had emigrated to England. And Canada itself was lovely, especially the part of Alberta she was living in, but it was also expensive to live in Calgary, the cost of living here one of the highest in the country, and the two demanding jobs she had managed to find for herself had given her little time to go out and enjoy herself.

  Mike Johnston, her boss, had offered her what he considered a form of entertainment. His form of entertainment didn’t coincide with hers, and his advances were becoming more and more difficult to repulse in a joking manner, and he had implied that if she didn’t soon give him what he wanted then she could start walking.

  ‘Is this twenty-six, honey?’

  Erin turned at the sound of that huskily attractive voice, the pleasant Canadian drawl she had come to love. Her eyes widened as she took in the man’s appearance, the worn leather boots, the faded tight-fitting denims, the matching denim jacket worn over a red and black checked shirt, the thick black hair partly concealed by the brown cowboy hat, something a lot of Calgarian men seemed to wear, this man looked perfectly natural wearing it.

  Her gaze returned to his face, a face deeply tanned, a square jaw jutting out firmly, a deep cleft in its centre, the well-shaped mouth now curved into an enquiring smile, the nose hawkish, the eyes deep-set beneath jutting dark brows, the colour of the eyes hard to distinguish from this distance, but they were definitely a light colour, blue or possibly green.

  His very presence seemed to fill the shabby room, and Erin shivered with apprehension. Something about this man unnerved her. He wasn’t a holidaymaker, she was sure of that, and yet he wasn’t one of the rough young crowd they often had staying here either. The inability to put him into a category worried her, made her unsure of how she should act with him. He was aged about the midthirties mark, very good-looking in an outdoor sort of way, and surely wasn’t one of those men who liked to make passes. Maybe he was in town from one of the ranches, he looked as if that sort of life——

  ‘Well?’ he tersely interrupted her thoughts, easing the holdall more comfortably on to one of his broad shoulders.

  ‘I—er——’ Erin blinked hard. ‘Sorry?’ she asked lamely.

  He raised his eyebrows, sighing his impatience. ‘Is this room twenty-six?’ he repeated his first question.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded eagerly, feeling more and more stupid by the moment, knowing she was making an idiot of herself, but unable to do anything about it.

  She felt decidedly dirty in the denims and cotton top she had worn to work this morning, her blonde hair tumbling from the elastic band she secured it with while she was working, looking younger than her nineteen years with her make-up-less face and snub nose covered in freckles. She felt about fifteen, and knew she must look it too.

  The man’s lids lowered slightly, the lashes thick, and the colour of jet, like his overlong hair. ‘Then why does it say twenty-nine on the door?’ he drawled, walking inside to deposit the holdall on the unmade bed, his nose wrinkling with distaste at the mess that surrounded them.

  ‘I—it does?’ Erin frowned, walking to the door. She put up her hand to the nine and twisted it round. As soon as she took her hand away it slipped back round to the nine position. She wiped her hands nervously down her thighs. ‘I think the—the screw must have fallen out,’ she stated the obvious.

  His mouth twisted. ‘My thoughts exactly when I saw twenty-five one side and twenty-seven the other. English?’ he suddenly rapped out.

  ‘Er—yes,’ she admitted huskily.

  ‘Well, my little English miss,’ he drawled mockingly, ‘I happen to have rented this room for the night.�
��

  ‘You have?’ she asked in dismay, knowing it was going to be some time before she finished the cleaning, and she just couldn’t do it under this man’s watchful all-seeing gaze. She could see what colour his eyes were now; they were the deepest green she had ever seen, the colour of emeralds, a startling contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

  ‘I have,’ he confirmed tauntingly, removing his hat to reveal the darkest hair Erin had ever seen, a deep ebony, with a bluish sheen to the shine. And he was such a tall man, dwarfing her five feet two by at least a foot, his eyes narrowing as she continued to stare at him.

  Erin grimaced. ‘I haven’t finished cleaning in here yet.’

  He looked slowly around the room, not missing a bottle or a cigarette stub. ‘Honey, I hope you haven’t even started. I would hate to think rooms were rented out in this condition.’

  She put her hand up to her untidy hair. ‘I’m a—a little behind today,’ she told him nervously.

  He looked appreciatively at that part of her anatomy. ‘You look as if you’re a little behind every day,’ he mocked, his gaze returning to her flushed face.

  Erin just looked flustered. ‘I—I meant I haven’t finished my work yet.’

  ‘I know what you meant, honey——’

  ‘I am not your honey!’ she exploded. It had been a long day, and she was hot and tired, tired of making beds, tired of cleaning dirty bathrooms, and she wasn’t in the mood to let this mocking stranger use her for his amusement. ‘I’m not your anything,’ she told him firmly. ‘Now I’ll get your room ready as soon as possible, but I’m afraid it will take a few minutes.’

  ‘Now don’t apologise, you’re spoiling the whole effect.’

  She frowned at him, feeling like a mouse being tormented by a cat. ‘Effect?’ she blinked her puzzlement.

  ‘For a while there I thought you must have a permanent stammer,’ he drawled. ‘That little show of temper showed me you don’t. So don’t start babbling like an idiot again.’ He sat down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, his dusty, boot-clad feet on the bedcover.

  Erin gasped her indignation. ‘Don’t call me an idiot! And get your feet off the bed!’

  He smiled, revealing very white teeth. ‘You haven’t changed the bed yet, have you?’

  ‘You know I haven’t!’

  ‘Then my feet stay where they are. At least this way I’ll know you changed all the bed-linen.’

  Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she could quite cheerfully have hit him in that moment, regardless of the consequences. ‘I always change all the bed-linen,’ she snapped.

  He put his hands up behind his head and leaned back. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your work,’ he taunted.

  ‘You aren’t!’ She marched angrily into the bathroom, beginning to wash the bath in hard angry strokes. Arrogantly, mocking man! He was just what she needed at the end of a long, hard day!

  ‘Calmed down yet?’

  She turned to see him standing in the open doorway, seeming to fill most of it. ‘I’m perfectly calm,’ she said in her most haughty English accent.

  ‘Mm, I can see that,’ he mocked, coming to sit on the side of the bath as she moved to clean the sink.

  He was overwhelming this close to, smelling of a mixture of some tangy masculine cologne or aftershave and a much more basically male smell, one that stirred the senses, one that warned you to beware of this man. Erin didn’t need any warning, she could see he was dangerous!

  She pointedly ignored him as she continued to clean the bathroom, which wasn’t all that easy with those lazy green eyes watching her so closely. He leant casually against the doorjamb now, his arms folded across his muscular chest. Erin was aware of his every movement without even having to look at him.

  She brushed past him on her way out to the main room, coming into contact with the hardness of his thighs before moving sharply away, the hot colour flooding her cheeks.

  Again he followed her, sitting down on one of the double beds. ‘What’s a sweet little baby like you doing in a place like this?’ he asked suddenly.

  Erin flashed him a resentful glance. ‘That isn’t very original!’

  His expression hardened. ‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ he rasped. ‘It was a sincere question. Little girls like you have been known to be gobbled up and never heard of again in this city.’

  She could believe it; she seemed to have done nothing but fight off one man or another since she had been here— and for all of his lightly teasing manner she wasn’t so sure this man’s intentions were any different!

  He gave her a scathing look. ‘I don’t happen to be “hungry” for skinny little English girls,’ he taunted, seeming to read her thoughts.

  She flushed fiery red. ‘I’m as Canadian as you are!’

  His dark eyebrows rose. ‘Really?’ he obviously doubted her claim.

  ‘Yes, really.’ She gave up all pretence of working, knowing she was only making a mess of it anyway. ‘I was born in Calgary,’ she told him with a certain feeling of triumph.

  ‘Then why do you sound like a prissy English girl?’

  Erin gasped. ‘Because I was brought up a pris—I was . brought up in England,’ she amended at his taunting smile. Her chin went up in challenge. ‘Where they obviously taught me more manners than you were ever taught in Canada!’

  He gave a shout of laughter, tiny lines appearing beside his twinkling green eyes, the cleft in his chin more pronounced. ‘What’s your name, funny face?’ he sobered.

  ‘Erin Richards,’ she revealed stiffly.

  He held out his hand. ‘Joshua Hawke—Josh to you.’

  His hand was firm and strong, sending an electric thrill tingling up her arm and down her spine. She felt mesmerised by the warmth of those emerald-coloured eyes, then suddenly realised he hadn’t released her hand, and snatched it away as if he burnt her.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘I—I’d rather call you Mr Hawke,’ she said stiffly.

  He grinned. ‘I’m sure you would, hon—sweetheart, but—’

  ‘I don’t like being called sweetheart any more than I enjoy being called honey,’ she cut in firmly, deciding the time had come to put this conversation on a more busi-nesslike footing.

  Joshua Hawke still grinned at her. ‘You’re acting prissy again,’ he taunted.

  She drew in an angry breath. ‘And you’re being rude again!’

  He pursed his lips together thoughtfully. ‘Okay, Erin, truce. Now, tell me how a native Calgarian talks with that precise English accent. Was that bordering on the rude again?’ he quirked an eyebrow mockingly.

  ‘You know it was!’

  He sighed. ‘So just tell me. The less I say the less chance I have of offending you.’

  ‘I don’t have the time to talk.’ She began stripping the beds. ‘I have to finish getting your room ready, and I work quicker if I don’t talk.’

  ‘Then I’ll help you.’ He marched over to her trolley and picked up the clean sheets, spreading one of them on the mattress.

  ‘But you—you can’t do that!’ she gasped.

  ‘I just did.’ He calmly continued to make the bed. ‘You look as if you’ve done enough already.’ He stopped to frown at her pale cheeks and slender body. ‘Do you eat?’

  ‘Of course I eat!’ she snapped her resentment.

  He stood up to survey the too-slender curves below faded denims and light cotton sun-top, seeming to strip this fragile covering from her body and see the gauntness below. His eyes narrowed to steely slits. ‘How often?’ he demanded to know.

  Not as often as she should. For one thing she didn’t have the time, and for another she didn’t have the money, not to eat the nourishing food that she needed anyway. French fries and hamburgers were cheap, but after cooking and serving them for six weeks she couldn’t even look at them, let alone eat them.

  ‘Well?’ he rapped out.

  Erin scowled at him, wishing he would just mind his own business. ‘I eat as oft
en as I’m hungry,’ she evaded.

  His look was considering. ‘And how often is that?’

  ‘Once, sometimes twice a day,’ she admitted grudgingly.

  His expression darkened. ‘And did you eat today?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she mumbled, unable to meet his searching gaze. What did it have to do with him how often she ate!

  ‘Are you going to?’ he persisted.

  ‘I—Probably.’

  ‘Which means you aren’t going to,’ he sighed. ‘How long have you been over here?’

  ‘Eight weeks,’ she frowned.

  ‘And how much weight have you lost in that time?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘How much, Erin?’

  ‘Twelve pounds,’ she muttered.

  He nodded, as if he had already guessed as much. ‘Twelve pounds you couldn’t do without.’

  She glared at him. ‘What does it have to do with you? What do you care that I don’t eat?’

  His expression softened. ‘I care, Erin. I care,’ he repeated gently.

  It was the gentleness that was her undoing. She swallowed hard, her face suddenly crumpling, deep sobs racking her body as she cried out all the misery of the last few weeks.

  ‘Hey, it’s all right, honey!’ Strong arms came about her and she was drawn against a hard chest, lean fingers gently caressing her golden locks. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Josh Hawke’s warm breath stirred the hair at her temple.

  ‘You didn’t,’ she choked. ‘At least, only indirectly.’ She burrowed against his chest, somehow feeling safe and secure, held close in his arms, his skin smooth against her cheek where his shirt was partly unbuttoned.

  ‘Tell me,’ he encouraged softly.

  Her body shuddered emotionally. ‘It’s just so long since—since anyone said that to me.’

  ‘Said what, little one?’ He slowly caressed her back.

  Erin sniffed inelegantly. ‘That they—they cared!’ She started to cry once again.