Mistletoe Mistress. HELEN BROOKS
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said drily.
‘But I will phone him back. I can’t see any point in meeting him,’ she said resolutely.
‘Ring me if there’s any trouble.’
There was trouble, but she didn’t ring back, deciding that it was her problem, not Charles’s. Hawk Mallen wasn’t in the building, Sue on Reception told her politely, and no, she had no idea where he could be contacted. She could give her the name of the hotel where he was staying at present if she’d like to ring there? Joanne did like, but he wasn’t there either. She left messages in both places for him to contact her if he returned, and then paced the floor for the rest of the afternoon waiting for the telephone to ring.
By six o’clock she was panicking badly; by seven she had had a bath and washed her hair, and a feeling of inevitability had settled over her like a blanket. Whether he’d got her messages or not he wouldn’t ring; she should have known, she told herself resignedly. He had made up his mind he was going to talk to her tonight, and that, as far as he was concerned, was that.
What did one wear when going out to dinner with a megalomaniac? she asked herself helplessly as she surveyed her wardrobe. Especially a fabulously wealthy, dark, attractive one, who frightened her half to death and was probably gunning for her blood? Was he going to prove awkward? Take pleasure in telling her he was going to put the knife in with future employers and so on? Or was he going to hold her to every last day of her contract? She could leave anyway—it would just mean a loss of salary and other benefits—but it wouldn’t look too good with prospective employers.
The carefree days of the last month seemed like another lifetime as she glumly pulled a high-necked, long-sleeved cocktail dress in crushed black silk off its hanger. The dress was expensive but the style demure; it gave the impression of a controlled, capable woman in charge of her own destiny, which was exactly what she wanted for the night ahead.
Her hair was trimmed in a sleek bob just above the nape and she normally wore it loose, but she needed the extra sophistication having it up would give her, she decided nervously as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She was all fingers and thumbs, but eventually it was secured in a neat chignon at the back of her head, a pair of tiny gold studs her only jewellery, and a touch of mascara the sum total of her make-up.
There—calm, cool and competent, she decided silently as she looked into the long full-length mirror in her bedroom, seeing only the elegant dress with its matching shoes, and quite missing the beauty of her glowing red hair and honey-brown eyes which complemented the black silk perfectly.
Hawk Mallen missed neither when Joanne opened the door to his knock at exactly eight o’clock, her colour high again as she saw him framed in the doorway, big and dark and lazily self-assured.
‘I’ve been trying to contact you all afternoon.’ It probably wasn’t the best of opening lines, but her brain seemed to scramble at the sight or sound of this man.
‘And now you have.’ He smiled easily, but it didn’t reach the riveting blue eyes and she knew instantly, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had received her messages and guessed the reason for them.
‘I . . . I was just going to ask what this was all about.’ She had raised her chin slightly as she spoke without being aware of it, and the subtle gesture spoke volumes to the man watching her so closely.
‘All in good time.’ He gestured to the room beyond. ‘Do you have a wrap, a jacket...?’
‘Yes. Oh, come in.’ She stepped back so hastily she nearly pivoted on the three-inch heels which were much higher than those she normally wore, recovering herself just in time and feeling her face grow even hotter in the process. This was going to be a riot of an evening, she told herself desperately, walking carefully through the tiny square hall and into the lounge where she had placed her jacket and handbag. She couldn’t even stay upright, let alone impress him with her woman-of-the-world persona.
‘Nice flat.’ He had followed her, and as she turned the room immediately shrank in deference to his presence, his impressive height and build seeming to fill the pleasant light surroundings.
‘I like it.’ She couldn’t for the life of her manage her normal social smile as she stared at him before moving hastily away, her face still flaming, and busying herself adjusting the brilliance of the wall lights. She reached for her jacket and bag. ‘Shall we?’ She nodded to the front door but he didn’t move, surveying her with cool, narrowed eyes for a long, heart-thudding moment
‘I’m not going to eat you, you know,’ he said softly. ‘You’re not Little Red Riding Hood and I’m not the Wolf. Well...’ He paused, his eyes narrowing still more. ‘You’re not Little Red Riding Hood anyway,’ he added sardonically.
‘I didn’t say—’
‘You didn’t have to.’ He interrupted her before she could finish and again the incredible self-assurance hit a nerve.
‘Mr Mallen—’
‘Hawk, please,’ he interjected softly.
‘Mr Mallen, I’ve no idea what was so important that it couldn’t wait until normal office hours, but I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ she said stiffly. ‘I tried to contact you this afternoon—’
‘You’ve already said that.’ The dark eyebrows rose mockingly.
‘But you clearly didn’t receive my messages,’ she finished a trifle desperately. This was awful; he was awful.
‘Oh, I did, both of them, but I chose to ignore them,’ he said easily, his voice as pleasant as if he were discussing the weather.
‘You what?’ She couldn’t match his calm, her voice high.
‘Ignored them.’ He smiled maliciously, clearly thoroughly enjoying her open-mouthed discomfiture. ‘You suspected that, didn’t you?’ he added silkily. ‘But you expected me to lie to you. I never lie, Joanne. When you know me better you will appreciate that is the truth. However painful, however costly, I never lie.’
Know him better? Over her dead body!
‘Now, there is a table booked at the Maltese Inn for nine, so if you’re ready?’
The dark face was expressionless, the blue eyes unwavering, and as she gazed into the hard, implacable features she conceded defeat. Okay, she’d go on this wretched evening out, she could hardly do anything else now, but there was no way she was going to be bullied or threatened by this man, whatever his wealth or connections.
‘Yes, I’m quite ready.’ She looked at him steadily, trying to hide the fact that she felt like a petrified little rabbit in the hypnotising power of a fox, and even managed a tight smile as she said, ‘I’m just worried that this evening will be a lamentable waste of your valuable time, Mr Mallen.’
‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’ he said quietly. ‘And I told you, the name’s Hawk.’
Hawk. Yes, the name suited him, she thought with a faint touch of hysteria as he took her arm and ushered her out of the flat. She had been mistaken in her analogy of a fox; he was far more like the ruthless, keen-sighted bird of prey he had been named after, and at the moment she had the awful conviction that the quarry in his sights was her!
CHAPTER TWO
THE Maltese Inn was an exclusive little nightclub she had heard about but never had the necessary connections to enter, it being the haunt of the very rich and the very famous. It was chic, select, and its clientele ranged from wealthy film stars and top models to the very élite of England’s aristocracy.
Once in Hawk’s car, which just had to be a magnificent sporty monster she had never heard of before but which was undoubtedly in the super league—nothing as well known as a Ferrari or Lamborghini for him, she thought nastily—she found herself dumb with nerves.
She glanced at him several times from under her eyelashes, her eyes and