His Christmas Eve Proposal. Carole Mortimer
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lids as she reluctantly complied with his suggestion, the movements of her graceful hands economic, her slender body willowy—apart from the pert fullness of her breasts as they thrust against her sweater.
For all that he had been surprised to find her here, Hawk certainly couldn’t fault Donald’s taste in women!
He waited until she had seated herself on the stool opposite, her gaze not quite meeting his, before speaking again. ‘Perhaps we should start with your name?’ he invited mildly.
It shouldn’t have been a difficult question, but nevertheless Hawk sensed her hesitation, the slightly searching look she gave him before answering.
‘Rosie,’ she finally told him, those graceful hands wrapped around her coffee mug as if drawing strength from its warmth.
Hawk kept his expression deliberately mild. ‘Rosie what?’
‘Look, Mr Hawkley.’ She looked up at him, obviously seriously uncomfortable with his questioning. ‘I really think you should talk to my—Donald about this.’
Again Hawk heard that hesitation after ‘my’…
‘My’ what? Friend? Lover? What?
Hawk found himself with an overwhelming curiosity to know the answer to that question.
So he waited, knowing from experience that an expectant silence on his part would eventually bring a response. He didn’t have to wait long.
‘If my being here is an inconvenience, then you only have to say so and I’ll leave,’ she began flusteredly.
But the mere suggestion of her doing any such thing seemed to make her cheeks pale and those deep green eyes look haunted…
Why? Hawk wondered. What was this woman hiding, or running away from? More to the point, why had she chosen Donald to run to?
He regarded her with hooded eyes. ‘I’m not saying so,’ he drawled. ‘I’m merely wondering. Have you and Donald known each other long?’
Had she and Donald known each other long? Rosie pondered. Surely that depended on what was meant by knowing each other?
‘A while, yes,’ she finally answered huskily.
Hawk nodded. ‘And you’re here to spend the holidays with him?’
‘Possibly.’ Again her answer was noncommittal.
Only having arrived in Canada herself yesterday, Hawk’s imminent arrival and Donald’s early flu symptoms had proved a distraction to any deep conversation she might have had with Donald, so Rosie had no idea what her short or even long-term plans were. No idea whether Donald would even want her to stay and spend the holidays with him.
The only thing that had consumed her yesterday, as she’d thrown things into a suitcase in readiness for her flight, was the thought of the white satin and lace wedding dress that hung on her wardrobe door—a constant reminder of just why she had to get away. She’d needed to go somewhere where no one would think of looking for her, hopefully where no one would recognise her either. Joshua Hawkley obviously hadn’t…
Rosie had been puzzled, a few days before, when, taking her passport from the box where her mother kept all the family’s papers, she’d seen a piece of paper there too, on which Donald’s telephone number was scrawled. Her puzzlement had turned to shock when curiosity had made her call the number and Donald had answered. She had discovered it was his current mobile number!
She didn’t know which of them had been the more surprised to hear the other’s voice, although Donald had readily agreed when she’d asked him if she might fly out to Canada to see him.
Hawk was still watching her from between narrowed lids. ‘You aren’t being very—forthcoming about your relationship with Donald,’ he finally murmured impatiently.
Her relationship with Donald? Did she have one? She wasn’t sure any more. But perhaps that was part of why she had come here—to find out…?
She straightened. ‘I really think you should talk to him about this.’
Hawk shrugged broad shoulders. ‘He isn’t up to talking about anything at the moment.’
And Donald hadn’t been yesterday, actually, Rosie accepted. Donald’s flu symptoms were obviously worse today, which was making this situation more difficult for her than it needed to be.
It had all seemed so simple when she’d arrived yesterday and discovered that Donald had his own suite of rooms over the garage adjoining the farmhouse. It was an arrangement that meant Joshua Hawkley didn’t even have to be made aware of her presence if Donald decided otherwise.
But waking up this morning to find Donald incapacitated in his bed had changed all that—even more so when he had asked her to take Joshua Hawkley’s morning tray of coffee up to his employer. A request Rosie had very reluctantly agreed to when it seemed it was the only way to stop Donald’s growing agitation.
She roused herself to reply to Hawk’s comment. ‘Then I suggest you wait until he’s feeling better.’
Hawk found himself bristling at her dismissive tone. He was being reasonable about this, wasn’t he? Considering he had found a strange woman wandering around his bedroom only a short time ago, he really thought so!
What—?
‘Hawk!’ A distraught, tousle-haired and robe-covered Donald staggered into the kitchen, the ravages of the flu evident in the paleness of his lined face. ‘I meant to tell you—’ He looked at the two of them seated at the breakfast-bar. ‘I just felt so ill last night that all I wanted to do was fall into bed—’ He gave a frustrated shake of his head as he swayed slightly. ‘I hope Rosie has explained?’ he added weakly as she stood up.
Hawk’s mouth twisted ruefully as he also stood up. ‘Not so far, no,’ he drawled ruefully. ‘But I’m living in hope,’ he added, with a mocking glance at her flushed face.
Donald looked across at her dazedly. ‘You haven’t told him…?’
Told him exactly what? And how much? Rosie frowned.
The situation had felt so difficult last night—the gulf between Donald and herself so wide that the two of them hadn’t had a proper chance to talk yet, let alone involve a third party. And that third party was Joshua Hawkley! A man who lived in the limelight himself, who once he knew her full name might add two and two together and come up with the correct answer of four!
The fewer people who knew who she was, the less likelihood there was of—
‘Rosie is my daughter, Hawk,’ Donald turned to tell the other man before she had a chance to stop him.
Hawk’s cobalt-blue eyes widened on her incredulously, telling Rosie that this was the last explanation he’d been expecting!
DONALD’S daughter…
Whoever Hawk had thought this young woman might be, it certainly wasn’t the other man’s daughter!
He hadn’t even known Donald had been married, let alone that he had a daughter of—what?—twenty-two, twenty-three?
But maybe Donald hadn’t been married. Maybe this girl was the result of a brief relationship all those years ago. Whatever—it didn’t make her any less than Donald’s daughter.
Hawk had never once heard Donald mention her in the ten years he’d worked for him, let alone seen her!
But had Donald seen her during that time? Hawk supposed that he must have done. After all, his employee had holidays, free time, and he certainly didn’t owe Hawk any explanations about his personal life.
Where had Rosie suddenly appeared from? Because he was pretty sure that Donald hadn’t known she was