Mistletoe Mistress. HELEN BROOKS
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‘No.’ It was useless to fight him but she bitterly resented the interrogation.
‘And according to Charles you don’t date much—rarely in fact,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Very rarely.’
‘Did Charles say that?’ She was deeply offended and hurt at Charles’s betrayal.
‘No.’ She would have jerked away again but the arms holding her were forged in steel. ‘But I’m very adept at reading between the lines and I know the sort of questions to ask that give me the answers I require,’ he said easily.
‘How clever of you,’ she snapped nastily.
‘Isn’t it?’ He moved her slightly from him now, keeping her within the circle of his arms as he looked down at her with hard, narrowed eyes. ‘Now I’d say, on a likelihood of ten to one, that you have—how did you put it? Oh, yes—“lumped” the whole male race together fairly successfully.’ His tone had lost any amusement, his face absolutely straight as he added, ‘Or am I wrong?’
‘Quite wrong,’ she said cuttingly, her face flaming.
‘Oh, Joanne. Joanne, Joanne...’ He shook his head sorrowfully, the mockery back. ‘And here’s me being honest and above board—’
‘Are you insinuating I’m not?’ she asked hotly.
‘Absolutely.’ And then he grinned, and all further opposition left her in a big whoosh as she absorbed the difference to his face that his first real smile made. He was devastating, gorgeous, overwhelming... She swallowed hard and prayed for the ground to stop rippling under her feet. He was a man, just a man, and an arrogant, self-satisfied pig of one at that. He’d just lost her her job, hadn’t he? She couldn’t be attracted to him; what was the matter with her, for goodness’ sake—?
‘But I forgive you.’ He had pulled her close again and, mainly because her legs suddenly seemed to have the consistency of melted jelly, she didn’t resist.
However, she managed a fairly tart, ‘How very gracious of you,’ which brought an answering chuckle from above her head, before they continued to dance in silence. It was a slow number—of course it had to be, she thought caustically; even the band was against her—and although she desperately wanted to seem immune to what his body was doing to hers she could feel herself begin to tremble in his arms.
‘What’s happened in your life to make you so afraid of physical contact?’ he murmured after several humiliating minutes when she knew her shaking had made itself obvious. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Joanne. Trust me.’
‘Trust you?’ She was inexpressibly thankful that he had misread her body’s reaction to his, although there was more than a little fear mixed up in the mortifying sexual excitement that had her in its grip. And now, as the music changed, and she saw the waiter approaching their table with the coffee they had ordered, she moved to arm’s length, saying, ‘That would be rather foolish on so short an acquaintance, don’t you think? Look, the coffee’s arrived. Shall we...?’
‘If you insist.’ His tone was dry.
‘And then you can tell me the reason for our meeting tonight and then—’
‘We can go home?’ he finished silkily, his eyes piercingly intuitive. ‘Sorry, Joanne, there’s the floor show to go yet; you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.’
She smiled, a polite social smile as though she thought he was joking, before turning and walking to their table, his hand on the small of her back seeming to burn her skin through the silk of her dress.
How was it that in just a few hours this man seemed to have established an intimacy that even her closest friends didn’t enjoy? she asked herself weakly, sinking down on to her chair with a tiny sigh of relief that she had made it without falling to the floor in a quivering heap. The questions he had asked, the things he had suggested! Her racing thoughts were brought to a stunned halt as she felt his lips on the back of her neck, his mouth warm and vibrant against the creamy softness of her skin, before he seated himself with easy composure in his chair.
‘Don’t . . . don’t do that.’
‘What?’ Her voice had been a trembling whisper and he surveyed her with brilliantly blue eyes before asking again, ‘Don’t do what?’
‘You know what.’ She glared at him, her temper rising as her senses unfroze.
‘Kiss you?’ he asked softly. ‘Is that so hard to say?’
‘It wasn’t a kiss, it was...’ She couldn’t find an appropriate word and he let her flounder for a minute before he said, his voice deep and dark and husky, ‘Whatever it was to you, Joanne, to me it was a kiss. Do you mean to say that you don’t wear your hair like that to tempt more of the same?’
‘What?’ She was absolutely lost for words.
‘The exposure of that soft, fragrant skin, normally hidden by a curtain of silk that keeps the secret place so private—you don’t know what a subtle turn-on that is to the average red-blooded male?’ he asked softly as she stared at him blankly. ‘It’s restraint combined with voluptuousness, lasciviousness with suppression—it’s ...sexy, every man’s dream of the perfect virginal demure beauty who turns into a seductress in the bedroom.’ ‘You’re mad.’ Joanne realised she had been holding her breath as the gravelly male voice had woven a sensual spell which had enclosed the two of them in their own little world. ‘I just wore my hair up because it looks better with this dress—’
‘Oh, don’t spoil it.’ He wasn’t smiling but the devilish eyes were alight with amusement.
‘Now, look.’ She took a long, deep, hard breath and forced herself to get control. This was ridiculous; somehow everything had got out of hand and she wasn’t at all sure how it had happened, but one thing she did know was that Hawk Mallen was playing with her like a cat with a mouse. She didn’t believe for one moment he was attracted to her—how could a multi-millionaire of the calibre of this one be interested in a little nobody like her? It didn’t add up—not for one minute, and she wasn’t stupid whatever he thought, and she’d tell him so right now. ‘You assured me this afternoon that we were meeting for a purpose, that this wasn’t a...’
‘Date?’ he supplied helpfully.
‘Yes.’ And if he interrupted her again he’d have a cup of coffee tipped over his head. ‘So we’ve eaten and danced and done the social chit-chat bit, and now I’d really like to know why you have brought me here tonight. ’
‘You don’t think it’s because I wanted to know you better, because I’m interested in you?’ he asked expressionlessly.
He’d read her mind again, and she had the uneasy feeling he hadn’t found it hard to do. Was she really so transparent? she asked herself silently. She didn’t think anyone else thought so; in fact, Charles had often praised what he called her ‘poker face’, which gave nothing away whatever the circumstances.
‘Mr Mallen—’ she couldn’t call him Hawk, she just couldn’t ‘—you could doubtless have your pick of most of London’s finest so the answer to that is no.’
‘London’s finest.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see.’
‘So?’ She forced a smile. ‘If you don’t mind?’
He stared at her for a good thirty seconds, his blue eyes shadowed and intent as they searched her face, and then he settled back in his seat, stretching slightly before he said, ‘Right, down to business. I don’t need you at Concise Publications, Joanne—’ her heart gave a big leap and then thudded loudly ‘—but from all I’ve heard and read and seen I think you would be an asset to the Mallen Corporation. I intend to bring in a new managing director for Concise Publications; I’ve already approached the man and he’s accepted my offer and he’ll bring his own publishing assistant with him; they’ve worked together for years.’
She