Official Escort. Jean Barrett
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her all at once as she sat across the dinner table from Mitchell Hawke. He had the same prominent ears as Clark Gable.
Funny, she thought, how ears that were a bit too large for their wearer, and stuck out slightly, as well, could qualify as sexy. They certainly had for Clark Gable, and they did for this man. Maybe it was the way they were set on his head.
Or maybe it was that dark head itself with its other bold features—a pair of probing blue eyes, a strong nose and a wide, sensual mouth above a square jaw. All of this was carried on a solid body clad in a bulky, wheat-colored sweater and snug jeans.
Madeline had been making a concerted effort ever since her arrival not to notice just how well Mitch Hawke filled those jeans. This had become especially difficult during their preparations for dinner.
The kitchen was not small, but they had been forever bumping into each other. Brief as those contacts were, they had been charged with a kind of intimacy in which Madeline had been far too conscious of the heat radiating from his six-foot frame.
Neil Stanek trusted this man to protect her—Madeline kept reminding herself of that. Still, she couldn’t seem to shake the conviction that Mitch Hawke was dangerous. Dangerous on some level she was unable to define but that had her fearing it was a mistake for her to be here with him in this house.
“Something wrong?”
He had looked up abruptly from his plate and caught her staring at him. Maybe his ears were a sensitive subject. Madeline felt herself flushing, the penalty of a fair, slightly freckled complexion.
“No. The meat loaf is very good.”
She busied herself slicing it, but she was aware of him eyeing her across the table. Madeline was used to men looking at her. It was essentially what she had been paid for at the Phoenix. But there was a difference in the way Mitch Hawke looked at her. It wasn’t admiration. It was something else, something that worried her. Something that was very wrong.
This, too, had been on her mind all afternoon. She had even asked him about it when she’d noticed all the somber looks he’d cast in her direction while helping her settle in to her room. But he had denied it in that brusque manner she found so troubling.
She could feel his gaze still lingering on her as she ate the meat loaf. That was why she asked him about his relationship with Neil Stanek, not because she needed to understand it but simply in an effort to ease the tension between them.
“You were friends with Neil back in San Francisco, weren’t you?”
“That’s right,” he said, adding more dressing to his salad.
“I think he mentioned you were both in law enforcement there.”
“Something like that.”
“But you aren’t here? In law enforcement like Neil, I mean.”
“No.”
He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press him for an explanation. She sensed that he wouldn’t appreciate any probing in that direction.
Madeline helped herself to applesauce, trying to decide whether Mitch was just a private man by nature or whether he was hiding something. And if he did have secrets, ought she to be worried about that? After all, it was a little odd that a man of his robust age—somewhere in his early thirties, she guessed—should be living a solitary existence in this remote place.
On the other hand, Neil trusted him and she trusted Neil. Which brought her back to the subject that she judged was a safe one.
“It’s a long way from San Francisco to Milwaukee,” she said. “What brought Neil here?”
He didn’t answer her for a moment, and then he apparently decided there was no reason why she shouldn’t know. “Neil lost his wife last spring after a long battle with cancer. It was pretty hard on him.”
The loss of a loved one. Madeline certainly had no trouble relating to that kind of anguish. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know.”
“He can deal with it now, thanks to his daughter and her family. They live in Milwaukee. That’s why Neil eventually moved here, to be close to them.”
“And you helped him through that bad time, too, when you were both in San Francisco, didn’t you. He said as much on the drive out here, although I didn’t understand then what he was referring to.”
Mitch didn’t deny it.
And you ended up here yourself, Madeline thought, not daring to ask him why he also was so far from San Francisco, but wondering just the same. Had Neil somehow brought Mitch to Wisconsin, just as Neil’s existence here had brought her? No, that wasn’t right. It was guilt that had finally summoned her to a Milwaukee police station. The need to make a bad thing right. Because no matter how she had struggled to silence it, and wherever she had tried to hide from it in those long weeks on the road, the voice of her conscience had given her no peace.
Madeline was suddenly aware that Mitch was no longer eating. When she looked up from her own plate, it was to find those blue eyes fastened on her again. Intense, unreadable. But there was something now in that steady gaze that she did understand. Something that was both hot and potent, robbing her of her breath. Smoldering desire.
It had all the impact of a searing physical contact, and in a kind of panic she tore her gaze away from his and cast it about the kitchen in an effort to distract herself.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“There aren’t any,” she suddenly said.
“Any what?”
“Christmas decorations. Not a single one.”
It was one thing not to have a wreath on the door or a tree in the window, but a house deserved some acknowledgment of the holiday season. Except, this house hadn’t so much as a homely poinsettia in it, she thought sadly. Why? Because even a plant, in its need for water, demanded commitment? Was that why he kept no animals for company, either?
“No, there aren’t,” he said simply and without emotion. As if he were curtly telling her that he preferred his self-imposed exile to be without any attachment whatsoever, thank you.
Madeline was sorry about that. She had always tried to make Christmas special for Adam and her, filling their apartment with every ornament imaginable. Maybe it had been her way of expressing the importance of everything they’d been for each other.
And this year? This year, it seemed, she would be spending Christmas in a sterile farmhouse with a mystifying, disconnected stranger—one who was barely civil to her while managing at the same time to disturb her senses on every level.
Just what, Madeline wondered, had she let herself in for?
DAMN NEIL for saddling him with her.
Mitch, stirring restlessly in his bed, wasn’t able to sleep. He was too aware of the woman in the room just across the hall. Madeline Raeburn, with her tantalizing red hair and full mouth. He could still see her across the table from him, unconsciously playing with that distinctive enameled pendant resting above a pair of full breasts.
Dinner had been difficult, a really strained affair. She had been understandably curious about him. There had been all those questions, which, out of necessity, he had either avoided or answered vaguely. And all the while he had longed to blast her with the truth. Yeah, there aren’t any damn Christmas decorations. That’s because I’m not here to celebrate. I’m here because I’m supposed to be healing. That’s why Neil dragged me to this place. Because he thought I needed to get far away from San Francisco. Because I was so haunted by losing Julie that I was an emotional wreck, no longer able to function. A real hoot, huh?
That’s what he would have told Madeline Raeburn, and it would have satisfied him to watch the shocked expression on that bewitching face of hers. Then he would have followed it up by attacking her with a barrage of his own questions.
Why