His Christmas Eve Proposal. Carole Mortimer

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      The fresh coffee had barely finished percolating when Joshua Hawkley entered the cosy warmth of the open-plan kitchen, with its green and white tiles and oak cabinets.

      ‘The medication seems to have served its purpose,’ he drawled, as Rosie turned to give him a guarded look. ‘Donald is already asleep,’ he elaborated. ‘Which means that any explanations will have to come from you,’ he finished dryly, and he moved to sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, looking across at her enquiringly.

      He was a little less overwhelming now that he was wearing a navy blue sweater, faded denims and scuffed cowboy boots, Rosie acknowledged. But only a little; the dark good looks that so captivated cinema audiences, that held millions of women in his thrall, were no less disturbing in reality, and the long length of his hair was giving him a piratical appearance.

      Which was probably the idea, Rosie allowed, knowing he was due to start filming the sequel to his previous million-dollar box office hit The Pirate King some time in the New Year.

      She deliberately turned away from his piercing blue gaze to pour his coffee into a waiting mug, playing for time, not really sure how much Donald would want her to tell his employer. The fact that Donald hadn’t told Hawk anything about her at all only increased her reluctance!

      ‘Pour yourself a cup and join me,’ Hawk invited huskily, once she had placed the steaming mug of black coffee on the breakfast bar in front of him, along with milk and sugar.

      After all, just because she was Donald’s friend it didn’t mean she had to wait on him.

      Hawk watched her through narrowed 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 СКАЧАТЬ