Mistletoe Mistress. HELEN BROOKS

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      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 senses registering the big lean body clothed in evening dress with a jolt that didn’t lessen with the third or fourth glance, before forcing herself to make some sort of conversation. ‘This is a beautiful car.’ Never had words been so inadequate; never had she felt so inadequate. ‘What is it?’

      ‘A Cizeta-Moroder V16T.’ The piercing eyes flashed over her face for a moment before returning to the windscreen.

      ‘Oh.’ She was no nearer and it showed.

      ‘It’s an Italian car, designed by Marcello Gandini,’ Hawk said easily. ‘I like the power, the body style, and it’s beautiful and fast. When I drive I like to enjoy the experience, besides which I wanted a car which would take me from A to B in as short a time as possible.’

      ‘And this certainly would.’ She glanced round the interior of the two-seater coupé which was as dynamic inside as out.

      ‘I also like unusual things, not necessarily unique but things that haven’t been . . . cheapened by overuse,’ he continued softly.

      There had been a thread of something in his voice she couldn’t quite place, but as she glanced at the dark profile again it gave nothing away, his features relaxed and quite expressionless.

      She couldn’t believe she was sitting in the sort of car one only saw in the movies, being driven to the most fashionable nightclub in London by a dark, handsome—No, not handsome. She caught her thoughts abruptly, sneaking another glance at him. Handsome was too weak a word somehow for Hawk Mallen; it suggested pretty-boy good looks, traditional appeal, and the lean, hard face, penetrating blue eyes and cruel, sensual mouth were anything but that. She shivered suddenly, in spite of the perfectly regulated temperature within the car.

      What on earth was she doing here? She must be mad. Her thoughts did nothing to calm her racing heartbeat. And the Maltese Inn, of all places. It was all Diors and diamonds there, and here was she in her little black dress and off-the-peg jacket... She felt a moment of nausea as her stomach turned right over. She was going to stand out like a sore thumb—

      ‘Look, could you just try and think of me as friend and not foe for an hour or two, at least until the meal is over?’ The deep, gravelly voice had amusement at its core; she could hear it curling the edges. ‘Good food is life’s second greatest pleasure...’ The piercing gaze swept over her flushed face for one brief moment but it left her in no doubt as to what he considered the first, and she felt herself blush even more fiercely. ‘And I’d prefer to enjoy the meal tonight without indigestion at the end of it.’

      ‘I don’t know you, Mr Mallen—Hawk,’ she corrected hastily as he made a growl of annoyance in his throat, ‘so how could I possibly regard you as foe?’

      ‘I’ve been involved with a good few women in my time, Joanne, on a business level and otherwise,’ he said quietly, ‘and one thing I’ve learnt along the way is that your sex doesn’t need a reason for anything it feels like doing.’

      ‘Well, that’s a sexist remark if ever I heard one,’ she retorted scathingly, forgetting her nervousness and apprehension as he pressed the fire button. ‘You’re one of those men who think women are empty-headed little dolls, good for one thing only?’

      ‘Did I say that?’ he drawled softly.

      ‘You didn’t have to.’ She was trying to give the impression of being as controlled and calm as he was, but it was difficult—more than difficult. She might have known he’d be a male chauvinist pig on top of everything else; this was getting worse by the minute.

      ‘You might have been able to read Charles’s mind but not mine, Joanne,’ he said calmly, ‘so please don’t make the mistake of thinking you can. And I wasn’t insinuating anything about Charles, before further crimes are laid at my feet. I’m quite aware of the platonic relationship between you both—“a father and daughter affection” were the words used to explain it, I think,’ he said easily, ‘by none other than his wife.’

      ‘You asked Clare about me?’ she screeched, her voice reverberating around the car’s plush interior and causing the man at the wheel to wince visibly. ‘How dare you?’

      ‘Who better to ask?’ His sidelong glance took in her scarlet face and he actually chuckled before adding, ‘Calm down, Joanne, calm down; it wasn’t like that. On the way to pick you up this evening I called by Charles’s house with some papers for him to sign, and it was Clare who mentioned you as it happens. They’re very fond of you, aren’t СКАЧАТЬ