She stared at him, trying to hide her irritation and ashamed of the resentment that had flared, hot and strong, at his offer to leave. He didn't want to kiss her. Well, that was fine, fine, she told herself silently; she would only have had to put him in his place if he had tried-whatever Hawk's place was. 'I am tired,' she agreed stiffly. 'Thank you for all the provisions you brought in; I really must pay you-'
'Don't be silly.' He interrupted her lazily, standing up and stretching like a powerful black beast of the forest, his piercing blue gaze never leaving her unknowingly vulnerable face that betrayed her confusion and hurt all too clearly. 'Look on it as a house-warming present if that makes you feel better. I only bought the bare essentials, by the way; the bulk of the order will be delivered some time after six tomorrow so make sure you're back by then.'
'Yes, I will, thank you…' He really was going to go, she thought numbly as she watched him reach for his jacket and shrug it over his broad shoulders, slipping his tie into one of the pockets as he did so. Whatever she had expected it wasn't this.
Hawk knew that, and his voice was an easy drawl as she walked with him to the front door. Tonight was not the night, much as his aching loins tried to persuade him differently. She had opened up more than he had expected, but she was still like a nervous doe, ready to bolt before the hunter.
When he took her-and he would take her-it would be with her full capitulation, mental and physical, and she would want him as much as he wanted her. He didn't question why her absolute surrender was so important to him, and his goodnight kiss was long and unhurried, his hand tender as it cupped her jaw and the gentle eroticism of his mouth controlled and determined.
'Goodnight, Joanne.' When he lifted his head she was trembling. 'The car will pick you up at eight in the morning.' And then he was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Joanne didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed nine hours later when Hawk phoned, at seven in the morning, to say he was on his way to the States to deal with an emergency that had arisen in one of the Mallen subsidiaries. He wished her well in the new job, told her he would be in touch at some point to discuss how things were going, and that was that.
She put down the phone with a feeling of disbelief. So… Her restless night, the agitation at the prospect of seeing him that morning which had had her up and eating breakfast before six, had all been for nothing. He had happily upped and gone.
She sat down suddenly cm one of the chairs and gave herself a thorough talking-to. Why shouldn't he just go? He was her employer, that was all, and he had done what was necessary and introduced her to her new staff. There was no reason for him to stay another hour in France- not one-and the last person he was answerable to was her. She was just glad-fiercely, overwhelmingly glad- that nothing of any significance had happened last night His actions this morning only proved, beyond doubt, that all her misgivings were spot-on, she told herself miserably.
She was ready and waiting for the car at eight, and the flow of angry adrenalin that had begun with Hawk's cool voice that morning continued to flow all day, working to her advantage as she consumed vast quantities of data and had Antoinette, and the rest of the somewhat lethargic office staff, scurrying about like headless chickens. It was clear that the lackadaisical listlessness that Pierre had allowed to take hold had permeated the entire firm, and also that certain members of the staff didn't appreciate having their cosy little world shaken to its foundations, Antoinette for one.
She was just considering taking the sulky French girl to task in spite of it being their first day together, having asked, three times in quick succession, for a folder which still wasn't forthcoming, when she looked up from her desk to see a tall, heavily built, floridly handsome man in the open doorway, his dark eyes fixed on her face.
'You must be Joanne Crawford?' He spoke before she had the chance to open her mouth, his English almost perfect and accentless. 'I am Pierre Bergique, Miss Crawford, and I must beg your forgiveness for not being here to introduce you to my staff personally yesterday.' He smiled, a wide crocodile kind of smile which didn't reach the hard, calculating black eyes. 'I trust Antoinette is looking after you in my absence?' he asked smoothly.
'Good morning, Pierre.' Hawk had warned her to start exactly as she meant to carry on with this man, and she saw the advice was apt as the toothy smile dimmed a little at her cool response. She couldn't allow him to relegate her to an underling-as his carefully worded greeting had aimed to do-neither could she acquiesce to the notion that he had authority over the staff any more. Pierre knew his position full well, and he was damned lucky not to be in a prison cell at this very moment, she thought tightly.
She rose with measured aplomb, walking round the desk and across the room before she held out her hand and said, 'How nice to meet you…at last. I'm sure things are going to work out splendidly, and rest assured I shan't hesitate to call on your services if I need to.'
Cold black eyes held determined honey-brown ones for a long-a very long-moment, and then Pierre took her hand, raising it to his lips and lightly kissing it before saying, his voice oily now, 'Charmed, charmed, my dear. I had no idea our intrepid new leader would prove to be quite so young and beautiful. Hawk must have been very impressed by your…capabilities.'
'Thank you.' It was all she could do not to whip her hand from his and rub the back of it to erase the feel of his fleshy
lips, but she forced herself to smile and wait for a few seconds, ignoring the veiled innuendo in the barbed words, before turning away.
'I understand you will be working from home now, Pierre,' she said calmly as she re-seated herself, hoping the thudding of her heart wasn't making itself known. 'I would prefer that you check with me in the future before you call by so that I can make suite I'm available for you, and avoid wasting your time.'
Hawk had made it clear to Pierre that the offices were out of bounds beyond the occasional visit expected of a figurehead, and the clearing of his debts and the generous salary he was receiving each month for doing nothing were conditional.
'Of course.' It was too quick and too congenial. 'Anything you say.'
She didn't trust him an inch. 'Good.' She forced another smile but her flesh was creeping. This was one ugly customer, Joanne thought grimly, despite the façade of expensive clothes, well-groomed exterior and handsome, smiling countenance. This man could be nasty- she had seen too many like him in her working life to doubt her gut feeling-and she could understand Hawk's insistence that Pierre was virtually barred from crossing the firm's threshold now, although she had thought him a trifle hard when he had first told her.
'Perhaps you would allow me the pleasure of taking you to lunch one day?' The charm was out in fall force, but it was too late; she had seen the man behind the mask and they both knew it.
'Thank you but I'm going to be busy for the next little while getting everything together,' Joanne said politely. 'Maybe after then?' Again they both knew there would be no lunch.
'Of course; just let me know when it will be convenient,' Pierre murmured with silky synthetic civility. 'And now you really must excuse me-a previous appointment…'
Joanne breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him, her body deflating in the chair like a punctured balloon. What a creep, but a crafty, astute creep, which also made him dangerous, and that was what she had to remember. He had been fooling people for years until Hawk had come on the scene and spoilt his little games; she had to be on her guard and take nothing for granted.
The next few weeks were challenging, frustrating, exhausting, at times stimulating and other times disappointing, but despite the hard, grinding work, long hours and mental and physical tiredness Joanne welcomed the pace. It made her so numb, so exhausted by the end of the day that all she could do was fall into bed and slip into a deep, dreamless sleep, sometimes without even having eaten her evening meal. But she could keep her thoughts away from Hawk and that was the main thing.
Sometimes she awoke, at the shrill command of her militant alarm clock, with his name on her lips and the faint recollection of shadowed memories buried deep in her subconscious, but mostly she could steel herself to deal solely with the job in hand, and she was glad of it.
He had rung two or three times a week since she had been in France, and she always came off the phone a quivering heap and desperately thankful he couldn't see how the sound of his deep, husky, totally male voice affected her.
Useless to tell herself he was ringing purely to see how the Mallen investment was progressing, that she meant nothing to him, that she was one of dozens, hundreds, of women whom he would invite to share his bed if he felt so inclined. She heard his voice and she melted; it was as simple-and as humiliating-as that.