Helen Brooks - Mistletoe Mistress

She had never wanted to be alone with Bob; she hadn't been able to put it into words at the time-the strange feeling she experienced when his pale, almost opaque eyes slid over her slim, childish body-but when the marriage had been two months old, and the police had arrived on the doorstep one morning, she had known then, young as she was, that she had been right to withstand his overtures of friendship. He had been convicted of several cases of child abuse, a paedophile of the worst kind, and strangely her mother had seemed to blame her for the break-up of her second marriage, screaming at her that she should never have had her back to stay, that if Bob hadn't known about Joanne he wouldn't have asked her to marry him and she would have been spared all the resulting humiliation.

She had been dispatched to the children's home the day after the court case, and had known then that she would never live with her mother again. Her mother had visited her now and again over the next few years, usually with a different 'uncle' in tow each time, some jovial and loud some not so jolly, but had always managed to make her feel the visit was on sufferance.

The caustic memories of a thousand little rejections which added up to a gigantic whole had burnt so painfully deep within her psyche that even now they made her screw up her eyes and curl into a tight little embryonic ball under the covers.

Commitment, marriage, men-it all meant disappointment and betrayal; she had learnt the fact first-hand, watching her mother's desperate search for love. And children-the biological fruit of that sexual urge which drove men into pretending they were what they weren't, and foolish women into believing it-were the innocent casualties that suffered the most.

She had vowed many times during her tear-filled adolescence that she would never allow herself to be subjugated like her mother; she didn't want or need a man in her life-they meant trouble and pain and ultimately disappointment. Her mother had grown bitter in time- in the last conversation they had had before she died, she had told Joanne over and over again that it wasn't in a man's nature to be monogamous, that marriage and fidelity were the world's biggest lie.

Did she, Joanne, really believe that? she asked herself now, her eyes still tightly shut. She wasn't sure, not deep inside, but she was sure that she would never dare to take the risk, and also that casual relationships, of the sort her mother had eventually subscribed to, were not for her. And whenever the longing to have someone- one man, to come home to, to love-overwhelmed her- as it did more and more as each year ticked by-she drew on the memories and the agony of the past and it fled.

She had her work, her home and her friends-it was safe, controlled, she was in charge and no one could hurt her. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

Charles and Clare had helped her erase some of the pain of the past, as much by the way they lived, their devotion to each other and their children, as their actual friendship. For the first time she had found it within herself to acknowledge that some folk-the lucky ones-could find that elusive element called true love and hang on to it despite all the trials and heartache. But not her. Definitely not her. She just didn't have what it would take. She had made that decision years ago and there was no reason for any doubts now- none , not one.

Once Joanne had accepted Hawk Mallen's offer the next day she found herself swept into a kind of whirlwind that had her breathless most of the time. In view of all she had previously decided about the need for a change, for fresh fields and new horizons, the offer was too good to turn down, but she had thought one of his countless minions would deal with her from that point and it was disconcerting to find that Hawk himself intended to oversee each detail. He was the sort of man who generated excitement and flurry and sheer atmosphere wherever he was, and the following weeks sped by in ever increasing velocity.

Of course she could appreciate Bergique & Son's future was close to his heart, or his grandfather's, to be more precise, and he needed to keep a tight hold of the reins, but the apprehension and unease she had felt that first night was always there, at the back of her mind. And she couldn't quite work out why. He was businesslike, cool, remote, but not unhelpful-very much the austere, detached tycoon, but always ready to listen to her ideas or opinions. And yet… 'Oh, stop imagining things.' She leant against the wall of the lift which was whisking her up to the meeting with Hawk that morning.

Just because she had caught him looking at her…oddly once or twice, it didn't mean he was regretting his decision to appoint her manageress of the failing firm, or that he was going to tell her he had changed his mind, or any of the other scenarios she had gone through each night in the quiet of her bed.

He was just a disturbing man, that was all it was, and in a few more days she would be over the Channel in France and he would be here in England, or dashing off to America or any one of a dozen countries he seemed to visit frequently. She just had to be cool, calm and collected, serene even, in the five days that were left. That wasn't beyond her, surely?

It shouldn't have been. It probably wouldn't have been, if poor Maggie, who had been totally overawed by Hawk's commanding presence from day one, hadn't tripped over her own feet and deposited most of their morning coffee right over her illustrious boss's immaculate silk-covered chest.

As the burning liquid hit his torso Hawk swore-once but very thoroughly-leaping up from his chair like a scalded cat-and scalded he certainly was. The bedlam was immediate, Maggie's horrified apology cut short as she burst into tears, several people from the outer office cannoning into the room at the sound of Hawk's yell, the telephone choosing that moment to begin ringing and all the papers on Hawk's desk tumbling to the floor as Joanne jumped up to help and knocked them with her arm.

' Quiet !' The thirty-second mayhem stopped as suddenly as it had begun as Hawk roared the order into the chaos, the only sound breaking the dead silence that followed being Maggie's muted wailing and the continuing ring of the telephone. 'Please, I'm fine, no harm done- get Maggie a cup of tea or whatever else you keep out there for emergencies,' Hawk fired in a staccato burst that told Joanne he was very definitely not all right. 'And someone answer that damn phone!'

As the others filed out, taking the weeping Maggie with them, Hawk shut the door behind them, wincing slightly as he did so, before peeling his steaming shirt out of the fiat waistband of his trousers, discarding his tie and beginning to undo the buttons.

'What are you doing?' It was a squeak.

'What do you think I'm doing?' He clearly wasn't in the mood for rhetorical questions and she really couldn't blame him, but neither could she quite believe he was going to strip half naked in the office in the middle of a working day. He was, and apparently with a complete disregard for modesty that left her breathless. Only it wasn't just his lack of propriety that was causing the blood to race through every nerve and sinew.

Clothed, Hawk Mallen had the sort of lean, athletic physique that made the female heart beat a little faster; half clothed, the dark power radiated from him in tangible waves, impossible to ignore. Not that Joanne made any attempt to ignore it-she looked; she couldn't help it.

'Joanne?'

It was humiliating to realise he had spoken her name twice before it registered on her dazed senses, but the big broad shoulders and hairy, muscled chest had her knees ready to buckle under her. Useless to tell herself she was pathetic, ridiculous-a female voyeur; he was affecting her in a way no other man had ever done before and in a way she wouldn't have dreamed possible even moments before. He was…well, he was… She dragged her eyes up to the piercing blue gaze which was waiting for her.