Helen Brooks - Mistletoe Mistress

Her hair was trimmed in a sleek bob just above the nape and she normally wore it loose, but she needed the extra sophistication having it up would give her, she decided nervously as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She was all fingers and thumbs, but eventually it was secured in a neat chignon at the back of her head, a pair of tiny gold studs her only jewellery, and a touch of mascara the sum total of her make-up.

There-calm, cool and competent, she decided silently as she looked into the long full-length mirror in her bedroom, seeing only the elegant dress with its matching shoes, and quite missing the beauty of her glowing red hair and honey-brown eyes which complemented the black silk perfectly.

Hawk Mallen missed neither when Joanne opened the door to his knock at exactly eight o'clock, her colour high again as she saw him framed in the doorway, big and dark and lazily self-assured.

'I've been trying to contact you all afternoon.' It probably wasn't the best of opening lines, but her brain seemed to scramble at the sight or sound of this man.

'And now you have.' He smiled easily, but it didn't reach the riveting blue eyes and she knew instantly, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had received her messages and guessed the reason for them.

'I…I was just going to ask what this was all about.' She had raised her chin slightly as she spoke without being aware of it, and the subtle gesture spoke volumes to the man watching her so closely.

'All in good time.' He gestured to the room beyond. 'Do you have a wrap, a jacket…?'

'Yes. Oh, come in.' She stepped back so hastily she nearly pivoted on the three-inch heels which were much higher than those she normally wore, recovering herself just in time and feeling her face grow even hotter in the process. This was going to be a riot of an evening, she told herself desperately, walking carefully through the tiny square hall and into the lounge where she had placed her jacket and handbag. She couldn't even stay upright, let alone impress him with her woman-of-the-world persona.

'Nice flat.' He had followed her, and as she turned the room immediately shrank in deference to his presence, his impressive height and build seeming to fill the pleasant light surroundings.

'I like it.' She couldn't for the life of her manage her normal social smile as she stared at him before moving hastily away, her face still flaming, and busying herself adjusting the brilliance of the wall lights. She reached for her jacket and bag. 'Shall we?' She nodded to the front door but he didn't move, surveying her with cool, narrowed eyes for a long, heart-thudding moment.

'I'm not going to eat you, you know,' he said softly. 'You're not Little Red Riding Hood and I'm not the Wolf. Well…' He paused, his eyes narrowing still more. 'You're not Little Red Riding Hood anyway,' he added sardonically.

'I didn't say-'

'You didn't have to.' He interrupted her before she could finish and again the incredible self-assurance hit a nerve.

'Mr Mallen-'

'Hawk, please,' he interjected softly.

'Mr Mallen, I've no idea what was so important that it couldn't wait until normal office hours, but I really don't think this is a good idea,' she said stiffly. 'I tried to contact you this afternoon-'

'You've already said that.' The dark eyebrows rose mockingly.

'But you clearly didn't receive my messages,' she finished a trifle desperately. This was awful; he was awful.

'Oh, I did, both of them, but I chose to ignore them,' he said easily, his voice as pleasant as if he were discussing the weather.

'You what?' She couldn't match his calm, her voice high.

'Ignored them.' He smiled maliciously, clearly thoroughly enjoying her open-mouthed discomfiture. 'You suspected that, didn't you?' he added silkily. 'But you expected me to lie to you. I never lie, Joanne. When you know me better you will appreciate that is the truth. However painful, however costly, I never lie.'

Know him better? Over her dead body!

'Now, there is a table booked at the Maltese Inn for nine, so if you're ready?'

The dark face was expressionless, the blue eyes unwavering, and as she gazed into the hard, implacable features she conceded defeat Okay, she'd go on this wretched evening out, she could hardly do anything else now, but there was no way she was going to be bullied or threatened by this man, whatever his wealth or connections.

'Yes, I'm quite ready.' She looked at him steadily, trying to hide the fact that she felt like a petrified little rabbit in the hypnotising power of a fox, and even managed a tight smile as she said, 'I'm just worried that this evening will be a lamentable waste of your valuable time, Mr Mallen.'

'Why don't you let me worry about that?' he said quietly. 'And I told you, the name's Hawk.'

Hawk. Yes, the name suited him, she thought with a faint touch of hysteria as he took her arm and ushered her out of the flat She had been mistaken in her analogy of a fox; he was far more like the ruthless, keen-sighted bird of prey he had been named after, and at the moment she had the awful conviction that the quarry in his sights was her!

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 elite 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 coupe 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-