Sandra Marton - Hostage Of The Hawk

‘Where is Sam Bennett’s son?’

‘I’m his son.’ Joanna shook her head. ‘I mean, he has no son, Mr Hassan. I am—’

‘You are his daughter?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are Joe Bennett?’

‘Joanna Bennett. That’s right. And—’

He swung towards the head waiter. ‘Bring me the bill,’ he snapped. ‘For my apéritif, and for whatever the restaurant will lose on this table for the evening.’ He snatched a liqueur glass from the table, drained its contents, slammed it down, and made a mocking bow to Joanna. ‘Goodnight, Miss Bennett.’

Open-mouthed, she stared after him as he strode towards the beaded curtain, still swaying delicately from the waiter’s exit, and then, at the last second, she stepped out and blocked his path.

‘Just a minute, Mr Hassan!’

‘Step aside, please.’

It was the ‘please’ that was the final straw. The word was not offered politely, but was, instead, tossed negligently at the floor, as one might toss a bone to a dog. Joanna drew herself up.

‘And what will you tell Prince Khalil, Mr Hassan?’ Joanna slapped her hands on her hips. ‘That because you were narrow-minded, old-fashioned, petty and stupid—’

The dark blue eyes narrowed. ‘I advise you to watch your tongue.’

‘And I advise you to use your head,’ Joanna said sharply. ‘Prince Khalil sent you here to meet with me.’

‘I came here to meet with Sam Bennett’s son.’

‘You came to meet with his emissary, and that is precisely what I am!’

A muscle knotted in his cheek. ‘Whose idea was this subterfuge? Ellington’s? Or was it your father’s?’

‘There was no subterfuge meant, Mr Hassan.’

His smile was swift and chill. ‘What term would you prefer? Deception? Trickery? Perhaps “fraud” has a finer ring.’

‘At the worst, it’s just a misunderstanding.’

He rocked back on his heels and folded his arms over his chest. ‘Please, Miss Bennett, don’t insult me with games of semantics.’

‘I’m simply trying to explain why—’

‘What sort of misunderstanding could possibly have led to your thinking I would even consider discussing your father’s greedy plans for my country with you?’

His disdain, his contemptuous words, were like a bucket of iced water. Joanna met his harsh gaze with unflinching directness.

‘Wrong on all counts, Mr Hassan. For starters, I did not wish to discuss anything with you. It was Prince Khalil I wished to meet this evening, remember? As for greed—it is not my father who’s standing in the way of progress and betterment for the people of Jandara, it’s your high and mighty ruler.’

Hassan’s brows lifted. ‘An interesting description of the Prince, Miss Bennett. Clearly, your father didn’t send you on this errand because of your subtlety.’

Joanna knew he was right. Her words had been thoughtlessly spoken but to back down now would be a mistake.

‘He sent me because I have his trust and confidence,’ she said. ‘And if my honesty offends you, I can only tell you that I see little value in not being as direct as possible.’

An unpleasant smile curled across his mouth. ‘How readily you use the word “honesty”—and yet here you stand, having lied your way into my presence.’

‘I did no such thing! I am who I said I was, Jo Bennett, the vice-president at Bennettco.’

‘And we both know that if you had identified yourself properly, this meeting would not have taken place.’

‘Exactly.’ Joanna smiled thinly. ‘I’m glad you admit it so readily. You and the Prince would have turned your noses up at the very idea of discussing business with a woman.’

‘Typical Western nonsense,’ he sneered. ‘A woman, taking a man’s name, trying to pretend she can do a man’s job.’

‘I haven’t taken anything,’ Joanna said coldly. ‘”Jo” is short for Joanna. As for a woman trying to pretend she can do a man’s job—I don’t know how to break this to you, but women don’t have to “pretend” such things any more, Mr Hassan. In my country—’

‘Your country is not mine,’ he said, his tone rife with contempt.

‘It certainly isn’t. In my country—’

‘In Jandara, those who lie do not break bread with each other.’

Joanna glared at him. ‘It isn’t my fault you assumed Jo Bennett was a man.’

‘I don’t recall you attempting to correct that assumption, Miss Bennett.’

Anger overcame her. ‘If I didn’t,’ she said, stepping forward until they were only inches apart, ‘it was because I knew your boss would react exactly the way you are at the prospect of a woman representing Bennettco. No wonder my father’s gotten nowhere all these weeks! Trying to deal with a—tyrant is like—like...’

The rush of words stopped, but it was too late. He smiled slyly as she fell silent.

‘Please, Miss Bennett, don’t stop now. You’ve called Prince Khalil a tyrant, a chauvinist—I can hardly wait to hear what else you think of him.’

What was she doing? She’d come here to further her cause, to succeed in a tricky endeavour and convince Sam that she was capable of carrying her weight at Bennettco, and instead she was alienating the Hawk of the North’s right-hand man with terrifying rapidity. She took a deep breath, let it out, and pasted a smile to her lips.

‘Perhaps—perhaps I got carried away.’

The Prince’s emissary smiled tightly. ‘You may not be given to subtlety but you surely are given to understatement. Referring to m—to the Prince as a dictator is hardly—’

‘I never called him that!’

His brows lifted. ‘But you think it.’

‘Certainly not,’ she said, lying through her teeth. Of course she thought it. If this—this overbearing, arrogant, insolent pig of a man was the Prince’s minister, she could only imagine what the Prince himself must be like. ‘Besides, my opinion of your Prince is no more important than your opinion of me. You and I have lost sight of the facts, Mr Hassan. We are representatives, I of my father, you of Khalil. I doubt if either of them would be pleased if we reported back that we’d cancelled this meeting because we’d gotten off to a bad start.’

Her smile did nothing to erase the scowl from his face. ‘Perhaps we’ll simply tell them the truth, that we cancelled it because I resent having been made a fool of.’

He had a point. Much as she hated to admit it, she had twisted the facts to suit her own needs. She’d lied to him, lied to her father. And if Sam found out...

‘Well?’ She blinked. He was staring at her, his expression as unyielding as stone, his eyes cold. ‘What do you say to that, Miss Bennett?’

‘I say... I say...’ Joanna swallowed hard. Go for broke, she thought, took a deep breath, and did. ‘I say,’ she said, her eyes meeting his, ‘that you have every right to be annoyed.’

His scowl deepened. ‘The start of another bit of trickery?’

Colour flared in Joanna’s face but she pressed on. ‘I admit I may have stretched the facts, but I haven’t lied. I do represent my father. I have his every confidence and I’m fully authorised to act on his behalf. I know you have a problem dealing with me, but—’

But, he thought impatiently, his eyes on her face, but! She was good at suggesting alternatives, this Joanna Bennett. She had insulted him, apologised to him, and now she was doing her best to convince him her father had Jandara’s best interests at heart—but for what reason? Why had Sam Bennett sent her? She kept insisting she was Bennettco’s representative, but what man would be fool enough to believe that?

His gaze moved over her slowly, with an insolence born of command. She kept talking, although her skin took on a rosy flush, and that amused him. Why would a woman like this colour under his gaze? Surely she was not innocent? She was a beauty, though, perhaps more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. What she couldn’t know was that her beauty meant nothing to him. Despite what Joanna Bennett thought she knew of him—or of the man she believed him to be—he had long ago wearied of beautiful faces and bodies that hid empty souls. He preferred his women with strength and character, individuals in their own right, not the pampered lapdogs Western women so often were.