Sandra Marton - Hostage Of The Hawk

‘You are nothing,’ he snarled, ‘nothing! Your father insults me by sending you to me.’

‘You’ve got this all wrong,’ Joanna said quickly. ‘I am his confidante. And his vice-president—well, I will be, when—’

‘What you are,’ he said grimly, ‘is a Jezebel.’

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. ‘What?’

‘I knew Bennett was desperate to hold on to his contract with that pig, Abu Al Zouad.’ His eyes shot to her face. ‘But even I never dreamed he’d offer up his daughter to get it!’

‘Are you crazy? I told you, my father is ill. That’s why he sent me to meet with you!’

‘He sent you to do whatever had to be done to ensure success.’ He threw her a look of such fury that Joanna felt herself blanch. ‘If Khalil wouldn’t accept one sort of bribe, surely he’d accept another.’

She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘Are you saying my father...are you saying you think that I...?’ She sprang towards him across the console and slammed her fist into his shoulder. ‘You—you contemptible son of a bitch! I’d sooner sleep with a—a camel than—’

She cried out as the car swerved. The tyres squealed as they clawed at the verge; the brakes protested as he jammed them on, and then he swung towards her, his eyes filled with loathing.

‘But it would be like sleeping with a camel, wouldn’t it, Miss Bennett? Sleeping with a man like Khalil, I mean.’

‘If you touch me,’ Joanna said, trying to keep her voice from shaking, ‘if you so much as put a finger on me, so help me, I’ll—’

‘You’ll what?’ His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Scream? Go right ahead, then. Scream. Scream until you can’t scream any more. Who do you think will hear you?’

God. Oh, God! He was right. She looked around her wildly. There was darkness everywhere—everywhere except for his face, looming over hers, his eyes glinting with anger, his mouth hard and narrowed with scorn.

‘My father,’ she said hoarsely. ‘My father will—’

‘The scorpion of the desert is a greater worry to me than is your father.’

‘Surely we can behave like civilised human beings and—?’

He laughed in her face. ‘How can we, when I am the emissary of a savage?’

‘I never said that!’

‘No. You never did. But you surely thought it. What else would a greedy, tyrannical bandit be if not a savage?’ His mouth thinned. ‘But I ask you, who is the savage, Miss Bennett, the Hawk of the North—or a father who would offer his daughter to get what he wants?’

He caught her wrist as her hand flew towards his face. ‘I’ve had enough, you—you self-centred son of a bitch! My father would no more—’

His face twisted. ‘Perhaps I should have let it happen.’ He leaned towards her, forcing her back in her seat. ‘Maybe it wasn’t your father who suggested you make this great sacrifice. Maybe it was you who wanted to share Khalil’s bed—or did you think it would be sufficient to share mine?’

‘I’d sooner die,’ Joanna said, her voice rising unsteadily while she struggled uselessly to shove him off her. ‘I swear, I’d sooner—’

His lips drew back from his teeth in a humourless smile. ‘Just think what erotic delights a savage like me might have taught you. Enough, perhaps, to keep your useless New York friends tittering for an entire season!’

‘You’re disgusting! You—you make me sick to my stomach!’

His mouth dropped to hers like a stone, crushing the words on her lips. She struggled wildly, beating her free hand against his shoulder, trying to twist her face from his, but it was useless. He was all hard sinew and taut muscle that nothing would deter.

After a moment, he drew back.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said coldly. ‘Have you changed your mind about adding a little sweetening to Bennettco’s bribe offer?’

Hatred darkened Joanna’s eyes. ‘What a fool I was to think I could deal with you in a civilised manner! You’re just like your Prince, aren’t you? When you can’t get what you want, you just—you reach out and grab it!’

‘What if I said you were wrong, Miss Bennett? What if I told you that I am not a man who takes?’

Anger made her reckless. ‘I’d call you a liar,’ she snapped.

To her surprise, he laughed. ‘Which of us is the liar, Joanna? Or are you suggesting I not take what you are prepared to give?’

The look she gave him was pure defiance. ‘I offered you nothing.’

For a long moment, their eyes held. Then he smiled, and the smile sent her heart into her throat.

‘I never take that which has not been offered,’ he said, very softly.

She cried out as he reached for her again but there was no way to escape him. He caught her face between his hands, holding it immobile, and bent his head to hers. She stiffened, holding her breath, preparing instinctively for the fury of his kiss, for whatever ugly show of strength and power lay ahead.

But there was no way to prepare for the reality of what happened. His lips were soft, moving against hers with slow persuasion, seeking response.

Not that it mattered. It was a useless effort. She would never, could never, respond to a man like him, a man who believed he could first terrorise a woman, then seduce her. His hands spread over her cheeks, his thumbs gliding slowly across the high arc of her cheekbones. His fingers threaded into her hair, slowly angling her head back so that his lips could descend upon hers again—and all at once, to Joanna’s horror, something dark and primitive stirred deep within her soul, an excitement that made her pulse leap.

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