Love on Trial (7 page)

“Unfortunately,” she smiled, “I have very little time to spend on pleasure. I'm a working girl, and I'm here on assignment. I have to account for my days.”

“You are not…how you say…Hawke's woman?” he asked.

She glared at him. “I have a steady boyfriend back home who suits me very well,” she said with ice in her tone. “I'm here working on a story, of which Hawke is part. That's all. Period. I am not available for fun and games for bored playboys!”

“Please, Siri, you misunderstand…!” Rey began quickly, his face going rather white at the tone of her voice.

“I don't think so,” she told him, rising. She moved back to where Kitty was sitting and squeezed in beside her, leaving the stunned Latin behind her.

Hawke glanced toward her, then toward the glass she was holding, and she read the amusement in his dark eyes. It made her flush uncomfortably. I'm not tipsy, she wanted to yell at him. In defiance, she lifted the glass to her lips again.

“Having trouble, honey?” Kitty whispered, squeezing her hand.

“Not any more,” she replied smugly, and finished the rum punch while the others sailed forth on the subject of ships.

 

Rey left soon afterwards with a really wounded look about him. Siri half regretted what she'd said, but not that she'd said it. She didn't have time to fight off an amorous Latin in whom she wasn't really interested.

If she'd been hoping for an early departure, her hopes were doomed to disappointment. Angel insisted that the small group stay for a meal. She had her combination housekeeper-cook busy in the kitchen before anyone could protest.

Siri hated the ordeal of watching Angel smother Hawke. She hated even more the fact that he didn't seem to mind her attentions. It went from bad to worse when the little Spanish woman turned on her expensive stereo system and flooded the room with soft, seductive music. She threw back the carpet and invited the others to dance, pointedly ignoring the fact that Siri didn't have a partner as she glued herself to Hawke's broad body.

Randy, a gentleman from the shoes up, asked Siri to dance, but she quickly shook her head with a convincing smile.

“Oh, I don't dance,” she said quickly, “but thanks all the same.”

She dodged the incredulous look Hawke threw her over Angel's bare
shoulder and curled up on the sofa with a magazine about the latest fashions. Did Angel have to dance that close to him, she wondered, darting a green glance their way. Did she have to press so close, and tangle her hands in that softly curling hair at the nape of his broad neck? Did she have to look so bloody content?

As soon as it was humanly possible, she promised herself that she was going to get out of that room and make herself scarce until supper. She'd never felt more suffocated. She had the oddest feeling that Angel found her threatening, and it puzzled her. There wasn't anything between her and Hawke, wasn't it obvious? After all, Siri sighed, remembering her nose that was too short, her eyes that were too big, her hair that was too silvery to be a true blonde—she was no competition for that spicy Latin. So why was Angel throwing her the icy looks?

While she was working that out, she failed to hear the phone ring, or see the
housekeeper motioning to Angel. She missed the sudden intent look in Hawke's dark eyes as he started toward her. She felt him catch her hand, and she gasped with surprise. She hadn't realized he was so close.

“Dance with me, sparrow,” he said quietly.

She let him pull her to her feet and lead her out onto the bare wood floor. His big arms enveloped her close against his broad, husky body until air could barely have gotten between them. She felt the tremor go through her slender body and wondered at the strength and newness of what she was feeling.

The sun was just beginning to go down outside the huge picture window, darkening the room gently, intimately. The slow, sultry pace of the music made the atmosphere all that much more intimate, and Randy and his young wife were already oblivious to their surroundings as they danced a few feet away.

Drowning in new sensations, Siri moved close to Hawke. Obeying an instinct as old as time, her hands slid up over his broad chest to tangle gently in the thick hair that curled just slightly at the nape of his powerful neck.

“Siri…” he warned softly, something tight and odd in his tone as his big hands contracted bruisingly at her waist.

She nestled her head against his chest with a sigh, letting the music and the nearness wash over her as the amber glow of a setting sun added to the magic of being close against Hawke like this, making her feel reckless.

Her fingers caressed the back of his head slowly, gently. Against her slenderness, she could feel the heavy, driving beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt. The blazing warmth of his chest caressed her cheek.

“Do you know what you're doing to me?” he asked gruffly, his grip tightening painfully.

“You didn't grumble when Angel did it,” she murmured drowsily.

“Angel wouldn't mind the consequences. You would,” he said flatly.

She moved closer. “Are you sure?” she whispered softly.

His big hands moved up to the back of her head, forcing her face up to his dark, blazing eyes. “You'd better be,” he warned huskily.

Something in the way he was looking at her made her blood run wild through her veins. Her fingers reached up and touched his mouth gently, sensually. “Oh, Hawke…” she whispered, her eyes soft with faint pleading as they met his.

“Watch the table!” Kitty called, but it was too late. Siri hit it with her hip, and it was just bruising enough to break the spell.

She drew slightly away from Hawke, gingerly touching her bruised hip, then suddenly remembering what she'd been doing. She glanced at him just once and
turned quickly away. Her nervous fingers opened the sliding doors of the picture window where steps led down to the beach.

“Excuse me,” she murmured over her shoulder, “I think I need some air.”

She darted down the steps, embarrassed, and onto the gritty sand of the beach, feeling it fill her sandals as she started running along the shoreline. The sun hovered low on the horizon, and the breeze felt good in her face, cool and sobering. Her hair lifted from her hot neck, cooling the dampness, bringing her swaying mind slowly back into focus.

She was so lost in sensation that she didn't notice how deserted the surroundings were or that a sand dune hid the lonely stretch of beach from the house. She didn't even hear the heavy thud of footsteps behind her, or see the husky, very angry man who was every bit as quick as she was.

He caught up with her at the water's
edge, throwing her off-balance so that she fell heavily to the wet sand beside him. He turned, pinning her down, his strong hands pushing her wrists into the sand while the surf lathered around them, cold and wet.

“Hawke…the water,” she stammered. He was dynamite at close range. This man who was so familiar was at once strange and dangerous and wickedly exciting. She gaped up at him with the shock she was feeling plain in her amber eyes, a little unnerved by the feel of his massive chest bruising the softness of hers, the way that mat of curling dark hair where his shirt was unbuttoned felt against the skin her low-cut top left revealed. His eyes were like slate now, dark and glittering, narrowing slightly as he looked down at his captive.

“Did you think you were going to get away with it?” he demanded roughly. “My God, Siri, you can't incite a man
like that and expect to walk away untouched!”

“I didn't…I didn't mean to, Hawke,” she breathed. “It must have been the rum, and I'm not used to it. I'm sorry…!”

His fingers tightened on her wrists as his head bent. “So am I,” he said in a deep, tight voice. “But I can't turn it on and off. Just be still, little girl. Don't make it worse by fighting me.”

She caught her breath when she saw his eyes drop to her mouth. “Hawke, don't…” she pleaded half-heartedly.

“Haven't you ever wondered,” he whispered roughly as his warm, hard mouth brushed against hers in the dim reddish sunlight, “what it would be like with me?”

She tried to answer him, but her blood was singing from the slow, brief, expert kisses he was whispering across her trembling lips.

Her fingers hesitantly touched the dark
face above hers, exploring his forehead, his cheek rough with its day's shadow of beard, his chiseled mouth—liberties she'd never have dared to take before, but he didn't seem to mind.

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured.

“I…I'm nervous,” she admitted.

His lips brushed against her closed eyelids. “It's a public beach,” he reminded her. “This is hardly the place for what you're afraid I'm going to do to you.”

“I know.”

His teeth nipped at her lower lip. “Then why these little tremors I can feel going through you?” he asked in a deep, slow whisper.

“Hawke…”

His big hands slid beneath her shoulders, bringing her body sensuously up against him while his fingers caressed the softness of her back under the thin blouse.

“Stop talking,” he murmured. “Touch me.”

She relaxed unsteadily, pressing her small hands against his hard, cool chest, enjoying the masculine feel of it against the palms of her hands. His mouth explored hers very gently, coaxing, rather than forcing, her lips to part under the eager pressure of his.

“Hawke…the water,” she whispered, feeling it dampen the back of her head.

“To hell with the water.” His lips brushed against hers more insistently, pressing them apart until he could fit his mouth precisely to hers in a leisurely, ardent kiss that made a moan break from her throat.

His big hands slid up to her head, cradling it from the water, as his mouth grew hard and bruising and intimate in its assault on her soft lips.

“Don't…” she protested weakly, trying to escape his mouth as he began to
deepen the kiss, to arouse feelings beyond her slight experience.

He drew back a breath to look down into her wide, amber eyes. “Why not?” he asked quietly.

“I…I've never kissed anyone…like that,” she faltered.

“You're going to kiss me like that. Just relax,” he whispered, tenderly smoothing the wild, damp hair away from her flushed face as he bent again. “There's a first time for everything, sparrow,” he murmured against her mouth. “It's part of growing up, of being a woman. I want to be the one to teach you. Here, Siri. Now…” He forced her head back against his big hands, coaxing, tantalizing, teasing her soft mouth until he made her want it, need it, until her lips parted for him without protest and she sank down into the sand under the staggering wave of emotion that swept over her. A sound—half surprised gasp, half sob—wrenched from her.

“Does it make you ache, baby?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Yes!” she moaned, her nails biting into his shoulders as his body shifted slowly, sensuously against hers.

“Now you know how I felt in the beach house, you damned little tease!” he growled.

All at once, he rolled away from her and got to his feet. He stood facing the ocean, fumbling in his shirt pocket for a cigarette and match, and she thought just for an instant that she saw a shudder run through his big, husky body.

The blazing orange colors on the horizon danced around them, in a silence made noisy by the watery crash of the surf. The fiery glow gave Hawke a satanic look, emphasizing his darkness in a silhouette of power and strength against the horizon.

Siri sat up, aware of the dampness of her hair and back, and the bruised ache of her body from the fierce pressure of
his. She tasted blood on her lips as she touched the inside of them with her tongue. The taste of him was there as well—a smoky, masculine taste that brought the color into her cheeks when she remembered how intimately she'd let him kiss her. As if that hadn't been bad enough, she'd revealed what his touch could do to her. She felt vaguely ashamed of herself, humiliated. If the name of the game was get even, he'd done a good job.

She got to her feet, still dazed. “I…I'm going back to the beach house,” she managed weakly.

“You might as well, honey, the lesson's over,” he said with a cutting edge on his deep voice. “I'm a little old to be tutoring curious teenagers, Siri. From now on, you'll have to let Holland teach you what you want to know. I'm not going to let you get to me like that again.”

Get to him? Lessons? She felt all the color drain out of her face as she looked at him.

H
e turned, as if he sensed her puzzlement, and she could feel his eyes touching her. His cigarette glowed orange in the fading light. “Isn't that clear enough?” he asked harshly. “Get out of my sight, you little hypocrite! Whatever the game is, I'm damned well not playing!”

Her hand went to her cheek, feeling as if he'd slapped her. She turned and
started back toward the beach house alone.

With her heart pounding in her ears, she joined the others, trying not to let the turmoil of her emotions show. Her amber eyes had an unnatural brightness, and her hair was damp in back from the surf and disheveled from Hawke's rough fingers. But she managed to keep her voice calm, her hands steady.

“Where is Hawke?” Angel asked with venomous curiosity. “He followed you out.”

“I don't know,” Siri replied innocently. “He passed me on the beach and kept right on walking.”

“I'll bet that did a lot for your ego,” Kitty teased lightly.

Siri smiled. “It's not like that at all. Hawke's years too old for me. Goodness, he used to drive me to cheerleading practice when I was barely in my teens.” She laughed, and saw some of the suspicion
and tension drain out of Angel's delicately boned face.

“We will wait for him,” the little Latin woman said. “In the meantime, let us have another drink.”

Siri welcomed the rum punch as never before. Perhaps she could recover before…

Even as the thought formed in her mind, Hawke came in the door, looking as imperturbable as ever and just a little dangerous. His eyes darted toward Siri for just an instant before he joined Angel at the bar and after a while, the din of conversation dispelled some of Siri's tension. Not that the meal had much taste when they sat down to eat it. It might have been cardboard for all she knew. She kept her eyes on her plate and carried bites of food automatically to her mouth, pausing only to murmur appropriate responses to Kitty's bubbly remarks. The evening passed agonizingly slowly, a
mingling of soft music and conversation that seemed to go forever.

Finally, Randy announced that he and Kitty had to get back to their hotel. Siri was right behind them, hoping that Hawke might decide to remain with Angel. But he didn't. Parrying aside her invitation to spend the day with her tomorrow, he explained that he'd be leaving town in the morning, adding that he'd look her up the next time he was passing through.

Siri followed the Hallers outside, while Angel took her sweet time saying goodbye to Hawke. Oh, why couldn't he have stayed? She didn't want to have to go back to that lonely suite with him, to be taunted anymore, to be shamed anymore. She just wanted to go back to Atlanta, and her father, and the newspaper. This was like being left in an unescapable cage with a lion.

Driving back to Panama City was the most uncomfortable thing in Siri's recent
memory. She sat as far away from Hawke as possible, and her face was turned toward the darkness outside, with its sparse highlights of neon signs and colored lights as the “Miracle Strip” stretched out before them. The other two made casual conversation, but Hawke's replies were clipped and terse.

If only, Siri thought unhappily, they'd gone to see the awful snakes. She'd have had nightmares, but perhaps they wouldn't have been so painful. In her mind, she could see those dark, narrowed eyes looking down at her, feel the angry crush of his mouth, the bruising strength of his big body pressing hers relentlessly into the soft, damp sand.

She trembled just at the memory, wrapping her arms tight around her body to contain the shudder of shame that racked her. Why did she have to drink the rum? Why did she have to tease him like that while they were dancing? For all that she'd dreamed with a juvenile curiosity
what it would be like to kiss him, it hadn't in any way prepared her for what had actually happened. She hadn't known that a man could be so demanding, that her own strength was nothing when compared with a man's superior force. She hadn't realized that a kiss could be so intimate, or that she could want it so much. Her eyes closed in embarrassment. He'd made her want it deliberately, but not because he wanted it to be a beautifully shared emotion. He had only wanted to pay her back for dancing a little too close.

They were at the hotel before she realized it. She stuck to Kitty like glue, finding one excuse after the other to keep her talking about art, about recipes, about anything. When the Hallers invited them in for a nightcap, Siri refused quickly. Pleading a headache, she asked Hawke if she could have the key; only to be shattered when he remarked casually that he'd go along, too. He silenced her pro
test with a look that knocked the resistance right out of her.

Meekly, she said her goodnights and followed him along to the suite they shared, waiting silently while he unlocked the door. She went in past him and reached for the doorknob at her bedroom.

“Siri.” Just one word, just her name, but it was enough to freeze her where she stood.

She kept her eyes on the brass metal knob. “Please, just let me go to bed,” she said in a voice totally unlike her normal tone. “You can't possibly make me feel any more ashamed than I already do.”

“Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, flushing at the intimacy of the question, determined not to let him see the tears that were collecting in her eyes.

He took a long, agitated breath. “Since you're too afraid to listen to me, when you get home, ask Jared what that kind
of provocation does to a man. It might surprise you. Goodnight, Siri.”

She stayed where she was until she heard the door open and close. She went quickly into her bedroom and locked the door behind her.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” she whispered to the empty room.

 

The next morning, Siri found a note propped up on the coffee table written in Hawke's broad, scrawling hand.

“Siri,” it began, “if you need to contact me for any reason, I'll be at this number,” and it gave an unfamiliar set of digits. “I should be back by Thursday. Behave yourself. Hawke.”

She sighed, reading it. That last remark was just like him. Behave yourself, indeed! And just who did he think he was, anyway? Her keeper?

She stormed out of the suite and down to the beach. Well, she asked herself, what did she expect, a love letter? She
blushed at the memory of that scene on the beach. It was a blessing not to have to face him for a few days. The wound was still too raw for the sting she'd feel every time she met those dark, knowing eyes. Only a few more days, she told herself. Only a few more days, and she could go back to her old familiar routine and pick up the pieces. But those pieces wouldn't include Mark. Not now. After what she'd discovered in Hawke's arms, it would be impossible to let Mark touch her ever again. She wondered miserably if she'd ever be able to feel that kind of emotion with anyone else.

Hawke was suddenly a stranger; a mature, very capable man who possessed a hidden fire she'd only dreamed he might conceal under the restrained impassive mask he wore. The man who'd wrestled her to the sand and kissed her with such bruising hunger—had that really been the Hawke who had brought her souvenirs from his travels and helped her with her
homework? The idea took a lot of getting used to. She'd never experienced Hawke in any kind of real physical sense until now. She had a feeling she'd never quite get over it. He'd only been gone a few hours, and already she felt as if part of her had gone with him. That, too, was new—the feeling of being cut in two parts without someone.

Why did she miss him so much? Why couldn't she remember only the harsh words, the accusations he'd made, instead of the feel of that hard, sensual mouth as he'd made her yield to him? Was he really investigating a case, or was he using the case as an excuse to spend a few days with one of his women?

She dived into the waves and relished the feel of the cold water on her burning skin. She simply wouldn't think about it anymore. She wouldn't allow it!

 

Kitty came to see her that night, moaning that Randy had gone out somewhere
with one of his friends and left her there all alone. Over coffee, they compared notes about Panama City and the delights of the beach.

“Will you get mad at me if I ask you what was wrong with Hawke last night?” Kitty asked suddenly, cupping her hands around the mug filled with steaming black coffee.

Siri looked down at her lap. “We…had an argument.”

“Which Hawke started, no doubt.” Kitty smiled. “I know Hawke very well. He was engaged to a friend of mine back in Charleston, just before he went into partnership with your father. I'm afraid she left him with a bad opinion of women in general. People tried to tell him that Nita liked to collect men, but…” She sighed softly, meeting Siri's intent, curious gaze. “Nita was just eighteen when she and Hawke started going together; a very young eighteen. She was very pretty, and I always felt she was flattered
by the attentions of a man as masculine and mature as Hawke. But while he wanted commitment, she wanted variety and fun. What happened was inevitable.”

Siri was sitting on the edge of her seat. “What did happen?” she asked.

“To make a long story short, Hawke caught her out with a boy just a year older than she was. He broke the engagement, but I don't think he ever really got over it. And then, to have his mother found dead in her lover's apartment barely two weeks later…” Kitty shook her head. “He hasn't had an easy life. He had to let his law practice go while he straightened out the family finances. His father was too busy with women to be of much help.”

Siri was taking it all in with wide, astonished eyes. She'd known Hawke for so long, and not really known anything at all about him, it seemed.

“You didn't know, did you?” Kitty probed gently.

Siri shook her head. “Hawke's very tight-lipped about his private life. I doubt even Dad knows very much about him.” She sipped her coffee. “The girl he was engaged to…did he love her?”

“He was besotted with her, to use an old phrase. Nita was a gorgeous girl, and she wasn't ever intentionally cruel, just thoughtless. But even though I liked her, I wasn't blind to her faults. She was a born flirt, and she liked rich men. Hawke was good-looking, and had more money than even she could plow through very fast.”

“Did she marry the boy?” Siri asked.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, she's gone through three husbands since, and I hear she's on the prowl for number four right now.” Kitty shook her head. “Hawke had a lucky escape. I'm glad he left Charleston when he did. Nita wasn't quite what he needs in a wife,” she added bitterly.

“He doesn't need a wife now,” Siri
said with a knowing smile. “Not as long as he's got women like Gessie and Angel following him around. Angel was lovely, wasn't she?”

“If you thought she was so pretty,” Kitty asked slyly, “why did you spend so much time glaring at her?”

Siri shifted uncomfortably. “Her brother irritated me.”

“He irritated Hawke, too.” Kitty set down her cup and looked at the other girl intently. “Siri, I told you about Nita for a reason. He was so bitter about it, I don't think he'll let another woman get close. But he might hurt one very badly out of that bitterness. I've come to know you these past few days. I wouldn't like to see you hurt.”

Siri felt the words go through her and fought to keep calm. “You're very kind, Kitty, but I told you…”

“You told me one thing,” came the wise reply, “but I watched you dancing with Hawke at Angel's house. Siri, it's
very hard to hide when you care that much.”

“I'd had a lot to drink,” she protested.

“Not that much. Siri,” she said gently, leaning forward to cover the younger woman's trembling hands with her own, “didn't you know that you were in love with him?”

 

Those words haunted her through the night. “Didn't you know you were in love with him?” The question returned like a painted horse on a merry-go-round, passing in front of her over and over again as she lay awake in her bed.

That couldn't be true, could it? Not Hawke, of all people, not after all this time! After all, you didn't go around falling in love with people who were like part of the family. And besides, he was years too old for her; too old, too set in his ways, and far too possessive.

She'd laughed off Kitty's probing remark convincingly enough at the time but
it wasn't so easy to laugh it off in the darkness. To be with him, to touch him, to listen quietly as he talked with her father—when had such commonplace things become so important? And why hadn't she seen it coming? Why hadn't she realized what was happening while there might have been time to do something about it?

One thing was certain; Hawke didn't feel that way about her. She could still see the fury in his eyes, hear the whiplash of his voice as he accused her of provoking him into kissing her. Had she, really? Or, perhaps, had he wanted to…?

She drew a deep, unsteady breath. That, she told herself, was pure conceit. A man like Hawke wouldn't look twice at a girl as young and innocent as she was. He liked women like Angel—sleek, sophisticated, women who weren't afraid of the consequences of their flirting.