Hawk's Prey Read online

  ‘Whitney—’

  ‘I—Oh, damn!’ she protested regretfully after deliberately knocking her orange juice all over him. ‘I’m so sorry, Hawk.’ She watched as he mopped ineffectually at the juice as it rapidly stained his dark trousers. ‘That was very clumsy of me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he dismissed with a grimace. ‘I can easily go and change.’

  The respite was what she had been hoping for, and she relaxed back with a sigh of relief once Hawk had gone to his suite, giving up all pretence of trying to eat the toast she had buttered to accompany her juice, spooning sugar into a cup of strong coffee instead, and drinking it down thirstily. She didn’t know how she was going to cope with this, felt like crying and screaming at the same time. She had to stop Hawk, she just had to! But how? He could be going off for a meeting with Tom Beresford right now.

  ‘Sorry I was gone so long.’ He rejoined her ten minutes—and three cups of coffee for Whitney—later. ‘The orange juice had made me sticky so I took a quick shower.’

  He looked so handsome to her this morning, the fitted brown trousers and shirt complemented perfectly by the brown sports jacket with its fine gold check, his hair looking more gold than dark blond.

  He wore tailor-made clothes, silk shirts, hand-made shoes, owned the Freedom, Hawkworth House, numerous businesses, and it was all a sham!

  ‘Hawk,’ she began slowly. ‘You know that, for all our difficulties this last year, that if ever I were in trouble and needed help I would come to you, don’t you?’ She looked at him frowningly.

  His eyes were narrowed. ‘I would certainly hope so,’ he nodded.

  ‘And that if you were—troubled, about anything, I would want to help you in any way I can?’ She watched him closely.

  He gave an inclination of his head. ‘I’m sure that you would.’

  She moistened her lips at his unforthcoming answers. ‘And—are you?’ she prompted.

  ‘Troubled?’ he repeated in an amused voice. ‘I can’t think of anything offhand.’

  He couldn’t think of anything? He couldn’t have changed this much!

  ‘I may as well clean out your desk while I’m at the office.’ He looked at her challengingly.

  Whitney swallowed hard, knowing he expected her to continue to argue as to the fairness of her dismissal from the National. But the job that had come to mean so much to her the last year, since it had been the only thing she had in her life, no longer seemed important compared to the enormity of what Hawk was contemplating doing.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s your newspaper.’

  His eyes narrowed at her lack of protest. ‘It’s for the best, Whitney.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ she nodded.

  His frown increased. ‘Are you sure you’re just over-tired? You don’t seem quite yourself.’

  A ghost of a smile curved her lips. ‘Because I’m not losing my temper as I usually do?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hawk answered with complete honesty.

  Her splutter of laughter was completely spontaneous; she hardly felt in the mood for laughter! ‘No one could ever accuse you of charming me with compliments,’ she derided ruefully.

  ‘That wouldn’t be in the least like me,’ he said drily.

  No, Hawk had never been accused of being an overly charming man, but women had always liked him nonetheless, although Hawk had never returned their obvious interest. Because of Geraldine.

  ‘Hawk,’—she looked at him eagerly—‘couldn’t your business wait a few days? We could have fun together if we left now, like we used to.’ Geraldine was seasick as soon as she stepped on board Freedom, and so the two of them had always been alone on their trips, since one memorable trip when Geraldine had spent several days confined to her suite claiming she was about to die if she didn’t get off. Whitney had felt sorry for her, but she had also been grateful for the times alone with Hawk.

  His golden eyes were hooded by heavy lids as he shook his head regretfully. ‘My business can’t wait.’

  He made the statement with such finality that Whitney knew it couldn’t. Were things that desperate, then?

  ‘Rest today, Whitney,’ he said gently at her disappointed expression. ‘And then this evening we’ll do something together, I promise.’

  Whitney didn’t like his cajoling tone at all. ‘Tell me something, Hawk,’ she snapped. ‘When you kissed me yesterday, did I seem like a child to you?’

  His mouth tightened, the skin taut across his high cheekbones. ‘You know you didn’t—’

  ‘Then don’t try to placate me as if I still am one!’ She glared at him. ‘I’m twenty-two, and I don’t need the promise of a “treat” to make up for a disappointment like I did when I was fifteen!’

  Hawk was breathing raggedly as he looked at her with exasperation. ‘I was only—’

  ‘I know what you “were only”,’ she cut in heatedly, standing up to cover the distance between them with determined strides. ‘And if you’re going to console me with a treat I’d rather have one of my own choosing!’ Her arms curved up about his neck as she pulled his head down to her.

  She was convinced Hawk had remained unmoved when he had kissed her yesterday, and she was equally convinced he wasn’t going to stay that way today!

  She put everything she had into that kiss, all her love, every ounce of experience she had gained with the few boys she had dated since leaving school, her lips parted against his, forcing him to meet the caress, moving erotically against him, feeling him stiffen as her tongue made a daring exploration of his mouth.

  She groaned her satisfaction when his arms moved slowly about her waist, snuggling against him as she felt the leap of desire his body was too aroused to deny. That physical show of his desire was all that she needed to spur her on to deepen the caress, moaning low in her throat as Hawk became the master.

  She had known he had to be a sensual man, and the intense passion of his kiss told her that she had been right in the assumption, his hands moving restlessly up and down her spine. Whitney wanted those hands on her breasts.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Hawk demanded dazedly, snatching his hands away from where she had nuzzled her breasts against him. He stepped back, his expression stunned. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he said again, this time with harsh disbelief.

  She held her head high. ‘I can’t believe you don’t know,’ she bit out.

  ‘Whitney…?’ He looked totally bewildered, by her actions as well as his own. ‘That wasn’t funny,’ he finally grated.

  Her harsh laugh lacked amusement. ‘It wasn’t meant to be!’

  His mouth thinned. ‘If it was supposed to show me you’re grown up, I already knew that!’

  She could have cried with the frustration of her misunderstood motives. But why should she have thought the kiss she had forced on him should have made him see her as other than Whitney Morgan, the daughter of the man who had been his best friend, the child he had agreed to care for. That agreement had cost him so much: the career he loved, the wife he was obsessed with, and now the money that had been all he had left. It was proof of Hawk’s generosity that he didn’t actually hate her.

  She turned away. ‘I’m sorry. I—I was angry, and—Well, you know me, Hawk,’ she dismissed brittlely. ‘I do stupid things when I’m angry. How is your shin today?’ she queried lightly.

  ‘Bruised,’—his mouth twisted—‘but I’ll live.’ He looked at his wristwatch, seeming relieved that she had dismissed the significance of the kiss they had just shared. ‘I really do have to go now.’ He frowned. ‘Are you going to be all right here on your own all day?’

  ‘You mean, am I going to try and escape?’ she derided tauntingly.

  ‘You aren’t a prisoner!’ Hawk rasped. ‘God, Whitney, will it be such a punishment having to spend a little time with me?’

  It could have been wonderful, if she hadn’t known that during the next few days Hawk was probably going to take a step that would ruin his life! �
��You aren’t going to be here most of the time,’ she reminded him distractedly, her eyes suddenly taking on a glow. ‘I know, why don’t you let me come with you?’ she suggested excitedly.

  ‘It’s a business meeting—’

  ‘I wouldn’t get in the way,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘You wouldn’t even know I was there.’

  ‘Whitney,’ he reasoned slowly. ‘You just said you were tired.’

  ‘I am,’ she nodded. ‘But I’ll never sleep, you know I never can during the day.’

  ‘You could still rest.’

  She was losing this argument, she could tell. And yet it had seemed like such a good idea; if she was with him he could hardly meet or talk to Tom Beresford! ‘You just don’t want me around,’ she pouted, watching him from beneath the fan of her lowered lashes. He was actually smiling!

  ‘I remember the last time you sent me on that guilt trip,’ he mused. ‘I ended up taking you to Wimbledon every day for two weeks to watch the tennis, and I hate the sport!’

  ‘You told me you enjoyed it,’ she recalled indignantly.

  ‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,’ he grinned. ‘But this time I have to,’ he stated. ‘My meeting will be purely business; you would be bored out of your mind. No, Whitney,’ he added firmly as she would have argued again. ‘I’ve finally learnt how to say that to you,’ he said self-derisively.

  ‘You make me sound like a spoilt brat,’ she frowned.

  ‘I only completed the job your father had already started,’ he teased, seeing her indignation.

  ‘Except that I’m not your daughter,’ she pointed out huskily.

  His expression hardened. ‘You are the daughter I would have wished for if I’d had one.’

  Whitney felt thoroughly deflated once he had left. A daughter! That couldn’t possibly be how Hawk thought of her!

  ***

  She took advantage of Hawk’s absence to take out the file and photographs on Tom Beresford and spread them out on the desk in the library; no one else on board was aware of the significance of them being in her possession. No matter how many times she went through it all she couldn’t see anything in it which Hawk could use to barter with Tom Beresford. Oh, she had done her research on the man thoroughly, had taken dozens of photographs, but she hadn’t yet been able to find evidence of actual payments being made. Hawk was going to be very disappointed when he did eventually take possession of them. And she had no doubt that he would; she couldn’t continue to lie about them indefinitely.

  But he made no mention of either the file or the photographs that evening when he handed her the other things from her desk. He looked more strained than ever, though, and she desperately wished there were some way she could help him. But he had made it more than clear he didn’t want her interference.

  Sleep didn’t prove as elusive that night, the lengthy bath she had taken before retiring relaxing her, Hawk having retreated to the library straight after dinner, claiming he had work to do. Whitney didn’t know if he had work to do or if he was just avoiding being alone with her. The bath was welcome, anyway, and she fell asleep shortly after climbing between the silk sheets.

  Quite what woke her up again she didn’t know, but she woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. The bedside clock illuminated one o’clock. The same time Glyn Briant had come on board the previous night! It couldn’t just be a coincidence.

  She pulled on her masculine bathrobe over the practical silky nightshirt, quietly padding up on deck. It was a beautifully clear night, very quiet in this London marina, the air warm and light.

  ‘What are you doing up here?’ Hawk rasped from the darkness.

  She turned with a guilty start, relief shooting through her when she saw he was alone, having come from the direction of the sun-deck at the back of the yacht, still wearing the cream shirt and brown trousers he had worn at dinner earlier, although the shirt was now unbuttoned at the collar and the suit jacket had been discarded. He looked beautiful!

  ‘Something woke me,’ she shrugged, turning sharply as she heard the purr of a car engine on the dock. She saw the arc of the car headlights before the car turned and only the tail-lights were visible until it disappeared completely. She turned back to Hawk with raised brows. ‘A visitor?’ she asked with feigned casualness.

  He shrugged dismissively, although his gaze didn’t quite reach hers. ‘Must have been to one of the other yachts,’ he disclaimed.

  She didn’t believe him, not after Glyn Briant’s nocturnal visit the night before. ‘That must have been what woke me,’ she frowned. ‘Haven’t you been to bed yet?’ She knew he hadn’t!

  ‘I had some things to do before I retired.’ He eyed her warily.

  ‘I see,’ she nodded, making no effort to return to her own bed.

  Golden eyes narrowed at this reluctance to leave. ‘It’s late, Whitney,’ he snapped.

  ‘Or early,’ she acknowledged lightly. ‘It depends on your point of view.’

  He gave an impatient sigh. ‘Aren’t you sleepy?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ she shrugged.

  ‘Well I am,’ he said pointedly.

  ‘I thought you had some things to do.’ She looked up at him guilelessly.

  ‘I’ve finished them,’ he bit out, obviously very on edge.

  ‘Then we may as well have a nightcap together,’ she decided brightly.

  ‘Whitney—’

  ‘In the lounge or out on deck?’ she asked, bulldozing over his objections. If she could just get him to talk to her. And the early hours of the morning were reputed to be good for that, the darkness of night seeming to loosen the tongue. Although she wasn’t sure that would be true of Hawk!

  ‘I already have a bottle of brandy out on deck,’ he admitted reluctantly.

  Whitney followed him to the lounge area at the back of the yacht, noting that two of the glasses on the tray had already been used. Glyn Briant had been here again tonight, she was sure of it.

  ‘Thanks.’ She smiled straight into Hawk’s eyes as he handed her the brandy, curled up comfortably in one of the cushioned armchairs.

  Hawk remained standing, his expression grim as he sipped at his own drink; far from his second by the level of the brandy left in the decanter!

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

  ‘Sorry?’ He frowned darkly at the question.

  Her shrug was deliberately casual. ‘Well, I can never remember your being so busy you had to stay up half the night working.’ Her expression was bland. God, how could she get him to talk to her! She couldn’t just ask him outright if he was involved with Tom Beresford, that would just be asking for one of his chilly rebuffs. She had never felt so utterly helpless.

  He shrugged. ‘I told you I had things to do before we could leave.’

  Whitney gave him a sharp look. ‘The trip is still on, then?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Did I ever give the impression it wasn’t?’ he grated.

  He hadn’t said as much, but it was the assumption she had made, and she was sure that until a few minutes ago it had been a correct one. What had Glyn Briant told Hawk this evening to change those plans? Because for some reason the two men had now decided the trip was a good idea. Damn! She wished she had woken up earlier and had a chance to listen in on the conversation.

  She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I presumed the next couple of days here were instead of a cruise.’

  Hawk looked irritated. ‘Two days won’t do it.’

  ‘How did Martin take the news of my dismissal?’ She grimaced.

  ‘No one questions my decision,’ he told her arrogantly. ‘At least,’ he added ruefully, ‘almost no one.’ He looked at her pointedly.

  Whitney smiled. ‘Martin wasn’t too upset about losing his star reporter, then?’

  Hawk turned away, his eyes narrowed as he gazed out at the other yachts moored about them. ‘Not too upset, no,’ he finally grated. ‘I’ll help you get another job once this is all
over, Whitney,’ he added harshly. ‘If only you hadn’t—’

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted, standing very close to his side, looking up at him with trusting eyes. She had to trust him eventually to do what was right and not what was easiest. ‘Hawk—’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ He stepped back from her hand on his arm, his face rigid with disapproval as he swallowed some more of the brandy.

  ‘Hawk…?’ Her eyes reflected her hurt bewilderment at this complete physical rejection of her. He had never reacted in quite this way before.

  His expression was grim. ‘It’s late, I’ve drunk too much brandy tonight, and I don’t remember the last time I had a woman. I’m too damned vulnerable right now, Whitney!’ he angrily admitted.

  Her eyes widened, all the signs of physical arousal there for her to see now that she knew to look for them. His eyes were glazed—and not just from the brandy—his face pale, muscle spasms in his jaw, his whole body rigid with physical tension. Hawk didn’t need to admit to his weakness, it was all too apparent. Would he confide in her if they became lovers?

  ‘Hawk—’

  ‘Whitney, no!’ He stepped back as she would have touched him again. ‘I don’t want you!’

  ‘But you do,’ she murmured confidently, feeling his heart leap beneath her hand as she placed it on his chest. ‘Hawk, I’m here if you want me,’ she encouraged throatily.

  ‘I don’t!’ He shook his head, breathing rapidly.

  ‘Hawk, it will be all right. I’m not a child, and we could give each other so much.’

  ‘No!’

  He didn’t mean it, she could see that he didn’t, only realising how much of her legs were laid bare as she followed his heated gaze down her body. ‘Yes,’ she insisted, moving determinedly towards him.

  ‘I’d only be using you,’ he groaned as she leant her body into his.

  ‘Then use me, Hawk,’ she encouraged huskily.

  He swallowed convulsively. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can.’ She slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

  ‘We can’t.’ He shook his head in desperation.