Part 9 (1/2)

When she looked up and found Hawk watching her, her heart hesitated and then beat too quickly. He seemed to see right through her to the blood racing in her veins.

Once, when he had touched her cheek with his hard fingertips, she had thought he was going to say something. Surely he had seen the rapid beat of her pulse beneath her throat.

But he had said nothing, simply looked at her, and a feeling of longing had swept through her like sunlight through stained gla.s.s, transforming her. She found herself holding her breath, antic.i.p.ating the next time his fingers would brush over her skin. Then she found herself watching him, wondering with strange urgency what it would take to make him smile.

For Hawk had never smiled in the time they were together. Not once.

Perhaps when he catches his first salmon, Angel thought. Perhaps then he will smile.

No one can resist the flas.h.i.+ng beauty of the fish, the thrilling power vibrating up through the rod, the moment of capture when the net explodes with rippling silver energy.

The phone rang, startling Angel out of her thoughts.

It didnat ring a second time. Hawk had picked it up before she could do more than look at the extension in her studio.

Angel glanced at the wall clock. Nine-thirty. A bit late for London. The call was probably from one of Hawkas limited partners in the United States. Later in the day Hawk would usually talk to Tokyo, long calls that left him irritable, restless, liked a caged thing ready to lash out at whatever was within reach.

But not today. Today they were going fis.h.i.+ng if Angel had to grab Hawk and drag him to the boat.

First, though, Angel had to take care of her own obligations. She glanced at the partially unloaded box.

The gla.s.s can wait. Mrs. Carey canat.

Angel pulled off her gloves, grabbed her purse, and left the room at a half-run, eager to have everything done so that she could be out on the water. She stopped long enough to poke her head into Hawkas suite of rooms.

As she had expected, Hawk was on the phone. His head was resting against the back of the leather chair, his long legs sprawled across the beautiful Chinese rug. Tension and fatigue were clear on his face. Eyes closed, he was listening without speaking.

Angel knocked lightly on the door frame. Hawkas eyes opened. They were startlingly clear, as intense as focused sunlight.

aGo ahead and talk,a Hawk said to Angel, his voice rough. aHis d.a.m.ned secretary lost the last offer. Theyare looking for it right now.a aCan I have your car keys for a minute?a Hawk looked surprised, then reached into his slacks for his key ring. As he s.h.i.+fted, the slacks pulled tightly across his lower body, revealing every masculine line of him.

Angel closed her eyes, but it was too late. The image of Hawk was etched behind her eyelids as surely as if she had done the job herself with acid and flashed gla.s.s.

Keys jingled in front of Angelas face.

aThanks,a Angel said, her voice tight. aYour car is blocking mine. Iall give you back the keys as soon as I move it.a aDonat bother. Just take my car.a aWhat?a asked Angel, barely hearing his words.

Hawk had unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt when he sat down for the round of morning calls. Tanned, powerful, with a wedge of curling midnight hair, the lines and textures of Hawkas chest between the crisp white edges of his s.h.i.+rt appealed to both the woman and the artist in Angel. It was all she could do not to grab her sketch pad and go to work, capturing him.

Or to lean over and tangle her fingers in the rough silk of his hair, capturing him in a different way.

aTake my car,a said Hawk. aI wonat be needing it.a His eyes roamed over Angelas face, lingering on her moist, slightly parted lips. Antic.i.p.ation flooded through his body in a wave of heat.

She was just within his reach.

With very little effort he could pull her between his legs, hold her against the growing ache of his arousal, the ache that came whenever he was with her for more than a moment.

h.e.l.l, Hawk admitted angrily to himself, I get hard just thinking about her soft mouth and haunted eyes, and what it will be like to hear and feel her pa.s.sion.

When Hawk spoke again, his expression was impa.s.sivea”and his voice a caress.

aTake it, Angel. Itas easy to handle.a Then Hawkas voice changed.

aNo, Jennings,a he said into the phone, aI didnat mean you.a Hawkas mouth curled up at the left corner. aI wouldnat give you a saucer of warm spit, and you know it.a Angel heard the blast of laughter that came from the phone. She took the keys from Hawk and hurried out of the room, wondering if he had noticed her staring at him.

And if he had, what he thought about it.

Angel was drawn to Hawk as surely as waves were drawn to the sh.o.r.e. She wanted to be with him, to touch him, to talk with him, to enjoy his quick intelligence and even his abrasive wit.

Yet she didnat know if he was attracted to her in the same way. There was no reason he should be. There was no lack of women for Hawk.

Women wanted him. It was that simple.

Every time Hawk walked down a street or into a restaurant, women looked, and then looked again, drawn by the maleness that radiated from him as inevitably as color radiated from stained gla.s.s.

Yet Hawk didnat look back at the women who looked at him. Either he didnat notice, or he didnat care.

Angel slid behind the wheel of Hawkas black BMW. A quick study of the dashboard told her everything she needed to know. She started the engine and drove confidently, enjoying the responsiveness of the car. As Hawk had said, it was easy to handle.

She wished that the caras owner was half so easily managed. But he wasnat.

All Angel could be sure of was that Hawk had made no unmistakable overtures toward her as a woman. Until he did, she could only a.s.sume that he wasnat interested.

Despite her attraction to Hawk, she would not chase him. It not only wasnat her style, but she had a deep feeling that he had been too often chased and never caught.

Not really. Not for more than a night or two.

That wasnat enough. Whatever Angelas feelings were toward the enigmatic Hawk, they were too complex to be satisfied in a few nights.

10.

Angel parked in front of a small house that had been built forty years before. The other houses on the street were more recent, having been built after Mr. Carey died and his widow was forced to sell the small farm in order to pay death taxes.

After Angel retrieved the two bags of groceries from the trunk, she walked carefully up the cracked sidewalk to the front porch. On either side of the walkway, once-elegant roses were going to seed.

Next time Iam here, Iall have to have a go at the roses with the pruning shears.

Mail stuck out from the box by the doorbell. Angel pressed the b.u.t.ton with her elbow, then braced a grocery bag against the brick house long enough to grab the mail in the box.

aMrs. Carey?a she called out. aItas Angie.a aComing,a said a faint voice from inside the house.

Angel waited without impatience, balancing the bags of groceries and the mail in her arms.

After a few minutes the door to the small house opened. A tiny, gray-haired woman smiled up at Angel and retreated a few steps to allow her to enter. The womanas walker squeaked slightly on the flagstone entryway.

aCome in, Angie. My, youare looking lovely this morning. Such a pretty color youare wearing.a aThank you,a said Angel, smiling.