Love on Trial Read online

  “Are you trying to memorize me?” Hawke asked quietly, as he caught her staring at him.

  She blushed red as a cherry. “Sorry. I wasn’t really looking at you,” she lied glibly. “I was thinking about an assignment….”

  “Was that it?” he asked, unconvinced. He caught her restless eyes and held them with an intensity that made her heart race. He’d never looked at her like that—not with that fiery, expressionless look that burned in his eyes. He held her gaze for so long, and with such raw power, that she was visibly shaken when she managed to drag her eyes down towards her coffee cup. She lifted it unsteadily to her lips.

  “I…I don’t really need dessert,” she said softly.

  “Yes, you do.” He took a long draw from the cigarette. “What did Holland say about the trip? Has he convinced you that I’m going to ravish you the first night?”

  She felt the color pour into her face. “Actually,” she said huskily, “he thought you were a little too old to think of me in that respect.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “How old does he think I am, for God’s sake, sixty?”

  “Close,” she remarked, avoiding his piercing eyes.

  “How old do you think I am?” he asked suddenly.

  She shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it.”

  “Liar.” He took a swallow of his coffee and suddenly reached out to catch her cold, nervous hand in his, forcing her to look up into those threatening eyes.

  “I’m seventeen years older than you, sparrow,” he said in a deep, quiet tone. “But if I wanted you, those seventeen years wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference to me. Or to you.”

  She felt her heart beating her to death from the inside. He’d never spoken to her like this, and it was devastating. Frightened, she drew her hand away from his and leaned back.

  “What the hell difference does it make to Holland’s mother if you go to Panama City with me?” he asked suddenly, harshly. “Are you engaged?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “He’s asked me.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t want marriage,” she replied. “Not now, not ever.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t cross-examine me, Hawke, I’m not on the stand!” she cried.

  “God, you’re a puzzle,” he remarked. He leaned one big arm over the back of his chair. He was wearing a light jacket over a pale blue shirt. The fabric stretched over the massive muscles of his chest. Under it, she could see the shadow of a mass of black, curling hair. Why did he have to be so masculine, so…

  “I have to go…” she began weakly.

  “Not yet,” he said, gesturing toward the approaching waiter. “Not until I get a little more flesh on those bird bones.”

  “I’m not skinny!” she hissed at him as the waiter was walking away.

  He dug into the massive dish of fresh strawberries and cream on their cake base, lifting an eyebrow as his eyes went pointedly to the soft rise and fall of her rounded breasts under the thin white blouse.

  “Parts of you aren’t,” he corrected.

  “Don’t!” she whispered, attempting to give her entire concentration to the dessert.

  “Doesn’t Holland ever touch you, little one?” he asked gently.

  She moved her thin shoulders as if trying to twist out from under the question. “Mark’s a gentleman.”

  “Mark’s a boy, Siri,” he corrected.

  “He suits me very well,” she countered, savoring the sweet taste of the whipped cream. Her tongue came out to whisk it off her upper lip, and Hawke’s eyes narrowed on the tiny movement. The deliberate scrutiny confused her, and she put the coffee cup quickly to her lips.

  “Should I bring the camera?” she asked, trying to sound cool and professional.

  “Only if you’re planning to do a speculation piece on the ‘Miracle Strip’ for some travel magazine,” he replied, “or photos for your album.”

  “Maybe,” she said thoughtfully, “I could hire one of the hotel employees to pour beet juice over your head while I take pictures.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it, honey,” he said, mildly amused. “You might not like the way I’d reciprocate.”

  “You wouldn’t hit that hard.” She smiled.

  His eyes travelled over her face, from the crown of golden hair to the amber eyes, the soft curve of her mouth. His gaze lingered there until her lips parted under the scrutiny that was as potent as a caress.

  “Siri,” he said in a deep, sensual tone, “if I ever lift my hand to you, it won’t be to hit you.”

  The look in his eyes said much more than the words. It haunted her all the way back to the office.

  Three

  That lunch marked a turning point for Siri. Suddenly, the thought of Panama City, of being with Hawke for the better part of a week, was unbearable. And she knew when she reached her office that she wasn’t going to go. No matter what, even if Bill fired her, she wasn’t going. She took a deep breath and walked into his office.

  “You’re what?” Daeton exploded.

  She stood her ground. “I’m not going with Hawke.”

  “Why, for God’s sake?”

  Now there, she thought miserably, was a good question. What could she tell him? I’m afraid of Hawke because of a look he gave me across a table?

  She swallowed. “My…boyfriend doesn’t like the idea,” she said finally, digging up the only excuse he might find acceptable.

  He threw down his pencil and leaned back in his chair. “Siri, there just isn’t anybody else I can send,” he explained. “Nobody. And even if there was, Hawke told your father that it was you or no one. This is one hell of a hot story. I don’t want to blow it because your boyfriend’s got a bad case of jealousy.”

  She stared at the cluttered top of his desk. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, turning to open the door.

  “Siri, if you do this to me,” Bill Daeton threatened quietly, “I’ll take you off the police beat and switch you to the garden club circuit for the next ten years.”

  She shrugged fatalistically. “I like flowers,” she said over her shoulder, and closed the door.

  If Daeton was disbelieving, her father was dumbstruck. He gaped at her over the dinner table, his face blank.

  “Do you realize,” he said quietly, “how long it took me to convince Hawke to let you go?”

  She smiled. “Five minutes?” she guessed.

  “Four.” He shook his head, toying with the brussel sprouts. “Want to tell me why you changed your mind?” he pursued.

  “I’ll sound silly.”

  “Oh, I’m already convinced of that. Tell me anyway.”

  She wrapped her cold fingers around her coffee cup. “It’s kind of hard to put into words,” she began.

  Jared spread his fingers behind his head and leaned back lazily. “I’ve got all night.”

  “I thought you were taking Nadine to that new night club.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  She shrugged. Of all people, she couldn’t lie to her father. “I’m afraid of Hawke,” she said miserably.

  He didn’t seem in the least surprised. “You’ve spent the past five years being alternately fascinated and terrified by him. Did you realize that you start backing away the minute he comes near you?” he asked with a patient smile.

  She took the napkin from her lap and folded it. “Isn’t this where I get the lecture about the evils of running away?” she asked.

  “Just about.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “He took you to lunch, didn’t he?”

  She nodded, dazed.

  “Well, did he try to seduce you at the table?” he persisted.

  “Of course not!”

  “You needn’t sound so indignant. I know Hawke,” he laughed. “He isn’t even vaguely subtle when he wants something, and that includes women.”

  “I didn’t know he was such a playboy,” she observed, wrapping both cold hands around her coffee cup.

  “He isn’
t.” He picked at a speck of lint on the sleeve of his jacket. “Oh, he’s got money. But that can be a two-edged sword, my girl, didn’t you know? I don’t think he’s ever been really sure if women want him or what he can give them.”

  “It wouldn’t make a bit of difference if he didn’t have a dime,” she said without thinking.

  Jared’s grin went from ear to ear. “I didn’t know you thought he was so attractive,” he remarked, noting the sudden color in her cheeks.

  “Even if he is a generation ahead of me, I can notice him,” she said defensively.

  “Age isn’t everything, you know.”

  “It is to him,” she grumbled absently. “Any day now, I expect him to offer to buy me a balloon or an ice-cream cone. Even now, with an award of merit under my belt for investigative reporting, he’s still giving me the ‘helpless little Siri’ looks.”

  “You could change his mind if you tried,” her father said gently.

  “Why in the world would I want to?” she asked, aghast. “My gosh, dad, he’s almost twice my age, and you know we don’t get along at all. We never have!”

  “Do you get along all that well with Holland?” he probed. “Honestly?”

  She glowered at him. “I can handle Mark.”

  “That’s probably the only reason you let him hang around, too,” he said flatly. “And someday you’ll accidentally marry him if you don’t open your eyes!”

  “I don’t want to marry anybody,” she muttered.

  “It can still happen. Go with Hawke, Siri,” he said, more solemn than she’d ever seen him. “Face it. Will you do that, for me?”

  He didn’t make sense, but at the suggestion, she gave way to a twinge of panic. She stood up, shaking her head stubbornly. “I’m sorry. I love you very much,” she said, “but not enough for that. The story can go hang. I’m fresh out of sacrificial urges.”

  “Siri…!”

  But she was already halfway up the staircase, running for privacy.

  She knew her father wouldn’t be back until late, so she threw on a deep blue caftan and stretched out in the living room on the couch with a book and put on a stack of easy listening records. The book should have taken her mind off the problem of Panama City, but she opened it and couldn’t get past the front page.

  It was almost a relief when the doorbell rang an hour later. Expecting that her father had lost his keys again, she threw open the door with a smile and a quip on her mouth and froze when she saw who was standing there.

  “Oh!” she murmured.

  Hawke raised an eyebrow at her, his dark eyes taking in every inch of her body outlined under the clinging blue fabric. He was obviously on his way home from a date, still dressed in his dark evening clothes. He had on a white ruffled shirt that was anything but effeminate, making his complexion seem even darker. His hand was propped against the door facing, and ruby cuff links gleamed rich and red in the light.

  “Yes, ‘oh’,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you mean, you’re not going with me?”

  She swallowed hard, hating her nerve for deserting her as she stepped back to let him in the house. “I…well…you know…”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I ran into your father and Nadine downtown. Siri, so help me, sometimes I think you belong back in high school instead of in a newspaper office!” he growled.

  She stared at the carpet, unaware of the picture she made with her blond hair curling delicately around her flushed face, her long lashes hiding the expression in her amber eyes.

  “It’s kind of hard to explain,” she mumbled.

  “Then let’s do it over a nightcap.” He took her arm firmly and propelled her back into the living room, while she tried desperately not to let him see how much his touch affected her.

  He poured two drinks at the bar, handing her a sherry while he fixed himself a scotch on the rocks.

  “I like scotch, too,” she protested, glaring down at the pale red liquid in her glass.

  “I like you sober. You cry when you’re drunk,” he taunted.

  “Only that once!” she defended herself.

  “Once was enough. Or have you forgotten…?”

  “I’m sure trying to, if you’ll let me!” she flashed back, embarrassed at the memory of how she’d clung to him in the car that night she overdid it at the senior prom, and he had to rescue her because Jared had been out of town.

  He smiled down at her, something he rarely did, but there was a boldness in the dark eyes as he gazed over the clinging caftan again.

  “I like you in blue,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. She sipped the sherry nervously.

  “Now tell me why you don’t want to go.”

  She shifted restlessly. “Hawke, you know how Mark feels…”

  “All I know is what a damned possessive jackass he is,” he said shortly, the smile disappearing at the mention of her boyfriend. “I don’t like the way he treats you. I never have.”

  “You don’t understand!” she protested.

  “The hell I don’t!” His eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. Hers fell before their onslaught, and she clutched the glass like a shield.

  He studied her downcast face for a long time, pausing to light a cigarette and take a long draw from it. “Now tell me the real reason, Siri,” he said firmly. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, but she wasn’t going to lie about it. She drew a slow breath. “Yes,” she admitted.

  A smile tugged at the corner of his chiseled mouth. “Why?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  He took a draw from the cigarette. “Don’t you?” he asked.

  She lifted her eyes only to the top button of his shirt, quickly dropping them again.

  “Hell, I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted,” he said. “My God, Siri, you’re still wet behind the ears.”

  She clenched her teeth. “I didn’t mean it that way!”

  “What other way is there? And look at me, dammit!”

  Her eyes jerked up. She flushed at the intent, totally adult look he was giving her.

  “You…you said…in the restaurant…” she grasped for words.

  “I said what?” he growled. “That those seventeen years didn’t matter? What the hell did you think I was talking about? Siri, if I meant to seduce you, I wouldn’t have to take you all the way to Panama City!”

  There it was, out in the open, and she’d never felt quite so stupid. She closed her eyes. “I…I feel pretty dumb.”

  “You’re just young, sparrow,” he said, kindly. “I understand you very well. Come with me.”

  She nodded. “All right.”

  “Holland will get over it,” he assured her. “Tell him we’ll send a joint postcard.”

  “He won’t like it,” she said with a wistful smile.

  “Why the hell does it matter?”

  “Because he’s my—”

  “Your what?” he shot at her. “Your lover?”

  She glared at him. “No!”

  “That I can believe.” His dark eyes traced the supple lines of her body, and a musing smile touched his mouth. “He hasn’t left a mark on you.”

  “What do you do? Brand your women?” she fired back.

  He considered that for a minute, studying her through a thin veil of gray smoke. “Honey, if I’d had you, everybody who came in contact with you would see it written all over you,” he replied flatly.

  “In dollar signs?” she said venomously.

  He smiled involuntarily. “Is my money my only attraction, little girl?”

  She sighed loudly. “You ought to know it isn’t,” she said reluctantly. “Women follow you around like puppies.”

  “Children like me, too, don’t you?” he retaliated.

  “Ooooh!” she groaned, stamping her foot on the soft pile of the carpet. “Hawke Grayson, you make me so mad!”

  “And your eyes burn like f
iery topaz,” he told her. Something wild and untamable flamed in his eyes for just an instant as they held hers. “Holland isn’t man enough to kindle any fires in you, little bird, much less put them out.”

  “He suits me just fine, thanks.”

  “He wasn’t suiting you at that restaurant the other night, was he?” he asked with a confident smile, as he threw down the last swallow of his drink. “It sounded like a down-home brawl from where I was sitting.”

  “You and the scarlet lady, that is,” she returned with a defiant glance in his direction.

  One heavy eyebrow went up. “Scarlet lady?” he probed. “Gessie? She types my letters, little girl, and answers the phone.”

  “Excuse me,” she apologized. “I didn’t know she could do all that on her back.”

  He burst out laughing. “You little brat! What the hell business is it of yours if I keep a mistress?”

  She didn’t want to think about that. “None at all. And Mark isn’t any of yours, either,” she said stubbornly.

  “We’ll have to have a long talk about that someday.”

  “My love life…!” she began.

  “What love life?” he countered pointedly. “You’d faint if he started to make love to you.”

  “Mark,” she said harshly, “is a gentleman!”

  “God help him,” he said with feeling. “What do you think men are made of, you little blond mule, ice water and spirits?”

  “All of them aren’t like you,” she countered, feeling strangely out of her depth.

  “Oh, to be twenty again, and so wise.” He sighed heavily. “I appreciate the sentiment, little one, but with the amoral and licentious life I lead, it’s hard to remember the innocent days of my youth.”

  “I doubt you were ever innocent,” she muttered darkly.

  “I was until my fourteenth birthday,” he said, and smiled amusedly at the flush that burned her cheeks.

  “Why don’t you go home?” she asked hotly.

  “I might as well,” he remarked, studying his empty glass and her angry face. If you were waiting up for your father, you’d better sleep light. He and Nadine were going strong at the disco when I left.”

  “You, at a disco?” she said insultingly.

  “How good are you?” he challenged.