On Wings of Magic (12 page)

And it took nerve to wear.

Kendall was fumbling with the clasp at her neck when she heard a slight sound from the suite next door. She wandered slowly into the sitting room of her own suite and stared at the connecting door, biting her lip.

Forever afterward, Kendall blamed her next impulse on sheer insanity.

Without giving herself time to think, she crossed the room and flung open the connecting door. Holding the straps of her dress in place, she stepped into Hawke’s sitting room, calling lightly, “Hawke, would you—”

And stopped dead in her tracks.

The woman turning to face her was beautiful with the kind of beauty one knew instinctively would never fade. Her dark hair was just beginning to gray at the temples, and her complexion was as clear and unlined as that of a woman thirty years her junior.

She was dressed with taste and elegance, her blue gown molding a slender figure that many a younger woman would have envied. And gray eyes just exactly like Hawke’s regarded Kendall in a shrewd, amused appraisal.

Kendall knew … she
knew
.

If she’d been asked to name all the people in the world whose respect she would most like to have, this woman would have ranked high on the list. It didn’t take a sixth sense to tell Kendall who she was.

It was all Hawke’s fault, she decided numbly. Even when he wasn’t around, he got her into trouble. And here she stood, holding up her skimpy dress while, facing…

“Hello—you must be Kendall.” The lovely woman smiled gently. “I’ve heard a great deal about you. I’m Sarah Madison—Hawke’s mother.”

Chapter 6

Kendall wished miserably that a Florida sinkhole would migrate south and swallow her up. Clutching her dress and her dignity, she managed a choked “Hi.”

“Here, let me do that.” The older woman stepped over to fasten Kendall’s dress. “There.”

“Thank you.” Gathering her scattered wits, she went on. “I’m sorry for bursting in on you, Mrs. Madison, but I thought—” Her voice broke off abruptly as she realized that her thoughts had been painfully clear. And damning.

“Sarah, my dear.” Hawke’s mother seemed amused. “And it’s quite all right. Hawke isn’t back yet, I’m afraid.” She led her reluctant guest to the sofa and indicated that she should sit down. “It will give us a chance to talk.”

At the moment that was the last thing Kendall
wanted. But she sat. “You’ve … spoken to Hawke?” she ventured.

“Several days ago. Just after you arrived here, I believe. He mentioned you then. And since I was in the area, I decided to stop by and meet you.” She smiled easily. “Just a flying visit, I’m afraid; I’m on my way to Miami.”

Kendall tried to relax. “Really? A vacation?”

“I was visiting relatives in Key West, and decided
I’d
had just about enough. So now I’m going home. I live in Miami.”

“I see.” But she didn’t, really. From Key West to Miami via the Bahamas? The question was pushed aside, however, by another one. What had Hawke told his mother about her? And how could she find out without disgracing herself further?

“I’m so glad to have this chance to meet you,” Hawke’s mother was going on cheerfully. “Not that my approval would matter one way or the other to Hawke, but a mother likes to be
sure.”

Kendall felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Mrs. Madison, I—”

“Sarah, please.”

“Sarah,”
Kendall began desperately, “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about—about my relationship with Hawke. We only met a few days ago, and we hardly know each other!”

Sarah’s gray eyes gleamed with amusement. “I can see he’s been giving you a hard time. Rick told me about the gifts; my son is more romantic than I’d suspected, it seems.”

Kendall felt a flush creeping up her cheeks and fought to control it. “It’s just a game to him,” she
muttered, rapidly going beyond the point of caring whom she was talking to.

“Tell me,” Sarah pressed softly, and Kendall knew then where Hawke had gotten his uncanny gift of persuasion.

To her own astonishment she found herself talking earnestly to his mother.

“He told me not an hour after we’d met that he was going to sweep me off my feet—and he did. Literally. He carried me through the lobby, through a bar. He sends me absurd presents. And now he’s got Rick watching over me while he’s gone! The entire hotel’s talking about me.”

Sarah sat back and regarded Kendall thoughtfully. Then, in a bewildering change of subject, she said, “Tell me about yourself, my dear. Your parents, your childhood.”

Strangely, Kendall found that it didn’t feel at all wrong to be talking about her life to a woman she’d just met. She told Hawke’s mother about the past fifteen rootless years, touching briefly on both the good times and the bad. And Sarah drew her out, inserting a soft question now and then, or a comment.

When Kendall finally finished speaking, the older woman looked at her carefully. “Have you ever wished for a home of your own? Asked yourself if you wanted to live out of suitcases for the rest of your life?”

“Sure.” Kendall shrugged. “And I suppose I’ll settle down one day. I don’t know when, though, or where.”

Sarah got to her feet, saying briskly, “Will you have dinner with me, Kendall?”

“Of course. Thank you.” Kendall rose, fighting an urge to tug at her all-too-brief dress. She excused herself long enough to go into her own suite and get her purse, then accompanied Hawke’s mother down to the dining room.

Rick, apparently not surprised to see them together, joined them in the lobby and escorted them to the dining room. He waved away the headwaiter and showed them to a table personally.

Kendall saw the red envelope lying at her place, but she didn’t open it until Rick had bowed solemnly and left them. Then, conscious of Sarah’s smiling gaze, she opened the envelope. She pulled out a somewhat gaudy-looking valentine card, opened it, and read it silently. A soft flush spread over her cheeks, and she muttered, “It’s a game. Just a game.”

“If I wouldn’t be prying…” Sarah began hesitantly.

Kendall handed her the card and busied herself unfolding her napkin. She wouldn’t let herself think.

“‘Come live with me and be my love,’” Sarah recited softly. She looked steadily across the table at Kendall as she gave back the card. “It doesn’t sound like a game.”

“It is,” Kendall murmured. “It has to be.” She placed the card in her purse and hastily picked up a menu. “I’m starved,” she told her companion brightly, then added in spite of herself, “You see how he embarrasses me?”

“Turn the tables on him,” the older woman suggested mischievously. “Embarrass
him”
.

“I’d almost kill for the chance to do that,” Kendall responded wryly. “But how? Nothing seems to rattle him.”

Sarah looked thoughtful, and remained so until their waiter had come and taken their orders. Then, watching the retreating red back, she said, “Ask him about the peculiar scar he has.”

“Scar?” Kendall had a feeling that Sarah wasn’t talking about the scar on Hawke’s shoulder.

And she wasn’t.

By the time the waiter returned with their first course, Kendall was giggling helplessly and Sarah wore an expression that was strictly woman-to-woman. An expression women down through the ages had worn while busily plotting the downfall of a man.

A little breathlessly Kendall managed to say, “I wouldn’t dare ask him about that! He’d kill me if anyone else heard!”

“Perhaps.” Sarah smiled slightly as she picked up her fork. “But I think you could get away with it. Pick a public place and ask him discreetly—so that only the two of you know what you mean.”

Kendall giggled again. “You mean—so that only the two of us know where it is!”

Sarah laughed. “Exactly.”

Picking up her fork, Kendall said wistfully, “Just to see his face!”

Kendall enjoyed the meal. Thoroughly. She pushed the meaning of Hawke’s most recent gesture from her mind and just talked to his mother. Sarah was a fascinating woman, well educated and well traveled, and a born storyteller. And Kendall was honestly delighted to have met her—in spite of the less-than-dignified meeting.

After dinner both decided on an early night, and walked together to the elevator. Sarah stopped the car
on the fifth floor, telling Kendall that her room was there, and causing the younger woman to apologize for having taken her suite. But Sarah only laughed.

“Nonsense, my dear! I don’t care which room I sleep in for a single night. I’ll be leaving the island tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll have a chance to talk tomorrow morning. See you then.”

Kendall nodded and, in a thoughtful mood, rode the rest of the way to her floor alone. She wondered vaguely why Sarah hadn’t chosen to use Hawke’s suite for the night, then dismissed the question. Having reached her floor, she left the elevator and walked to the door of her suite, fishing for her keys in her purse.

She unlocked her door and went inside, automatically flipping on the lights as she turned to fasten the night chain. She dropped her purse on the desk by the door, then kicked off her shoes and turned back to the room. And froze.

Gypsy was lying on the couch, staring suspiciously at the new objects resting on the coffee table. Kendall walked over slowly to the table and stared down, a sound somewhere between a shaky laugh and a groan escaping her lips.

The largest object was a castle colored from a dream in soft pastel colors, and exquisitely made out of wax. Each turret was topped with a wick. It was a candle—several candles—and utterly beautiful as it burned.

Beside the castle was a satin pillow, and on it rested a crown. A tiara. It looked very old and very delicate, like a web spun of fine gold. If Kendall hadn’t told herself firmly that it couldn’t possibly be real, she would have suspected that the center setting
was a large ruby and the surrounding ones diamonds. But, of course, it couldn’t be real.

She bent slowly and picked up the tiara, turning it in her hands for a moment. He wasn’t being fair, she thought dimly. He wasn’t being fair at all. How was she supposed to fight this sort of thing? Holding the tiara, she went back to the desk and stared at her reflection in the mirror above it.

Feeling a little like a fool but unable to resist the impulse, she placed the tiara carefully on her head. It looked … right somehow, nestled in her silvery hair. The rubylike stone gleamed dully and the diamonds glittered.

Crowns and castles. Seashells, wind chimes, sun-catchers, and … unicorns. He called it romance. Kendall didn’t know what to call it, but she was very much afraid that it wasn’t real. She had a peculiar feeling that if she’d only pinch herself hard enough, she’d wake up.

The question was—did she want to wake up?

He wasn’t giving her time to think this through, that was the problem. And storybook romance was so utterly alien to everything she’d ever known, it wasn’t easy to deal with.

She had another of those peculiar feelings. This wasn’t happening to her. Someone else was receiving these lovely presents, and trying to cope with a man unlike any she’d ever known before. Someone else was standing before a mirror, thinking about Alice in Wonderland, and wondering if maybe she’d stumbled into someone’s strange dream. A strange and magical dream.

Because things like this just didn’t
happen
to Kendall James. She was a woman of reality, and knew
better than to indulge herself with fairy tales. She had seen too much to be innocent. And she just couldn’t understand why a man she’d met only days before would be surrounding her with a dream she couldn’t believe in.

It had to be a game. But what was the point of the game, and what were the rules? What would she win if she won? And what would she lose if she lost?

Some slight noise drew her attention from the mirror, and she looked up to see Hawke step through the connecting door and into her suite. He looked a bit tired, and was dressed in a casual shirt unbuttoned to the waist and dark slacks. And his gray eyes gleamed as they moved slowly from the glittering tiara to the bare toes peeking out from the hem of her sexy blue-green dress.

“A crown for a princess,” he murmured almost inaudibly.

Kendall swallowed hard and tried to think straight, almost overwhelmed by a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. It was like a hunger, a need stronger than any she’d felt before. So strong that it was frightening.

“I—you shouldn’t keep giving me presents,” she managed to say weakly.

“I like to,” he responded simply.

She tore her eyes away from the gray ones holding her as if in a spell, and glanced toward the burning castle. “They’re beautiful. All of them. But—”

“No buts.” He took a step closer to her. “I wanted to chase the sadness from your eyes, to make you laugh. Did I do that, honey?” His voice was quiet, almost hushed.

Kendall fought a desire to fling herself into his
arms, keeping her hands rigidly at her sides. Unable to lie to him, she said, “You made me laugh. And swear at you.”

He smiled as her eyes returned to his, fully understanding that last wry statement. Crossing the room to stand before her, he brought a small, gaily wrapped package from behind his back and handed it to her gravely.