On Wings of Magic (14 page)

But she couldn’t do that. Kendall had had very little experience with fantasy in her life. Reality, though … reality she knew very well. She hugged her empty belly and stared upward, refusing to gaze again at the little angel on the nightstand.

The pain had eased, but the memory would always be there. She had loved Rosita, loved her enough so that she had been making arrangements to adopt her. Dreams. Killed by reality. And a part of her had died with the little girl she had loved.

Another loss like that one would destroy her, she knew. And if she gave her love to Hawke and
lost … It didn’t bear thinking of. Kendall closed her mind to thought. She was getting nowhere by going over and over this. Logically, there was no way out, and thinking about it wouldn’t suddenly disclose an escape hatch, she knew. And the stakes were far too high to gamble.

Kendall reached over to turn off the lamp, keeping her eyes averted from the bell and tiara. Then she settled back on her pillow and stared at darkness, muttering forlornly to the empty room, “There’s a lot to be said for good old-fashioned lust….”

Chapter 7

When Kendall stepped out of the elevator early the next morning, she was wearing short shorts and a halter top that quite probably would get her arrested. The outfit was so brief that it immediately convinced one hotel guest that she was wearing nothing but golden flesh. He promptly tripped over a potted plant in the lobby.

She heard the resulting thump, but since, in her mind, she was wearing battle armor, Kendall didn’t connect the noise with herself. She strolled across the lobby and stared at Rick for a moment. “Your mouth is open.”

His mouth snapped shut. “Is that a bikini?”

“No.” Kendall glanced down and noted absently that her top provided very little except moral support. She looked back at the manager. “Is Sarah down yet?”

Rick shook his head, still looking a bit stunned.

Kendall sighed. “Well, I’m going for a walk on the beach. Tell her that if she comes down before I get back.”

“Okay. Kendall,” he added as she went to turn away, “do you want me to put that tiara in the hotel safe? Not that I think it would get stolen, but if it would make you feel better…”

Her blank look slowly changed to one of comprehension, and her voice emerged unsteadily. “You mean—it’s real?”

Disconcerted, Rick muttered, “I thought Hawke had—oh, damn. I really blew it, didn’t I?”

Ignoring the wry comment, Kendall said, “It’s on the nightstand in my bedroom.” She was a little pale, but in control. “Please send someone up to get it. Then see that Hawke gets it back.”

“He won’t take it back.” Rick was obviously disgusted with himself for having let the cat out of the bag.

“Then put it in the safe!” She lowered her voice with an effort, then asked quietly, “Is it an heirloom?”

The manager immediately looked uneasy. “You’ll have to ask Hawke. It was his present.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Pass. I’ve already put my foot in my mouth once today, thank you. Twice would be a habit.”

Kendall decided to be angry. It was a very sane and carefully thought-out decision. Hawke had said that if she was snapping at him, she couldn’t be sad. It wouldn’t be easy to be passionate either, she thought. So she’d be angry. And snap a lot. And
maybe—just maybe—he’d never know that she loved him.

“Where is he?”

Rick shrugged and gave a hands-out gesture of innocence. “Beats me. I haven’t seen him this morning.”

“Male solidarity.” When Rick only smiled charmingly, Kendall gave him a disgusted look and turned away. That was when she saw Hawke and the romantic-minded Amanda Foster emerge from the elevator.

“I want to talk to you!” Kendall threw the statement fiercely across the lobby, not particularly concerned—at this point—whether or not anyone overheard.

Hawke looked faintly surprised, but strolled across the lobby, devastatingly handsome in a full-sleeved black pirate-type shirt open to the waist, and black slacks. The shirt prompted a thought in Kendall’s mind; she thought she knew now where the tiara had come from.

Amanda Foster became suddenly fascinated by the potted palm that Kendall’s earlier admirer had fallen over.

“Just what do you mean,” Kendall demanded as Hawke reached her, “by giving me a priceless tiara?”

Hawke looked over her shoulder at Rick, and Kendall heard the manager mutter a constricted “Sorry, boss.” Whether the constriction came from embarrassment or laughter, she didn’t know. Or care. With a sigh Hawke said, “Why don’t we talk on the beach? You seem to be dressed for it.”

“Why don’t we talk here.” She ignored the remark about her outfit.

He leaned an elbow on the desk and stared at her thoughtfully. “I wanted you to have the tiara. Period,”

“I can’t accept it, of course,” she told him politely.

“You already have. In front of witnesses.”

It was an unfortunate remark; it called to mind the sense of ill-usage Kendall had been feeling for the past few days. He’d very neatly thrown her off balance last night with the angel bell, to the point that she had forgotten everything else. Now she remembered.

In a voice ringing with frustration, she snapped, “You’ve been making a spectacle of me since the day I walked through those doors!” She gestured angrily toward the glass doors. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of all the guests—
and
your mother. I feel as if I’m walking around wearing a sign that says SOLD!”

“I thought it was a scarlet
A.”

The amused remark added fuel to what was already a raging fire. Kendall had gotten very little sleep the night before, and she was never at her best early in the morning. And, of course, she’d already decided to be angry.

Very quietly, and with a certain amount of artistic skill, she swore at him in four languages. Not giving a particular damn whether or not he understood, she tore his character to shreds, cast impolite aspersions on his integrity, threw his ancestry into a very uncertain light, and shot holes into his general claim to humanity. The only thing she missed calling him was a horse thief—and that was an oversight.

Rick was choking suspiciously behind the desk;
Amanda Foster was looking faintly shocked; Hawke was listening courteously.

When she’d finally run down, the man to whom the discourse had been addressed looked at Rick and said mildly, “Regular little spitfire, isn’t she?”

“Dammit, Hawke—”

He leaned over and kissed her. Firmly.

“Stop that! You—”

He kissed her again. Even more firmly.

“I
can’t
accept—”

And again. One hand traced down her bare spine.

“Hawke!”
It was a wail.

This time his hands found her tiny waist.

“Oh … hell.” Kendall felt her arms creep up around his neck. Her body wouldn’t let her do anything else. Damn the man; he knew all the right buttons to push.

When he at last drew away—still keeping his hands at her waist—Kendall blinked at him. “You are an unscrupulous man,” she told him seriously.

“I know.” His voice was comforting.

“This doesn’t mean a thing, you know. I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

She sighed and absently locked her fingers together behind his neck. “You can’t keep giving me these absurd presents. Crowns and castles and unicorns. This isn’t a fairy tale.”

“Of course it is. Romance.”

She ignored that. “I won’t keep them.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Not
the tiara.”

“Especially
the tiara.”

“No.” She hastily hid her face against his chest
when he would have kissed her. “I won’t,” she told him in a muffled voice. “I just won’t.” Unexpectedly, the clean male scent of him made her senses reel, and she quickly lifted her head.

He was smiling down at her strangely. “Since I won’t take it back, you’ll have to keep it, won’t you?”

Kendall gave him a despairing look. “Do you have to have everything your own way?”

“Everything. Now, thank me for the nice presents.” He swatted her lightly on the bottom, causing her to jump in surprise.

“I already thanked you,” she muttered, ruefully aware that she was giving in to him again.

“You thanked me for the seashells and the bell—not the rest. Be a good girl and thank me properly.”

Kendall stared up at him, accurately reading the gleam in his gray eyes. And hastily looked away from the magnetic command there. If he thought she was going to kiss him … Swallowing hard, she got out a carefully polite “Thank you very much.”

“Not good enough.”

“What do you want—blood?” she snapped, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be angry.

“Just a kiss. Freely given.”

She saw that her arms were still around his neck, and quickly lowered them to push uselessly against his chest. “No!” With another surge of despair she realized that the little scene had attracted more observers. Why couldn’t die guests in this hotel sleep late like normal human beings, for God’s sake?

“Come on, honey—one little kiss. It won’t hurt you”

The reproachful tone did nothing for Kendall’s state of mind. But she had no intention of giving in to him on this. It was high time that Hawke Madison learned he couldn’t have everything his own way! “Let go of me.”

“No,” he replied with shattering simplicity.

If Kendall had been given to screaming, she would have rattled the hotel from cellar to rafters. And then, suddenly, her mind began to work. A calculating gleam entered her blue-green eyes, and she knew then how she could even several scores—
and
end this embarrassing little scene.

She drew a coaxing finger down the opening of his shirt, fiercely closing her mind to the sensation it produced in her nerve endings. “Hawke … I’ll do as you ask.
If
you’ll answer one question for me. Truthfully.”

“Sure.” The answer was immediate, but his tone was a little guarded. And the gray eyes had narrowed slightly, suspiciously.

Kendall deliberately raised her voice so that the onlookers would hear the question.
Sauce for the gander!
she reminded herself silently. “Where did you get that funny little scar? The one shaped like the marks of someone’s teeth? You know, the one on your—”

“Kendall!”

He looked more rattled than she had ever seen him, a tide of red creeping up under the tanned flesh of his cheeks. His hands fell away from her and he cast a swift, startled look around the lobby.

She carefully backed away a couple of steps and smiled at him sweetly. Sending a silent, gleeful thanks to Sarah, she said sadly, “You’re not going to answer?
What a pity. And I was so curious too. Bye, now.” She turned and casually left the lobby.

It was a magnificent exit, completely victorious and leaving behind a silence broken only by Rick’s choking laughter.

Kendall held on to her serene expression until she reached the virtually deserted beach. Then, giggling, she began to run, enjoying the morning and exhilarated by her successful display of one-upmanship. There would probably be retaliation, but she wasn’t particularly concerned with that possibility right now. She just wanted to enjoy her triumph for a while.

She ran for a while—a casual habit with her—and then went back to the hotel. Like a wary child, she peered into the lobby until she satisfied herself that neither Hawke nor Rick was there, then made a dash for the elevator. Reaching her suite without incident, she took a shower and put on a cool summer dress.

Ten minutes later she was having breakfast in the dining room with Sarah. The older woman cheerfully told her that she hadn’t seen Hawke that morning, and Kendall didn’t mention the scene in the lobby.

Hawke showed up halfway through the meal, with a gleam in his eye and a very bland manner. He somehow made it impossible for Kendall to excuse herself gracefully, talking casually to both her and his mother.

Sarah seemed highly amused.

When Kendall finally decided to ignore manners and just
go
, he caught her wrist firmly and invited her gently to sit down again. She sat. There was something very unnerving about that gleam. Silently, she listened to him arguing quietly with Sarah about seeing
her off that afternoon; she insisted that she needed no company on the helicopter trip to Nassau, and he maintained that she did.

Sarah won the argument. She also insisted that the two of them need not bother to entertain her, since she had decided to fly to Nassau a little earlier than planned. She was sure they had things to do.

Somewhat to her surprise, Kendall discovered that they did. They left Sarah enjoying her coffee in the dining room, and Hawke maintained his grip on her wrist until they were in the lobby.

“You run up to your room and change, honey,” he told her cheerfully, releasing her wrist at last.

“Change into what?” she bristled, staring at him.

“Something casual. And you might want to wear a bathing suit underneath. Don’t forget rubber-soled shoes.”

Kendall frowned at him. “What have you got in mind?”

“We’re going sailing.”

“Oh,
are
we?”