On Wings of Magic (6 page)

And there was something exhilarating in the thought that she would have a special power in this relationship. Rather like a lion tamer must feel … because he had the gun.

It was the reckless Kendall who spoke, while the worried little voice inside her head moaned a warning. “Will you keep your word, Hawke?”

“I swear. I won’t force you into a thing.”

Well, Kendall knew, there was force … and then there was
force
. A small distinction with dangerous possibilities. But as the tension flowed from her body, she knew that the decision had been made. It was a new game now, with new rules. And the biggest rule of all depended on her own self-control. “All right—I agree.”

The gray eyes took on that unnervingly satisfied gleam again, and Kendall wondered what she’d gotten herself into. “Good,” he stated softly.

She tried cautiously to disentangle herself from his hold. “I’d like to go back to the hotel now, Hawke. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”

For a moment she thought he would ignore the request. But then he sighed heavily and stepped back, his arms falling away from her. “All right, honey—if that’s what you want.” He bent to pick up her purse and sandals from the sand, and added humorously, “I’m afraid the hem of your dress is wet.”

“So are your shoes.” She was grateful for the lightness that had replaced the turbulent emotions of passion and anger. Unobtrusively, she tugged at the bodice of her dress, realizing ruefully that the wet hem was acting as weight to pull down the material.
If she were lucky, she just might make it back to the hotel without disgracing herself. If not—well, she could always borrow Hawke’s jacket….

It was a giddy thought. A moment later Hawke had turned abruptly back to her, picked her up as easily as though she were a child, and began striding along the beach toward the hotel.

“Hawke!”

“Well, you’re barefooted,” he explained reasonably, her slight weight obviously not disturbing him in the least.

Kendall clutched his neck instinctively. “You have my sandals! Put me down, and I’ll—”

“You’ll never get all the sand off your feet. And I’m sure you know how uncomfortable it is to walk in sandy shoes.”

“I’ll bear up. Hawke, for heaven’s sake! What if someone sees this caveman display?”

“People expect to see this sort of thing here. I started to name this place the Love Resort, you know, but changed my mind. Too sappy.”

Kendall ignored the information Feeling her dress slip a bit more, she said irritably, “I thought you said I could call a halt—”

“This isn’t lovemaking,” he cut her off ruthlessly in a bland voice. “It’s romancing. Haven’t you ever read the part where the heroine gets swept off her feet?”

In all the books Kendall had read, the heroine got swept off her feet and right into the hero’s bed. “Now, look,” she began, but broke off hastily as they encountered another couple on leaving the beach and starting up the path to the hotel.

Polite words were exchanged between Hawke
and the other man, and the four passed one another. As the other couple stepped onto the beach and she and Hawke started to round a curve on the path, Kendall distinctly heard the young woman say enviously to her escort, “How sweet! Why aren’t you ever that romantic?”

In spite of herself, Kendall giggled. Reading the gleam of laughter in the glance Hawke slanted her way, she recovered quickly and said, “Don’t think that excuses you. Just because it’s her idea of romance doesn’t mean it’s mine.”

“You mean it’s not?” He didn’t seem noticeably dashed.

“No,” she lied, thinking of knights on white chargers and outmoded chivalry. And dodos and dinosaurs. They had all been killed by the times. “Aren’t you getting tired?” she asked with hope, knowing that it would be futile to struggle and that she would appear as helpless as a three-day-old kitten if she tried.

“Not at all—you’re as light as a feather.”

They emerged from the path into the well-lighted pool area just then, and Kendall felt a flush rise in her cheeks as she blinked and encountered the interested stares from two late-night swimmers. One of the women asked the other in an envious stage-whisper, “Does he do that for all his guests?” And the other answered sadly, “Only the lucky ones.”

Kendall giggled again, and then realized that they were nearly at the hotel door. “Hawke!” she whispered fiercely, tugging on his ear to get his attention. It seemed an absurd thing to do, but she was feeling giddy again. “Put me down this instant! You can’t carry me through the hotel lobby!”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed. Without the slightest sign of embarrassment, he carried her through the lobby. Unfortunately, at least half the guests in the hotel seemed to be milling around in the lobby. At least, it seemed so to Kendall, although there were probably only a dozen or so people. As if that made a difference.

Conscious of her bare, sand-covered feet, damp dress, and windblown hair, Kendall resolutely kept her gaze fixed on the rather formidable angle of Hawke’s jaw. She heard a couple of giggles and literally
felt
several grins, but she didn’t look up. And it didn’t help that they had to wait several minutes for the elevator … which delivered another half dozen witnesses.

When the elevator doors at last hissed shut behind them, Kendall glanced around guardedly and found that they were alone. And found Hawke gazing down at her with a purely male grin and laughter dancing in his eyes.

“I don’t suppose,” she said carefully, “that anyone down there thought you were being heroic to an accident victim? A sprained ankle or something?”

“I doubt it.”

“And I don’t suppose you’d care to explain to them that this is not what it looks like?”

“No,” he answered simply, the grin still present.

“Uh-huh.” Kendall felt an insane urge to burst out laughing. “I’ll have to get busy tonight.”

“Doing what?”

“Embroidering scarlet A’s on all my blouses.”

Hawke laughed softly as he leaned against the
wall of the elevator. “How does it feel to be a scarlet woman?”

“Embarrassing. Tell me”—she linked her fingers together at the back of his neck—“should I expect more of this sort of thing?”

“It’s romance,” he protested, wounded.

“Oh, so
that’s
what you call it. I never would have guessed.”

“You really love it.”

She sighed. “People with egos like yours should be locked up. Were you born self-confident, or was it just a little something you learned along the way?”

“Inherited. Just ask my mother.”

The elevator doors opened before Kendall could frame an adequate response. Having learned the uselessness of protest, she remained silent as Hawke carried her down the hall.

He stopped at the door of her room and lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Your key?”

“It’s in my purse,” she informed him politely. “Which I trust you still have.”

“So I do. A bit awkward, though.” He looked up the hall as a door opened, then smiled as a red-jacketed young man emerged pushing a serving cart. “Mike,” he called out, “would you give us a hand here?”

“Of course, Mr. Madison.” Mike stopped the cart near them and chastely averted his eyes from Kendall’s bare feet, looking at his employer with a poker face that did credit to his control. “How can I help?”

“Miss James’s door key—would you get it out of the purse, please, and unlock the door?” Hawke
looked at Kendall with belated, mocking concern. “You don’t mind, do you, honey?”

“Of
course
not.” Whether it was giddiness or sheer resignation, Kendall felt extremely detached from the moment. So what if her reputation was shot to hell? She hoped none of these people moved in the same circles as a mining engineer, so if she could whisk her father away quick enough, he need never know.

Mike located the key in Kendall’s purse and unlocked the door, then swung it open, replaced the key, and solemnly handed the purse to her. Kendall murmured an absurd thank-you, and wondered vaguely if Hawke had planned the whole damn scene.

“Thanks, Mike.” Hawke watched as the young man continued down the hall with his cart, then smiled down at Kendall. “It’s nice to have a helping hand now and then,” he commented.

“Are you dead to all shame?” she asked with the objective interest of someone searching for the answer to a somewhat puzzling question.

“Not at all.” He carried her into her room—leaving the door open—and set her gently on the foot of the bed, dropping the sandals at her feet. “Now … does madam require anything else?”

Kendall stared at him a little wildly. “A psychiatrist and a couch. I must be out of my mind.”

“My couch is vacant at the moment.” Somehow, he managed to leer with his eyebrows.

“Thanks—I’ll pass.” She could have added that having already experienced the effectiveness of his “couch,” she wasn’t eager to repeat the less-than-fun experience.

“Anything else I can do to help?” He looked
ridiculously hopeful. “If you’d care to soak in a hot tub, I’ll be glad to wash your back for you. Or anything else—”

“Never mind,” she interrupted a little desperately. “I get the picture! Thanks, but no thanks.” She made a sudden grab at the top of her dress as it gave up the ghost and decided to obey the laws of gravity. “If you’d just leave—?”

Hawke grinned, interestedly watching her struggle with the dress. “Need any help with your zipper?” he asked innocently.

If Kendall hadn’t been afraid of losing the battle with her dress, she would have thrown her purse at him. “Just—leave!”

Hawke bowed with stilted dignity and backed toward the door, obviously intent on watching the unintended strip-scene for as long as possible. “If you need anything—anything at all—”

“I’ll whistle, shall I?” She glared at him, trying not to let the bubble of laughter in her throat escape.

“Or call room service—they’ll pass the message along.”

“Hawke!”

“See you in the morning, honey.” He laughed, then closed the door quietly behind him.

Kendall stared at the closed door for a moment, absently releasing the grip on her dress and allowing the material to find its own level. She thought of laughter and romance, of fragile ideals and cherished illusions. She thought of paradise, and knights riding by on white chargers and moonlight. She thought of a bruised and weary heart with too many good-byes engraved on it, and an optimism bruised from too many head-on collisions with reality.

She thought of charades and other games. Like this one—where romance was the key and the stakes were high—very high. And the joker was wild. Speaking to the man who could no longer hear her, she mused vaguely, “But in your game, Hawke … the
game
is wild.”

She glanced absently at the balcony door to see Gypsy emerge and favor her with a disapproving stare. “Gypsy, we are
definitely
in trouble!”

Muted thunder woke her up the next morning, and Kendall moaned sleepily and pulled the pillow around her ears to shut out the sound. It didn’t help, though, and she muttered irritably for someone to kill the noisy intruder. It was a moment before she identified the sound as someone pounding on her door.

Still more than half asleep, she flung back the covers and pulled herself from the bed, feeling almost blindly around for her robe and slippers and finding neither. Deciding to hell with it, she made her way to the door, more by a terrific sense of direction than anything else, and flung it open. The glare on her face—sleepy though it was—should have curled somebody’s hair.

Except that it didn’t.

Hawke returned the glare as he leaned against the jamb, one hand holding an indignantly struggling Gypsy by the scruff of her neck. “It’s about time!” he snapped, obviously not in the best of moods.

Kendall focused on the rather odd scene in front of her, and grasped one important fact. “What are
you doing with my cat?” she demanded with early-morning temper.

“It isn’t love of her company, believe me.” His voice was carefully restrained. “In fact, I’ve been tempted to drown her. I just fished her out of the couple next door’s bathtub. They are not happy. And since they requested the honeymoon suite because they understandably wanted privacy, I don’t blame them.”

“Gypsy likes water,” Kendall defended her pet, again grasping only the relevant fact.

“She also likes chewing on various parts of the human anatomy, as one very unhappy hotel employee can attest to. Either put her in a cage, Kendall, or make damn sure she doesn’t get out of your room at night. The last thing I need is a lawsuit!”

“I will not put Gypsy in a cage!” The logical part of Kendall’s mind realized that her cat must have loosened the leash and leapt from her balcony to the one next door. The same little compartment of her mind also noted that Hawke had apparently dressed in a hurry without taking the time to shave. But, having been rudely awakened after lying awake for most of the night, Kendall was in no mood to heed the logical voice warning her to be conciliatory.

“Then put a leash on her.” Hawke ignored the cat’s attempts to scratch him. His glare faded suddenly as his gray eyes dropped to take in her petite figure, clothed only in baby-doll pajamas so sheer that it hardly seemed worth the effort.

Unaware that his mood was rapidly changing, Kendall reached out to grab her pet. She held the cat against her breast securely, glaring at Hawke and totally unconscious of the fact that the wet animal was
bringing her pajamas one step closer to invisibility. “I did leash her!” she snapped.

“Well … try to keep her in your room, then, and not on the balcony.” It was an almost absent request, delivered in a deepening voice as his eyes continued to rove almost hungrily over her. “Dammit, Kendall—do you own a single outfit that
isn’t
sexy?”

The sudden demand startled Kendall, and woke her up with a vengeance. Clutching her cat, she stared at him warily, remembering the bargain struck the night before. Dumb. Oh, she had been dumb! Trying to save a hopeless situation, she told him calmly, “My clothes are none of your business.”

It was damnably hard to be dignified when one was barefoot, wearing skimpy pajamas, and clutching a wet cat, but Kendall gave it her best shot. And Hawke, devil that he was, changed moods on her again.