time she trusted you, his conscience mocked back. He had a formidable task ahead proving he wasn’t always an obnoxious bore.
First, he’d to get her inside the house. He opened the door just as she raised her hand to knock. She froze, mid-swing.
“Don’t hit,” he joked.
“Oh, sorry,” she muttered, shyly folding her arms across her chest.
“I was kidding.” As dates went, theirs was off to an awkward start. He stepped aside to allow her to enter. "Have a seat," he said, pointing to the sofa.
Whether by design or accident, he wasn't sure, but she ignored his gesture and sat in a chair instead. She straightened her full skirt neatly over her knees and tucked the sides under her legs. Her smile held an underlying trace of apprehension.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
"Yes."
He’d expected a denial. Her swift and honest admission caught him by surprise. "Well, don't hold back. Tell it to me straight."
"Was I supposed to lie?"
He suppressed to urge to say that most women would. She didn't play games and he half-suspected that she’d never learned how. What he’d once perceived as calculating teasing had probably been innocent flirting. How had she survived for twenty four years without losing her naivety? The desire to protect her surged through him but first he’d to convince her that he was not her biggest threat.
"No, you shouldn't lie," he agreed.
"Do as I say, not as I do?" she asked.
He smiled wryly. It wasn't going to be easy to win her trust again. "Something like that."
"I thought so."
He sat on the arm of her chair. She tensed and stared at the floor. He placed one finger under her chin and tilted her head back. "Why are you afraid? I'm only a man."
"Isn't that reason enough?"
"Not for a woman who holds a black-belt in judo."
She arched her eyebrow. "I'm not worried about walking away with my bones intact. My sanity is another matter."
"Do I drive you crazy?" he muttered, deliberately choosing to misinterpret her meaning.
"I refuse to answer on the grounds it may inflate your ego." She let out a soft laugh and seemed to relax.
Hawk grinned. "I thought you agreed to answer my questions."
"If you want to interrogate me, serve me a subpoena. If you want answers, serve me dinner first. Information doesn't come cheap. Just ask Aaron."
Although she talked about her father with bitterness, he noticed a quiet pain reflected in the depths of her eyes. She might be angry with Aaron but Hawk got the feeling that she missed him, too. Perhaps more than she wanted to. No matter which side he took on that subject he couldn't win.
"I don't want to talk about your father today.” He rose and took her hands, pulling her to her feet. She let out a sigh of protest at being hoisted from the comfortable chair. "Why don't you have a nice, hot shower while I finish cooking dinner?"
A small sigh escaped from her lips. "Kindness and sensitivity. Now, you're really scaring me, Hawk."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm scaring myself, too."
"Don't start spouting poetry or I might die of fright."
He pointed her in the direction of the bathroom and gave her a gentle push. "Don't worry. The only poems I know aren't fit for mixed company."
"That figures."
He watched her gracefully stride into the bathroom before returning to the kitchen to finish dinner .
* * * *
Gillian let the warm water caress the tension away. Hawk could be quite charming when he put his mind to it. Maybe the evening wouldn't be the disaster she’d been expecting. To her surprise, she enjoyed his company, although she couldn't understand him.
Why was Hawk so uncomfortable with his heritage? His attitudes and manners were more like those of the snobs she’d grown up with. Except when he was around family. Hawk never completely shed the mask he wore in public, however he was less guarded. What would it take to make him feel relaxed around her? The obvious answer sent a hot current surging though her body.
A blast of cold water
First, he’d to get her inside the house. He opened the door just as she raised her hand to knock. She froze, mid-swing.
“Don’t hit,” he joked.
“Oh, sorry,” she muttered, shyly folding her arms across her chest.
“I was kidding.” As dates went, theirs was off to an awkward start. He stepped aside to allow her to enter. "Have a seat," he said, pointing to the sofa.
Whether by design or accident, he wasn't sure, but she ignored his gesture and sat in a chair instead. She straightened her full skirt neatly over her knees and tucked the sides under her legs. Her smile held an underlying trace of apprehension.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
"Yes."
He’d expected a denial. Her swift and honest admission caught him by surprise. "Well, don't hold back. Tell it to me straight."
"Was I supposed to lie?"
He suppressed to urge to say that most women would. She didn't play games and he half-suspected that she’d never learned how. What he’d once perceived as calculating teasing had probably been innocent flirting. How had she survived for twenty four years without losing her naivety? The desire to protect her surged through him but first he’d to convince her that he was not her biggest threat.
"No, you shouldn't lie," he agreed.
"Do as I say, not as I do?" she asked.
He smiled wryly. It wasn't going to be easy to win her trust again. "Something like that."
"I thought so."
He sat on the arm of her chair. She tensed and stared at the floor. He placed one finger under her chin and tilted her head back. "Why are you afraid? I'm only a man."
"Isn't that reason enough?"
"Not for a woman who holds a black-belt in judo."
She arched her eyebrow. "I'm not worried about walking away with my bones intact. My sanity is another matter."
"Do I drive you crazy?" he muttered, deliberately choosing to misinterpret her meaning.
"I refuse to answer on the grounds it may inflate your ego." She let out a soft laugh and seemed to relax.
Hawk grinned. "I thought you agreed to answer my questions."
"If you want to interrogate me, serve me a subpoena. If you want answers, serve me dinner first. Information doesn't come cheap. Just ask Aaron."
Although she talked about her father with bitterness, he noticed a quiet pain reflected in the depths of her eyes. She might be angry with Aaron but Hawk got the feeling that she missed him, too. Perhaps more than she wanted to. No matter which side he took on that subject he couldn't win.
"I don't want to talk about your father today.” He rose and took her hands, pulling her to her feet. She let out a sigh of protest at being hoisted from the comfortable chair. "Why don't you have a nice, hot shower while I finish cooking dinner?"
A small sigh escaped from her lips. "Kindness and sensitivity. Now, you're really scaring me, Hawk."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm scaring myself, too."
"Don't start spouting poetry or I might die of fright."
He pointed her in the direction of the bathroom and gave her a gentle push. "Don't worry. The only poems I know aren't fit for mixed company."
"That figures."
He watched her gracefully stride into the bathroom before returning to the kitchen to finish dinner .
* * * *
Gillian let the warm water caress the tension away. Hawk could be quite charming when he put his mind to it. Maybe the evening wouldn't be the disaster she’d been expecting. To her surprise, she enjoyed his company, although she couldn't understand him.
Why was Hawk so uncomfortable with his heritage? His attitudes and manners were more like those of the snobs she’d grown up with. Except when he was around family. Hawk never completely shed the mask he wore in public, however he was less guarded. What would it take to make him feel relaxed around her? The obvious answer sent a hot current surging though her body.
A blast of cold water
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