On Wings of Magic on Wings of Magic Page 12

  Funny things. Things to keep Hawke chuckling softly at the wheel of the sailboat. Things to keep herself from thinking too much about him and how she felt about him.

  Hawke finally piloted the boat into a small cove on one of the islands, and she scrambled forward to drop the sails. He dropped the anchor and then went below, answering Kendall’s quizzical look with a succinct “Lunch!”

  When he came back up, bearing the wicker hamper, she said uneasily, “Surely I haven’t talked that long.”

  He grinned. “Of course not—sea air just makes me hungry. Besides, I enjoyed it.”

  Since she wasn’t wearing a watch and couldn’t read minds, she had to take his word on both counts. Unfolding the blanket he handed her, she spread it out on the cleared space behind the wheel and then knelt to examine the contents of the hamper. Sea air made her hungry too.

  From the looks of it, he’d told the hotel cook that an army was going sailing. There was chicken, potato salad, rolls, cheese and crackers, various fruit. And a bottle of vintage wine—complete with two delicate goblets. Kendall examined the label on the wine bottle and raised an eyebrow at Hawke. “For a picnic?”

  He grinned. “You know wine too, I see.”

  “I have a working knowledge.” She frowned at him. “This should be opened on a special occasion.”

  “This is a special occasion.” He produced a corkscrew and took the bottle away from her. “A certain young lady I know did a very good job of evening the score this morning.”

  Fighting back a giggle, Kendall began to prepare two plates. “Oh, really? Got her own back, did she?”

  “I’ll say.” He poured the wine into the goblets and handed her one, gravely accepting the plate she handed him. “In fact, she embarrassed the hell out of a certain romantic hotelier.”

  Kendall smiled at him sweetly, and waited.

  He sighed and abruptly reverted to first person. “I ought to turn you over my knee for that little stunt, honey.” When she continued to regard him easily, his mouth twisted slightly. “Except that I can’t, can I? It wouldn’t be fair. You were playing by my rules, after all.”

  She lifted her glass in a silent toast and sipped her wine, still smiling.

  “You learn fast,” he observed wryly, then winked at her and began eating.

  Kendall followed suit, deciding that sooner or later she was going to ask him about the scar again. Sarah hadn’t been able to tell her where he’d gotten it, and she was curious. But it took either anger or nerve to ask a man a question like that, and right now she had neither.

  They talked casually while they ate, feeding Gypsy tidbits from time to time and just quietly enjoying the soft sounds of water lapping against the side of the boat. It was a companionable time, and Kendall had never felt so content.

  Feeling sleepy after the meal, she lay back on the blanket and rested her head on a life jacket, deciding vaguely that she wasn’t going to move again if she could help it. “You’re spoiling me,” she murmured lazily, hearing him pack away the remainder of lunch.

  He stretched out beside her, raising himself on an elbow and reaching over to remove her sunglasses. Sleepy blue-green eyes gazed up at him. “I’d like to,” he said, his voice dark, hypnotic. “I’d like to spoil you; Take care of you.” His lips quirked slightly. “Keep all the gremlins at bay.”

  “Romance,” she whispered, too sleepy and utterly boneless to protest the idea. “But I can take care of myself, Hawke.”

  “I know you can.” He placed an arm across her waist and smiled down at her a little crookedly. Whimsically, he went on. “You’re a little thing. Beautiful, delicate, and you look about as fierce as a week-old kitten. But strong. You’ve led a life that tested every gentle quality in you again and again. It should have hardened you, made you cold and cynical.”

  “It has,” she murmured, thinking of her reluctance to love.

  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “You’re still gentle. Even when you’re angry, the gentleness is there. You could probably swear the devil out of hell—in six languages—and still be gentle. And you’re right; you can take care of yourself.”

  His arm tightened slightly. “But I still want to take care of you. I want to surround you with beauty and romance. Bring you flowers and buy you silly presents. I want to make sure that you’ll never be hurt the way you were in the past, that you’ll never have nightmares again.”

  He leaned over and kissed her softly. It was a warm, drugging kiss, filled with gentleness and something else, something Kendall couldn’t identify. She sighed contentedly and slipped her arms up around his neck, needing to touch him and not giving a particular damn—at that moment—about anything else.

  Hawke made no demands. He continued to kiss her gently on her lips, her nose, her eyes. Soft caresses no heavier than dew. If there was passion in him, he held it rigidly in check. He seemed almost to cherish her, his wine-scented breath sweet and warm on her face.

  “Hawke?” she said, eyes closed and impossibly heavy.

  “What is it, honey?”

  “I loved your presents.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She sighed, threading her fingers through his hair to keep her heavy arms from falling away from him. “I was too mad to tell you in the lobby.”

  “I know.” He laughed softly. “My fault. I shouldn’t do that to you.”

  With sleepy wisdom she went on. “But you love it. Embarrassing me. Making me say absurd things in front of people.”

  He chuckled again. “I suppose.”

  “And carrying me.”

  “Definitely.”

  “You’re a strange man. I thought so from the very first. In fact, I very nearly caught the first northbound sea gull and got out of here. But Gypsy gets airsick.”

  With a laugh in his voice, Hawke told her, “Go to sleep, honey. You’re not even making sense.”

  Kendall felt her arms slipping from around his neck and decided dimly that maybe she should. She did.

  She woke to find the sun low in the sky and an awning stretched out above her and shading her body. Yawning, she stretched like a lazy cat. And discovered Hawke sitting at the wheel, watching her, Gypsy resting comfortably in his lap.

  “Hi,” she ventured to say, her voice a little thick.

  “Hi.” He smiled slightly. “Have a nice nap?”

  Kendall peered at the sun and frowned. “I think it was more than a nap. Why did you let me sleep so long?”

  Hawke set the cat down and got to his feet, stretching. Ignoring her question, he asked one of his own. “Would you like to go for a swim? I have some scuba gear below.”

  “Pd love to.” She rose and looked thoughtfully at Gypsy. “Has she been over the side yet?”

  “Once.” Hawke grinned. “I let her swim for a while, then fished her out and dried her off.”

  Kendall sighed. “She tends to have more enthusiasm than sense. Remind me to tell you about the time she decided to go swimming in the Nile. And the Panama Canal.”

  Hawke laughed and went below to get the gear. When he came back, they got ready and then went over the side, both experienced divers. Hawke guided, since he knew the waters, and Kendall was content to follow him.

  The cove was a treasure house of fish, and the underwater scene breathtakingly beautiful. Kendall had never gotten used to it, and hoped she never would. They stayed under the surface until it became difficult to see, and then headed for the boat.

  After fishing Gypsy from the water again and removing their gear, they made ready to sail back to their island, talking about what they had seen and sharing previous diving experiences. Companionable.

  Once under way, both fell silent, enjoying the sinking sun and the sights of other islands they passed. Kendall made herself comfortable where she could watch Hawke’s profile, then reached silently into her beachbag for the sketch pad she carried.

  It was a habit carried over from childhood, when she had tried to make a sketch of the places and pe
ople she had seen. It had always seemed better than a photograph, and never had she forgotten anything she had drawn.

  Now, without attracting Hawke’s attention, she began to sketch him. It should have been a difficult task because his face was so distinctive and carried such character. But it wasn’t. Not to her.

  Her fingers flew over the paper, drawing a face that was hard on the surface and unexpectedly sensitive beneath. An uncompromising jaw, high cheekbones, arrogant nose. The startling eyes. Black hair blown by sea breezes. Pirate shirt.

  Kendall stared at the sketch for a moment, regretful that it was stark black and white with no colors. But maybe that was best for this man. The starkness revealed the force of his character, the beauty of bone structure and features. Intelligence in the high forehead, wit in the mobile brows.

  But she couldn’t draw the deep, rough voice. Or the laugh. And she couldn’t draw a clean masculine scent. Or the gentle understanding after a nightmare. Or the taste of a wine-sweet mouth.

  Carefully, Kendall slid the sketchpad into her beachbag, his image imprinted in her mind for all time.

  Then she stared at the man.

  Chapter 8

  The next three days were companionable ones. Cheerfully ignoring her occasional weak protests, Hawke kept her busy from morning until late at night. They played tennis, swam, sailed, went diving. They even spent an uproarious afternoon trying their hand at windsurfing. Hawke was good at it, but Kendall spent more time in the water than on the board.

  The nights were spent in various ways. He took her dancing—at both his hotels. They walked on the beach. One reckless night was spent in the casino, where Hawke staked Kendall and watched her win and lose a small fortune at blackjack. They sat in the bar and listened to music—where Kendall amused Hawke no end by fiercely telling the bartender that if he served her anything but fruit juice, she’d carry out the threat of days before.

  With the curious probing of a new relationship, they pitted their skills against each other in various ways. He defeated her at tennis with a powerful serve and a devastating backhand. She won at poker, cheerfully telling him that she’d learned to play from her father while they were held as political prisoners in a foreign jail—a tale that quite probably destroyed Hawke’s concentration.

  He won at chess. She won at archery. He was better at skeet shooting, but when he set up a makeshift pistol range, he found Kendall to be the better shot.

  Companionable. He teased her, cheerfully picking her up and carrying her whenever she stubbornly dug in her heels. He held her hand or put an arm around her waist constantly. He kissed her constantly—no matter where they were. Or who was watching.

  And that was it. He escorted Kendall to her suite each evening, leaving her at the door with a kiss and an easy good-night. He didn’t try to come in. Didn’t try to force her into anything.

  By two A.M. on the third night Kendall had ruined three fingernails and had taken to muttering to herself. She was absolutely certain that Hawke was trying to drive her out of her mind. And she was every bit as sure that he was succeeding. Her sleep was fitful, her nerves raw. She felt as if he’d lit a fuse somewhere deep inside her, and she was going to explode any minute.

  Pacing the floor of her sitting room with a vengeance, Kendall spared a rueful moment to consider Gypsy’s defection. Since Hawke had won her over, the cat had divided her nights between the two of them. Hawke hadn’t complained; it seemed to amuse him. And since Gypsy had no trouble opening the connecting door, there wasn’t much that Kendall could do about it. The cat was in his suite.

  Sighing, Kendall kept pacing. The soft rustle of her long silk nightgown was the only sound in the room. She knew what Hawke was doing. He was leaving the decision up to her. And her body had been shrieking at her for the better part of a week to have done with the useless soul-searching and grab him with both hands.

  But she was still afraid. Afraid of making a mistake. Afraid of being hurt. She had missed the teenage years of learning to test and trust relationships, the later years of learning what she wanted from relationships. Her emotional dependence on her father had cost her dearly; she saw that now.

  She wanted Hawke. She loved him and wanted him. And she wanted to belong to him. But that was now. She didn’t want to think about the future. That was the scary part.

  As she paced, her eye was caught by the angel bell on the desk. Warily, she watched it as she paced to the balcony doors, then back to the hall door.

  It’s a magic bell, Kendall When you ring it, it will always bring you a hawk.

  It was absurd, of course. Utter nonsense. Fairy tale or not, she didn’t believe in magic. She eyed the bell as she passed it again. He couldn’t even hear it through the door. And he was probably already asleep anyway. Ridiculous.

  And her imagination was playing tricks on her. The bell seemed to be whispering to her. She gave the desk a wide berth and paced to the balcony doors, staring out. She’d feel like a fool. And he would not come.

  The next thing she knew, she was beside the desk. Detached, she watched her hand reach out steadily and pick up the little bell. It seemed to return her stare solemnly. “I’m not going to ring you,” she whispered firmly. “It would be absurd.”

  She didn’t ring the bell. She was certain of it. But there was a soft, delicate sound, like the music of elves. And the angel was smiling at her.

  Carefully, Kendall placed the bell back on the desk and looked up. And he was there. The connecting door was closed; there had been no sound. He was looking at her gravely, questioningly. Darkly handsome in a deep blue robe. She watched him cross to her slowly, feeling her heart pounding madly. For once the sneering little voice inside her head was silent. This was right.

  “Kendall?”

  She couldn’t respond, could only stare up at him, her need written on her face. With a soft, rough sound deep in his chest, Hawke swung her up into his arms and started for the bedroom.

  Kendall stared into the gray eyes, telling him dreamily, “I didn’t ring that bell, you know.”

  “Of course not.” Hoarse though it was, his deep voice was amused.

  “It rang itself.” She smiled at him slowly. “Magic.”

  “Romance,” he countered softly, lowering her gently onto the bed in the dimly lit room. His heavy weight immediately followed.

  She welcomed him eagerly, thrusting her fingers through the thick dark hair and lifting her face invitingly for his kiss.

  The past days had only heightened a desire that had been explosive from the very beginning, and Kendall gave herself up totally to that feeling. She was burning, on fire with sensations she had never known were possible. The touch of his mouth was like a brand, and she needed the searing pleasure of it.

  She felt his tongue explore her mouth and met it with her own, her body shuddering in his arms. Her hands pushed the robe off his shoulders, and she was unaware when he threw it to the floor. His lips left hers at last, rough hands snapping the straps of her nightgown and slowly pushing the silky material down.

  “Is this what you want?” he grated softly, his mouth hot on the sensitive flesh of her neck.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes…” She repeated his name over and over in her head, amazed to find that it sounded different. It sounded like a part of herself.

  Hawke was slowly removing her gown, his mouth caressing bare skin an inch at a time. His lips toyed gently with first one nipple and then the other, his hands stroking, caressing. He seemed ravenous for the taste of her.

  Kendall watched his absorbed face through half-closed eyes, her own hands exploring wonderingly the muscled strength of his back and shoulders. Her fingers clenched involuntarily on his shoulders when she felt his tongue dip hotly into her navel, and a soft moan escaped her trembling lips.

  His caresses slid lower still, and she gasped, her senses going wild. She felt suspended, some instinct inside her waiting for something beyond her experience. Tension built within her like a coil
ed spring, a pleasure that was very nearly pain, and her body shuddered under the impact of it.

  She was aching, empty, and she knew that only he could fill that emptiness, ease that pain. She shifted restlessly as he rose above her, her arms clinging around his neck. “Hawke…” she murmured huskily. “Hawke…”

  He slid between her thighs, the gray eyes shot with silver as he stared down at her, his face taut. “Kendall,” he rasped, his voice thick, impeded. “Take me and make me yours….”

  Kendall didn’t wonder at the words. Not then. She was too caught up with what was happening between them. She felt him move suddenly, strongly, and her body arched involuntarily, her eyes widening with the primitive feeling of being known, fully and completely, for the first time in her life. It was a strange sensation, exciting and bewildering … and right.

  She saw something flicker in the gray eyes as he went suddenly still, something startled and oddly fierce, and she wondered dimly if she should have warned him.

  “Kendall?” he breathed.

  She wound her arms tighter around his neck and pulled his head down, murmuring throatily against his lips, “Not now!”

  With a soft groan his mouth clinging hungrily to hers, Hawke began to move. Instinct told her that he was keeping a tight rein on his passion, being gentle and careful and, though she loved him all the more for it, it wasn’t gentleness that Kendall wanted.

  Her body took fire in his arms, surrendering to him with yearning hunger and a demand of its own, a wild demand to have done with gentleness. Restraint dissolved, and Hawke took her as passionately as she offered herself, possessing her utterly.

  And in that moment a bond was forged between them, stronger and deeper than either of them would realize for a long time. Forged in loving and needing, in knowledge and innocence, in a need so powerful that it swept all before it. They were tied together in the most basic way possible between a man and a woman. And nothing would ever be the same for either of them.