Hostage Of The Hawk. Sandra Marton

Khalil a tyrant, a chauvinist—I can hardly wait to hear what else you think of him.’

      What was she doing? She’d come here to further her cause, to succeed in a tricky endeavour and convince Sam that she was capable of carrying her weight at Bennettco, and instead she was alienating the Hawk of the North’s right-hand man with terrifying rapidity. She took a deep breath, let it out, and pasted a smile to her lips.

      ‘Perhaps—perhaps I got carried away.’

      The Prince’s emissary smiled tightly. ‘You may not be given to subtlety but you surely are given to understatement. Referring to m—to the Prince as a dictator is hardly—’

      ‘I never called him that!’

      His brows lifted. ‘But you think it.’

      ‘Certainly not,’ she said, lying through her teeth. Of course she thought it. If this—this overbearing, arrogant, insolent pig of a man was the Prince’s minister, she could only imagine what the Prince himself must be like. ‘Besides, my opinion of your Prince is no more important than your opinion of me. You and I have lost sight of the facts, Mr Hassan. We are representatives, I of my father, you of Khalil. I doubt if either of them would be pleased if we reported back that we’d cancelled this meeting because we’d gotten off to a bad start.’

      Her smile did nothing to erase the scowl from his face. ‘Perhaps we’ll simply tell them the truth, that we cancelled it because I resent having been made a fool of.’

      He had a point. Much as she hated to admit it, she had twisted the facts to suit her own needs. She’d lied to him, lied to her father. And if Sam found out...

      ‘Well?’ She blinked. He was staring at her, his expression as unyielding as stone, his eyes cold. ‘What do you say to that, Miss Bennett?’

      ‘I say... I say...’ Joanna swallowed hard. Go for broke, she thought, took a deep breath, and did. ‘I say,’ she said, her eyes meeting his, ‘that you have every right to be annoyed.’

      His scowl deepened. ‘The start of another bit of trickery?’

      Colour flared in Joanna’s face but she pressed on. ‘I admit I may have stretched the facts, but I haven’t lied. I do represent my father. I have his every confidence and I’m fully authorised to act on his behalf. I know you have a problem dealing with me, but—’

      But, he thought impatiently, his eyes on her face, but! She was good at suggesting alternatives, this Joanna Bennett. She had insulted him, apologised to him, and now she was doing her best to convince him her father had Jandara’s best interests at heart—but for what reason? Why had Sam Bennett sent her? She kept insisting she was Bennettco’s representative, but what man would be fool enough to believe that?

      His gaze moved over her slowly, with an insolence born of command. She kept talking, although her skin took on a rosy flush, and that amused him. Why would a woman like this colour under his gaze? Surely she was not innocent? She was a beauty, though, perhaps more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. What she couldn’t know was that her beauty meant nothing to him. Despite what Joanna Bennett thought she knew of him—or of the man she believed him to be—he had long ago wearied of beautiful faces and bodies that hid empty souls. He preferred his women with strength and character, individuals in their own right, not the pampered lapdogs Western women so often were.

      The logical thing to do was to tell her that she and her father had wasted their time, that he was not Hassan but Prince Khalil, that he was not interested in whatever game it was they were playing.

      But if he did that, he would not learn what game it was. And that, surely, was vital.

      ‘I still fail to see why your father sent you to this meeting, Miss Bennett,’ he said sharply, ‘unless he thought you could succeed where others had failed simply through the element of surprise.’

      ‘If it makes you feel any better,’ Joanna blurted, ‘I’m as surprised as you are. I thought you’d be—I thought...’

      ‘Yes?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What did you think?’

      Joanna stared at him. That you’d be a million years old, she thought, that you’d be a wizened old man... His voice. His voice had sounded old on the telephone. Hadn’t it? Maybe not. She could remember little of their conversation except how desperate she’d been to make him commit to this meeting—this meeting that she was on the verge of ruining, unless she used her head.

      ‘I thought,’ she said carefully, ‘we’d be able to sit down and discuss our differences face to face.’

      He smiled tightly. ‘But not man to man.’

      ‘The bottom line,’ Joanna said, ignoring the taunt, ‘is that we—that is, Prince Khalil and Bennettco—do have differences.’

      ‘Yes. We do, indeed.’ His voice hardened. ‘Bennettco thinks it can ignore Khalil and deal only with Abu—’

      ‘Abu Al Zouad is the King of Jandara,’ Joanna said with an icy smile, ‘or has your Prince forgotten that little item?’

      ‘He is not the King, he is the Sultan,’ Khalil said sharply, ‘and surely not Khalil’s.’

      ‘Abu is the recognised leader of your country, and he has guaranteed Bennettco the right to mine in the northern mountains.’

      Khalil’s smile was wily. ‘If that is the case, why has your father sent you to meet with me?’

      ‘To talk about what is best for Khalil’s people.’

      He laughed, this time with such disdain that it made Joanna’s spine stiffen.

      ‘You spout nonsense, Miss Bennett. That is hardly the issue we’re here to discuss.’

      At least the man was blunt, Joanna thought grimly. ‘Very well, then,’ she said. ‘My father’s sent me to talk about what will most benefit Bennettco—and what will most benefit your Prince, which is why your unwillingness to listen to what I have to say surprises me, Mr Hassan. This meeting is in Khalil’s best interests, but—’

      ‘Sir?’ They both spun towards the curtained doorway. The head waiter was standing just inside it, smiling nervously. ‘The bill, sir.’

      Khalil looked at the silver tray in the man’s hand, then at Joanna. She was right. It would be foolish of him not to find out what tricks her father had up his sleeve, even if it meant enduring her company.

      ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will give you an hour, and not a moment more.’

      Joanna nodded. She was afraid to breathe or even to answer for fear this impossible man would change his mind again and walk out.

      Khalil nodded, too, as if they had made a pact, then looked towards the waiter.

      ‘Bring us the meal I ordered,’ he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

      ‘Certainly, sir.’

      ‘Be seated, Miss Bennett.’

      Be seated, Joanna thought as she slid into the padded banquette, just like that. No ‘please’, no attempt at courtesy at all. It was ludicrous. He’d already ordered dinner, even though she’d reserved the table. The man was impossible, arrogant and imperious and—

      ‘So.’ She looked up. He had slid into the booth opposite her and he was watching her intently, his eyes unreadable as they met hers. He sat back, his broad shoulders straining just a bit at the jacket of his suit, and a faint smile touched his mouth. ‘Why don’t you start our meeting by telling me about the Bennettco project?’

      She did, even though she was certain he knew all the details. It would only help her make her case at the end, when it became time to ask him for assurance that he’d not try and hinder the project. She talked through the lemon soup, through the couscous, through the chicken baked with saffron, and finally he held up his hand.

      ‘Very interesting—but