Elusive Lover. Кэрол Мортимер

scowled at him, wishing he would just mind his own business. ‘I eat as often as I’m hungry,’ she evaded.

      His look was considering. ‘And how often is that?’

      ‘Once, sometimes twice a day,’ she admitted grudgingly.

      His expression darkened. ‘And did you eat today?’

      ‘Not yet,’ she mumbled, unable to meet his searching gaze. What did it have to do with him how often she ate!

      ‘Are you going to?’ he persisted.

      ‘I—Probably.’

      ‘Which means you aren’t going to,’ he sighed. ‘How long have you been over here?’

      ‘Eight weeks,’ she frowned.

      ‘And how much weight have you lost in that time?’

      ‘I—’

      ‘How much, Erin?’

      ‘Twelve pounds,’ she muttered.

      He nodded, as if he had already guessed as much. ‘Twelve pounds you couldn’t do without.’

      She glared at him. ‘What does it have to do with you? What do you care that I don’t eat?’

      His expression softened. ‘I care, Erin. I care,’ he repeated gently.

      It was the gentleness that was her undoing. She swallowed hard, her face suddenly crumpling, deep sobs racking her body as she cried out all the misery of the last few weeks.

      ‘Hey, it’s all right, honey!’ Strong arms came about her and she was drawn against a hard chest, lean fingers gently caressing her golden locks. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Josh Hawke’s warm breath stirred the hair at her temple.

      ‘You didn’t,’ she choked. ‘At least, only indirectly.’ She burrowed against his chest, somehow feeling safe and secure, held close in his arms, his skin smooth against her cheek where his shirt was partly unbuttoned.

      ‘Tell me,’ he encouraged softly.

      Her body shuddered emotionally. ‘It’s just so long since—since anyone said that to me.’

      ‘Said what, little one?’ He slowly caressed her back.

      Erin sniffed inelegantly. ‘That they—they cared!’ She started to cry once again.

      His arms tightened about her. ‘Cry it all out, baby,’ he soothed. ‘And then we can talk.’

      That stopped her tears. ‘T-talk?’

      ‘Yes, talk. I want to know exactly what a baby like you is doing here on your own. You should still be in school, not acting as a slave in a second-rate motel,’ his voice hardened grimly over the latter.

      Erin gave a watery smile, wiping her cheeks dry as she moved away from him. ‘I left school years ago,’ she sniffed.

      ‘How many?’

      ‘Three.’

      ‘Three!’ he scorned.

      Her eyes widened. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

      ‘No.’

      She spluttered with laughter. ‘You’re honest, anyway.’

      ‘That’s better,’ he grinned. ‘You’re really cute when you laugh.’

      She pulled a face. ‘Cute!’

      ‘Pretty?’

      ‘Well…’

      ‘Ravishingly beautiful,’ he mocked.

      Erin laughed again. ‘I’ll stick with pretty. And I did leave school three years ago—I’m nineteen.’

      ‘Wow!’

      She flushed. ‘Just because you’re old——’

      ‘I resent that, young lady,’ he firmly grasped her arms. ‘I’m thirty-four, and I wouldn’t be nineteen again for a million dollars.’

      ‘It’s pretty rough, isn’t it?’ she agreed ruefully, feeling strangely breathless close to him like this, and strangely happy for the first time in months.

      ‘It’s lousy,’ he nodded, glancing down at his wrist-watch. ‘Hell, it’s after five already.’ He looked up at her. ‘I have to be somewhere by six. Can we talk when I get back?’

      She shrugged out of his hold on her. ‘We’ve already talked. I—I’m sorry I cried all over your shirt. I have to go now, I should have finished hours ago.’

      ‘Erin——’

      She turned away. ‘You’ve been very kind, Mr Hawke. I don’t usually bore the guests with my problems——’

      He swung her round angrily. ‘I know that, damn you! Erin, I wasn’t giving you the brush-off, I really do have to be somewhere by six. But I want to see you when I get back.’

      ‘I won’t be here.’ She refused to look at him, feeling embarrassed at the way she had broken down in front of him. She didn’t usually cry all over perfect strangers. But he was the first person to show her any real kindness since she had come to Canada, so he had been treated to all the emotion that had been building up in her over the last few weeks.

      ‘Where will you be?’ he wanted to know.

      ‘At my home,’ she answered evasively.

      ‘Where is it?’

      Her stance became defensive. ‘That’s none of your business. Look, I’ve apologised for bothering you, now would you please go on to your appointment and let me finish up here.’

      ‘Erin, I want——’

      ‘I don’t care what you want!’ She shook off his hand on her arm, running to the door. ‘I’ll finish your room once you’ve left.’ She closed the door behind her and ran hurriedly to the store-room.

      ‘Erin!’ Joshua Hawke caught up with her before she reached it, spinning her round to face him. ‘Now I intend talking to you.’ His expression was grim, all of the lazy charm he had first teased her with completely erased. ‘If you won’t tell me where you live then meet me here. We can have dinner together, and you can tell me about yourself.’

      She faced him defiantly. ‘And why should you want to know anything about me? Haven’t I told you enough—bored you enough, already?’

      ‘You haven’t bored me,’ he shook her roughly. ‘You’re lost and alone, and——’

      ‘But I’m not suicidal!’ she scorned him.

      He seemed to go pale. ‘All right, Erin,’ he thrust her away from him, ‘if that’s the way you want it.’ He turned and strode off, getting into a brown pick-up, its paintwork mud-spattered, a huge wooden crate in the back. Her last glimpse of him qwas a narrow-eyed man intent on the road in front of him, his hat pulled low over his face, his jaw set in a firm line.

      Oh, how could she have told him all those things, cried all over him like that! She just hoped she never had to face him again. She had made an absolute fool of herself.

      She tidied his room so fast it must have been a record, terrified he would get back before she had finished. But he didn’t, and she was able to make her escape without making any more of an idiot of herself.

      Only Mike was in the office when she went in to say goodnight; Frances was probably in the back doing her nails. What else would she be doing! A curvaceous blonde of about thirty, she wasn’t exactly maid material.

      Mike looked up from his newspaper. ‘A little late tonight, aren’t you?’ he scowled, a tall sandy-haired man who couldn’t believe every woman he came into contact with didn’t find him madly attractive. He and Frances made a good couple,