Witchchild. Carole Mortimer

about Laura Brandon last night, just as it had been a simple thing to decide he would pay her off as she had obviously intended he should.

      Fifteen minutes with Leonie Brandon and he wasn’t even sure what he was doing here any more!

      And how many more cats were going to come strolling through here? He had no patience with the creatures himself, thought they were totally hopeless as companions, never there when you wanted them, demanding when they were. Very much like a woman, in fact, and he had little time for them either, apart from their rather obvious attraction.

      He turned sharply as Leonie Brandon came back into the room with the tea. My God, he thought, she looked so young. Or maybe he was getting old after all. He certainly didn’t want any tea—a Scotch maybe, but not tea!

      ‘Here we are.’ She put the tray down on the coffee-table, smiling at him brightly.

      She looked ten years old in that get-up and with that sprinkling of freckles across her uptilted nose, and yet the breasts beneath the T-shirt definitely proclaimed her a woman—–Get a grip on yourself, Sinclair, he instructed himself impatiently. That was definitely a complication this situation didn’t need!

      He sat forward obediently to take the proffered cup of tea.

      He had such strong hands, Leonie admired as she curled up on the sofa opposite him. He also looked totally ridiculous wrapping those long fingers about one of their delicate china tea-cups!

      ‘Laura,’ he prompted abruptly.

      ‘No,’ she smiled. ‘I told you, I’m Leonie—–’

      ‘I meant you intended telling me about your sister,’ he clarified in a controlled voice.

      ‘Drink your tea,’ she encouraged.

      ‘Why?’ he raised dark brows sceptically. ‘Do you think it will leave me more open to the sad tale you’re undoubtedly going to tell me?’

      ‘It is only tea, Hawk,’ she reproved. ‘And what sort of sad tale did you have in mind?’

      ‘Oh, something like Laura needs money for your old, sick mother, or father, or aunt, or—–’

      ‘There’s only Laura and I,’ she cut in quietly. ‘And all Laura wants is Hal. She happens to love him very much.’

      His mouth twisted scornfully. ‘I’m sure she does,’ he rasped. ‘More to the point, Hal is sure she does,’ he added harshly.

      ‘You don’t understand—–’

      ‘No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand,’ he slammed his cup down impatiently. ‘My son is nineteen years old, I’m not about to sit back and let him ruin his whole life by getting married far too young to a woman he barely knows!’

      ‘Is that what you did?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘After all, to have a son of his age you must have married at nineteen yourself.’

      ‘I was just twenty when I married,’ he ground out, looking as if he would like to pick her up and bodily shake her. ‘And the situation was entirely different. My wife and I grew up together, we always knew we would marry.’

      ‘Okay, so it didn’t happen this way for you, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t such a thing as love at first sight,’ Leonie reasoned. ‘Or that that isn’t the way it happened for Laura and Hal,’ she defended.

      He sighed. ‘I’m not denying that at this moment in his life Hal is sure he does feel that way about your sister, it’s her feelings for him that I doubt,’ he bit out grimly.

      ‘Because your name is Sinclair and hers is Brandon, because you’re rich and we’re not so rich, because—–’

      ‘The reasons for my doubting the sincerity of her feelings are, as you are so ably proving, too many and would take too long to go into individually,’ he told her impatiently. ‘Besides which, Hal still has a long way to go before he knows the business as well as he’ll need to to take over from me one day. He’s going to be travelling extensively over the next few years.’

      ‘Laura could go with him—–’

      ‘And no doubt she’d want to take her sister along too,’ he sneered.

      Leonie chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. ‘Have you always been rich?’ she asked at last.

      ‘Always,’ he admitted without apology for the fact. ‘My father founded the Sinclair hotels, and by the time I was born they were already a worldwide concern.’

      She nodded. ‘Then I suppose you must have a pretty good idea of what it’s like to be pursued just for your money.’

      ‘Yes, I—–I believe I was just insulted,’ he drawled irritably.

      Her eyes were widely innocent. ‘Really? I can’t imagine by whom.’

      ‘Leonie,’ he began reasoningly, ‘I do not intend to let your sister marry my son.’

      She grimaced. ‘I was afraid you were still going to feel that way.’

      Hawk eyed her suspiciously. ‘Afraid?’ he repeated slowly.

      ‘Don’t look so wary,’ she chided. ‘I’m not threatening you. Good gracious, do I look as if I could threaten anyone?’ She looked down pointedly at her childlike body.

      ‘It’s the non-violent threats that are usually the most dangerous,’ he replied.

      She sighed. ‘Well, I’m not making any kind of threat. I was just going to tell you that of the two of us Laura is the more practical one—–’

      ‘So practical she knew a meal-ticket when she saw it,’ scorned Hawk.

      Leonie gave him a censorious frown. ‘When I get Winnie in a seemingly unsolvable situation Laura is always the one who—–’

      ‘I know I’m going to hate myself for asking, but who is Winnie?’ he prompted irritably. ‘Not one of your cats?’

      She shook her head with a smile. ‘The detective in our books,’ she supplied. ‘No matter how unlikely the situation—and believe me, I’ve thought of a few over the years—–’

      ‘Oh, I believe you,’ he muttered.

      Her eyes glowed with humour. ‘Laura is always the one who comes up with the solution to the problem.’

      ‘I’m surprised anyone reads your books at all; it’s difficult to relate to a man named Winnie—even if you did once have one as Prime Minister over here!’ Hawk sneered.

      She arched mocking brows. ‘That coming from a man with a name like Hawk?’

      ‘Henry Hawker Sinclair the Second,’ he corrected dryly.

      She blinked at the length of the title. ‘Then Hal is…?’

      ‘Henry Hawker Sinclair the Third,’ he confirmed softly. ‘My father was called Harry, by his friends—none of his enemies was ever brave enough to come forward and say what they called him!’ he drawled. ‘I was called Hawk to avoid confusion, and now my son is called Hal for the same reason.’

      ‘What’s wrong with Henry?’

      ‘About the same thing that’s wrong with Winnie,’ he returned mockingly.

      ‘Henry seems a good solid name to me,’ she shrugged. ‘By the way,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘Winnie is a woman. Now, about Laura—–’

      ‘You write about a female detective?’ he said disbelievingly.

      ‘Are you a chauvinist, Hawk?’ she taunted.

      ‘Not at all, Leonie,’ he drawled. ‘I was just a little surprised. I don’t know why I should have been! Is Winnie as kooky as you?’

      She smiled.