The Temptress Of Tarika Bay. Robyn Donald

like to think so.’ Her shoulders squared and she kept her gaze steady.

      Hawke said lazily, ‘The little I’ve seen of your work was exquisite.’

      Flooded by alarming pleasure, she wondered if he’d bought a piece—for whom? The actress?

      He spoilt it by finishing, ‘You’ve come a long way in a very short time.’

      Morna stiffened. ‘Thank you,’ she said with cold formality.

      A recent article in the business press had insinuated that her business had been staked by two rich men—Glen and Nick.

      Her angry rebuttal of the lie—and, more probably, Nick’s cold fury and power—had won a somewhat snide apology, but she had no illusions. Most people who’d read the original article wouldn’t have read the apology, so they’d believe the insinuation that she was—to use an old-fashioned term—a gold-digger.

      Probably Hawke did too, with his hard green eyes and uncompromising mouth. And for some obscure reason that hurt. Which was a danger signal; she was too susceptible to him.

      Taking refuge behind her coffee cup, she watched the dancers with determination until the music stopped and Cathy and Nick came off the floor, still wrapped in that sleek, enviable contentment. Morna eased her long legs sideways to let them past, and gratefully relaxed as the conversation became general.

      When Hawke asked Cathy to dance Morna leaned back into her chair, pretending not to notice as they walked out onto the floor.

      Hawke and Cathy looked magnificent together—he so tall and protective, she slender and graceful in his arms.

      ‘You can take that look off your face. He’s not interested in her,’ Nick said calmly.

      ‘I don’t care who he’s interested in,’ Morna said gruffly.

      Nick got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Come on.’

      As she had so often before, Morna went with him, only realising when she met Hawke’s hooded, glinting eyes that she now had no excuse not to dance with him. She said a short, explicit, unladylike word.

      ‘I thought you gave up swearing ten years ago,’ Nick remarked.

      ‘I did.’ She asked sombrely, ‘How did you dare let yourself fall in love?’

      ‘I didn’t have any choice.’

      Their steps matched perfectly; he and she had learned to dance together. Morna said, ‘God, that’s scary.’

      ‘At first. What’s with you and Hawke?’

      ‘Nothing!’

      ‘But he’s hunting?’

      Morna shivered. ‘That’s so un-PC! Even if he is, it doesn’t mean anything. I’m not good victim material.’

      ‘Is that how you see relationships?’ Nick asked quietly.

      She shrugged. ‘Not all. Not you and Cathy—you make me believe that dreams can come true.’

      ‘They can,’ he said with complete conviction. ‘You just have to learn to trust.’

      ‘Ah, that’s the problem. I don’t think I want to.’

      ‘Wanting to is a danger signal,’ he said, ‘but sometimes you have to take the challenge, no matter how risky it might be.’

      They danced in silence for a while, and as the music was winding down Nick glanced across the room again. Dark brows drawing together, he said, ‘It’s time I took her home.’

      Indeed, Cathy’s smile was more gallant than eager as Hawke delivered her to her chair. He said something that made her laugh, then straightened when his attention was discreetly attracted by a man who wore effacement like a cloak.

      Hawke appeared to ask a quick question. As Morna and Nick came up he nodded and said, ‘I’m afraid there’s a minor problem. I shouldn’t be long.’

      When he’d left, Nick asked in a voice Morna had never heard him use before, ‘All right?’

      ‘Fine.’ Cathy smiled, her lips curving softly, tenderly.

      ‘Nevertheless, we’ll go home.’

      The look they exchanged ambushed Morna in some unsuspected part of her heart. Small things slotted into place—the orange juice Cathy had drunk all evening, that inner radiance, Nick’s enhanced protectiveness…

      They were expecting a baby.

      Cathy said firmly, ‘We can’t go home until Hawke comes back.’ She directed a laughing look at Morna. ‘What do you think of him now?’

      ‘He’s still too much,’ Morna said succinctly, relieved when Cathy stopped teasing her to discuss the holiday she and Nick were planning in Hawaii.

      After ten minutes or so Hawke reappeared, striding across the room with the lithe, expectant grace of a predator. He gave Cathy a keen glance, accepting her thanks for the evening with a smile that tangled Morna’s thoughts and drove her to her feet.

      ‘It’s time I left too,’ she said, skimming the lower half of his handsome face without meeting his eyes. Desperately wrenching her attention away from his sexy mouth, she said, ‘It’s been a pleasant evening, thank you.’

      His eyes narrowed and that beautiful mouth compressed, but the charm was still there when he said, ‘I’ll walk you to the car park.’

      ‘Oh, you don’t need to—’

      He slipped a hand beneath her elbow, and to her fury she found herself following the other two to the doors. Pride insisted she say lightly, ‘Nick will protect me from anything nasty in the dark—and I’m certain it’s perfectly safe here.’

      ‘Nick has his wife to look after. As for safety—you never know,’ Hawke said courteously. ‘You could be attacked by a passing seagull.’

      She gave a crack of laughter. ‘Or a carnivorous crab?’

      ‘Exactly.’ He nodded to the doorman and escorted her out into the warm, humid night.

      Although stars danced dizzily in the fragrant sky, the darkness pressed against them, stroking across Morna’s hot face. She clenched her teeth against the siren song winding through her body, emphasising an anticipation that made her both bold and vulnerable.

      She hadn’t felt like this when she’d met Glen. This was different—wilder, more tempting, a slow, mesmerising beat of awareness based on starlight and the salty perfume of the sea, and the cloying scent of some flower too close by, and the heady touch of Hawke’s hand burning through the thin material of her sleeve.

      Gritting her teeth, Morna fought against a seductive, reckless temptation.

      Remember what falling in love got you, she reminded herself trenchantly. Five years of what you thought was happiness, followed by betrayal.

      No one could accuse her of being a slow learner, so she’d resist with everything she had.

      When the red rear lights of the Hardings’ car drew away Hawke said, ‘Come back inside and dance with me.’

      His voice was deep and steady, even slightly amused, but Morna’s skin prickled at the sensual heat smouldering through the words.

      In spite of the warnings of her common sense, she wanted more than anything to dance in his arms while music curled around them in lazily erotic expectancy. She wanted it so much she had to force herself to speak, and didn’t dare say any more than, ‘No.’

      ‘Coward.’ Two syllables said with a taunting flick, but they almost demolished her wariness.

      ‘Absolutely,’ she said, with such fervour that he laughed, and for a moment she liked him.

      Only for a moment, though. Although in the past few hours she’d