this high ground.
Alex Matheson was different; she had to give him that! No romantic candlelight to sweep a girl off her feet for him. Possibly this was some sort of endurance test he put all his prospective girlfriends through. The thought made her grin. Then a shaft of shock swept through her as she recognised the direction her thoughts had been taking her.
She didn’t have boyfriends. At least she hadn’t in a long time. There had been the brief, intense involvement with Hugh Gilmour, her first agent, but that had been short-lived. Since then she hadn’t felt the need, or desire, to become involved with any man. She’d made a few good friends within the industry, and some of them were men, but she’d never felt inclined to push friendship farther.
‘Boyfriend.’ The wind tugged the word from her lips. No, she shook her head, there was nothing vaguely boyish about Alex; he was all man.
She was about to continue when a flicker of movement on the periphery of her vision caught her attention. To her left, on higher ground, just below a clump of trees, their skeletal winter frames permanently bent by the constant buffeting of high winds, he stood—a solitary figure who would never be bent by any storm.
She automatically followed the skyward direction of his stare. A dark dot appeared to fall quite literally from the sky before wheeling at an impossible angle and skimming the ground. It landed on Alex’s outstretched arm.
Awed by this primal display of aerobatics, Hope waved to the solitary figure. He didn’t respond, but she put this down to the fact he was handling the bird on his wrist.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a hawk?’ she panted as she finally reached his side. Hope’s cheeks were glowing from her exertion. Her fascinated eyes touched the bird on his gauntleted hand before she smiled at the man.
‘She’s a falcon.’ There had been more warmth in the beady, unblinking stare of the bird of prey.
She didn’t need to be psychic to experience a premonition of dread. The wind ruffled and tugged at his thick hair, but his face was as hard as the rock he was balanced upon. He looked as much at home in the bleak landscape as his bird. He extended his arm and the creature took flight.
‘Aren’t you afraid she won’t come back?’
‘She occasionally absconds, but she always comes back to me.’ With a minute alteration of his features he managed to imply that the concept of such faithfulness was beyond Hope’s grasp.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ All those romantic scenarios she’d built up in her head were disintegrating under the ruthless glare of reality. It was ironic that she’d smiled stoically through the mud-slinging of the past few weeks and now all this man had to do was flare a nostril and she felt her blood pressure rising and her heart bleeding!
‘Why should anything be wrong, Hope?’
His sarcastic drawl made her feel helpless and angry. The last dregs of her bubbling anticipation drained away under the cold glare of his eyes.
‘That’s what I’d like to know. And will you get down off that damned crag? It’s impossible to talk to someone who’s looming over me,’ she responded, exasperated and dismayed by his peculiar attitude. Could this be the same man she had spoken to yesterday? ‘If you’re having second thoughts, fine—but is there any need to freeze me out?’
Looking at her glowing, apparently innocent face brought a sneer to his lips. He jumped down from the rocky crag with one lithe movement.
This display of agility in such a big man took Hope by surprise. If she’d imagined he would be less intimidating at eye level she soon discovered her mistake—controlled fury was the only way to describe the expression on his face. Her bewilderment and confusion were snowballing.
Over his shoulder she saw the falcon drop onto a small bird, probably a pigeon. Her imagination conjured up cruel talons tearing into the fragile frame of its prey. She shuddered. They made a good pair, man and bird. If he’d had talons she could readily imagine him sinking them into her.
‘Why did you ask me if I was married?’
‘Because I don’t…’ Her voice suddenly trailed off. Things slipped unpleasantly into place. ‘You hadn’t read any of the articles about—’
‘About you and your married lover. A fact you took full advantage of,’ he observed derisively. ‘I did tell you I’d been out of the country.’
‘That’s me—never let an opportunity to snare a poor, defenceless male pass me by. Of course, it would have been more satisfying if you’d had a wife and ten children.’ She spat the words from between clenched teeth.
To think I was impressed he hadn’t been influenced by the scurrilous tales! To think I thought he was warm and interesting! The fact that he was still the most virile male she’d ever met only intensified her disappointment. ‘An invalid mother would have been icing on the cake.’ Flippancy covered the pain of having her eyes opened to his true personality.
‘I can’t abide fakes,’ he responded in an austere manner that made her temper climb to new heights.
‘I can’t abide sanctimonious bores!’
‘Your family must have been going through hell.’
‘Thanks to nasty-minded creeps like you, they probably still are!’
‘Don’t try to transfer the guilt you feel to me, Hope. I suppose it’s something that you’re still capable of feeling guilt…’
‘And still capable of wrapping a sucker like you around my little finger.’ She’d hit the nail right on the head there; she could see it from the flash of rage in his eyes. That was all his outrage was about: he didn’t like the idea his judgement could be flawed. The great Alex Matheson didn’t get taken for a ride by anyone!
‘I’m sure you’ve had a great deal of practice; you’re very professional.’
She gasped, as if the slow, deliberate drawl had been a blow. The sound of her open palm as it struck the side of his face was like a whip-crack. ‘Oh, God, look what you made me do!’ She barely had time to shriek the words before the bird streaked past her face. Alex knocked her to the ground and the creature sped away.
He squatted beside her as she raised her head and groaned. ‘It’s only a superficial scratch. You were lucky.’
Her fingers curled in the mossy soil. ‘Break out the champagne to celebrate,’ she croaked. She gave a whimper and her head dropped once more. A sheen of cold perspiration covered her pale skin and beaded along her upper lip. She battled to overcome the waves of nausea.
‘There won’t be a scar.’ She flinched back as he touched the side of her cheek. ‘It barely broke the skin.’
‘It’s not that.’ She took several deep breaths and prayed she wouldn’t disgrace herself totally. ‘I’m going to throw up and it’s all your fault.’ This was always the aftermath of a brief flash of blind rage, this humiliating physical helplessness.
At least he had the sense to give her some privacy. As creeps went, he was fairly sensitive. A few minutes later she got to her feet and climbed the rocky outcrop he was sitting upon.
‘Are
