Witchchild. Кэрол Мортимер

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Copyright

       PROLOGUE

      LEONIE’S eyes widened on the man seated opposite her. ‘Please don’t feel you have to be in the least polite to me just because I only opened the door to my home and met you for the first time two minutes ago!’ She gave him a wry smile.

      His mouth tightened. ‘Very funny, Miss Brandon,’ he snapped. ‘But I intend to make my feelings very clear about having a little gold-digger like you anywhere near my son!’

      ‘Oh yes, Eagle, I think—–’

      ‘Hawk,’ he cut in irritably. ‘My name is Hawk, not Eagle,’ he clarified, seeing her mystified expression.

      Surely one bird of prey was much like another? She had told Laura that she hoped the name wouldn’t be prophetic, but two minutes into her acquaintance with Hawk Sinclair, after he had verbally attacked her as soon as they reached the lounge, and she knew it was an understatement; Shark might have been more appropriate!

      ‘Hawk,’ she conceded lightly. Oh dear, they were going to have problems with this man, if his grim expression was anything to go by. ‘I think you’ve expressed your feelings about that very plainly. However—–’

      ‘How much do you want, Miss Brandon?’

      Leonie’s mouth quirked with amazement. ‘You’re actually offering me money?’ She absently tickled the pure white cat as it stroked against her denim-clad leg passing through the room on its way to the kitchen.

      He nodded abruptly. ‘In exchange for your leaving Hal alone.’

      Green eyes lit up with amusement. ‘No man has ever offered me money to leave him alone before!’

      His mouth twisted with disgust. ‘I’m sure plenty have paid you to stay with them!’

      ‘You’re getting nasty again now,’ she reproved.

      ‘Miss Brandon—–’

      ‘Can’t you be a little less formal with the woman you’re insulting?’ she mocked. ‘My name is—–’

      ‘I know your name, damn it!’ He stood up forcefully, pacing about the comfort of the small lounge.

      Even when he was so obviously angry with her this man was fascinating to watch, Leonie decided. He wasn’t handsome, not in the way Hal was, more a power to be reckoned with, his movements all made with a leashed energy that drew attention to him even when he was standing still. And he had the most wonderful hair, gloriously thick and straight. It was a pity about his eyes; their cold greyness stopped him just short of being perfect, far from friendly as they looked at her. Oh well, maybe he thought he had good reason.

      ‘Are you going to leave Hal alone or not?’ he grated in a voice of rough velvet, his Texas accent, if he had ever had one, completely erased from the years of living away from his native State.

      ‘Not. You see—–’

      He glared at her. ‘I believe you should know right now that I never take no for an answer.’

      Leonie was sure that was no idle threat, his business reputation having preceded him, at least. The Sinclair hotels were known worldwide for their exclusive luxury, and this man maintained complete control of them from his home in Manhattan, Hal had informed them ruefully. The occasional surprise visits his father paid to the individual hotels had been enough to put the fear of God into the staff until the next time he arrived unexpectedly. Having received one of those visits herself Leonie was beginning to understand the feeling.

      ‘Hal still has a long way to go to learn the hotel business,’ he rasped. ‘And he’s far too young to be thinking of marrying anyone—–’

      ‘Ah!’ she pounced with satisfaction, absently stroking the long-haired tortoiseshell cat as it stood up in the chair it occupied, stretching before settling down to sleep again.

      Dark brows rose over frankly impatient eyes. ‘Ah?’ Hawk Sinclair repeated, dangerously soft, his hands thrust into the pockets of his denims

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