bed had changed all that—even more so when he had asked her to take Joshua Hawkley’s morning tray of coffee up to his employer. A request Rosie had very reluctantly agreed to when it seemed it was the only way to stop Donald’s growing agitation.
She roused herself to reply to Hawk’s comment. ‘Then I suggest you wait until he’s feeling better.’
Hawk found himself bristling at her dismissive tone. He was being reasonable about this, wasn’t he? Considering he had found a strange woman wandering around his bedroom only a short time ago, he really thought so!
What—?
‘Hawk!’ A distraught, tousle-haired and robe-covered Donald staggered into the kitchen, the ravages of the flu evident in the paleness of his lined face. ‘I meant to tell you—’ He looked at the two of them seated at the breakfast-bar. ‘I just felt so ill last night that all I wanted to do was fall into bed—’ He gave a frustrated shake of his head as he swayed slightly. ‘I hope Rosie has explained?’ he added weakly as she stood up.
Hawk’s mouth twisted ruefully as he also stood up. ‘Not so far, no,’ he drawled ruefully. ‘But I’m living in hope,’ he added, with a mocking glance at her flushed face.
Donald looked across at her dazedly. ‘You haven’t told him…?’
Told him exactly what? And how much? Rosie frowned.
The situation had felt so difficult last night—the gulf between Donald and herself so wide that the two of them hadn’t had a proper chance to talk yet, let alone involve a third party. And that third party was Joshua Hawkley! A man who lived in the limelight himself, who once he knew her full name might add two and two together and come up with the correct answer of four!
The fewer people who knew who she was, the less likelihood there was of—
‘Rosie is my daughter, Hawk,’ Donald turned to tell the other man before she had a chance to stop him.
Hawk’s cobalt-blue eyes widened on her incredulously, telling Rosie that this was the last explanation he’d been expecting!
DONALD’S daughter…
Whoever Hawk had thought this young woman might be, it certainly wasn’t the other man’s daughter!
He hadn’t even known Donald had been married, let alone that he had a daughter of—what?—twenty-two, twenty-three?
But maybe Donald hadn’t been married. Maybe this girl was the result of a brief relationship all those years ago. Whatever—it didn’t make her any less than Donald’s daughter.
Hawk had never once heard Donald mention her in the ten years he’d worked for him, let alone seen her!
But had Donald seen her during that time? Hawk supposed that he must have done. After all, his employee had holidays, free time, and he certainly didn’t owe Hawk any explanations about his personal life.
Where had Rosie suddenly appeared from? Because he was pretty sure that Donald hadn’t known she was going to join them here when he’d come ahead from Los Angeles a couple of days ago.
More to the point, why had she come…?
Hawk felt a little dazed. ‘Perhaps we should get you back to bed,’ he murmured, as Donald coughed painfully. ‘Rosie can tell me anything else I need to know,’ he concluded, with a narrow-eyed glance in her direction.
But Rosie had no intention of telling him anything more than she absolutely had to!
Hawk’s surprise at discovering she was actually Donald’s daughter, rather than the lover he had clearly assumed her to be, had been pretty obvious. But, if anything, he looked more disapproving of the true explanation of their relationship than he had of his previous assumption!
She shrugged off the movie star’s disapproval impatiently. Her father might work for Hawk, and as such owe him some sort of explanation as to why she was here, but that didn’t mean Rosie was answerable to him too.
Not even if she was to be a temporary guest in his home?
No, not even then, she decided stubbornly.
‘Let’s go and finish our coffee,’ Hawk suggested, softly but firmly, as they settled Donald back in his bed. The effort of coming downstairs seemed to have tired out the factotum, and he lay back exhausted against the pillows.
‘Would you like me to stay and make you some tea?’ Rosie offered gently, at the same time pointedly ignoring Hawk. ‘Or bring you a glass of cool juice?’
Donald gave a weak smile. ‘No, I—I’ll be fine. You go and talk to Hawk,’ he encouraged huskily.
Not what she wanted to do at all, Rosie reflected, as she turned and preceded Hawk from the flat and back down the stairs to the kitchen in the main house, all the time thinking of what she actually needed, had to tell, this disturbingly attractive man.
Not that much, really, she decided. The bare bones of the truth should do it. She hadn’t had a chance to tell her father everything yesterday, about her reasons for being here, and there was no need to tell Hawk either.
‘Have you finished deciding how much I need to know?’ Hawk probed wryly once they were seated back at the breakfast bar, knowing by the way her cheeks became flushed that he had scored a direct hit with his question.
She raised her pointed chin defensively. ‘My father has already told you all there is to know, Mr Hawkley—’
‘Hawk,’ he put in firmly, elbows resting on the breakfast bar as he studied her across its width. ‘Somehow I don’t think that’s true, Rosie,’ he persisted. ‘For instance, the glaringly obvious thing Donald hasn’t told me is why I didn’t know of your existence until today!’
Auburn brows rose over her cool green eyes. ‘Perhaps he didn’t consider it any of your business,’ she dismissed.
Hawk was starting to feel seriously irritated by this woman’s deliberate rudeness. She certainly hadn’t looked so cool earlier, when he had strolled out of the bathroom stark naked!
If he were honest, he hadn’t felt that cool himself when he’d first became aware of her in his bedroom—the tell-tale stirring of his body had been proof of that! He studied her closely now, noting the golden ring circling the green of her eyes, making them appear almost luminous, and the freckles that covered her nose, making him wonder if she had freckles anywhere else. And what it would feel like to kiss every one of them…
He straightened, impatient with his own wandering thoughts. He wasn’t involved in a relationship with anyone at the moment, but he had only left Los Angeles yesterday—the land of plenty when it came to beautiful available women. Finding himself attracted to Rosie Harrison, who took the phrase ‘woman of mystery’ to a whole new level, was a complication he certainly didn’t need. Now or at any other time.
‘Are you here to spend Christmas with Donald?’ he enquired tersely, the thought of Rosie sharing the flat over the garage with Donald during the holidays robbing him of some of his contentment
