‘I expect you like to win?’
Alex withdrew his fascinated gaze from her crimson cheeks with difficulty. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Her veneer of sophistication was much thinner than he’d imagined.
‘I don’t possess the killer instinct.’
‘You think I do?’
Hope placed the last glass on the draining board and shook the moisture off her hands. ‘If I say yes, you’ll accuse me of stereotyping you as the hard-nosed businessman—ruthless and incapable of compassion.’ As she spoke it struck her forcibly how very easily he could be slotted into that category. It wasn’t just that he was physically formidable; the stamp of authority went gene-deep in him. He was a man accustomed to making what he wanted to happen occur.
He saw the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. ‘I draw the line at homicide.’
‘That’s a comfort.’
‘It would seem I’m woefully uneducated about your life.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t know much about building cars.’
‘We could exchange information and improve our general knowledge,’ he suggested silkily.
‘Are we talking a date?’ A cautious smile trembled on her lips. It was scary how much his reply meant to her.
‘Tryst, assignation, rendezvous…’ She was mature for her age, and there was nothing artificial about this girl—woman, he firmly corrected himself. The need to justify his response was strong.
‘I’d like that.’ She sounded cool and collected, having firmly quashed the inclination to jump on the table and dance.
‘Good.’ The gleam of ruthlessness in his grey eyes, the one that bothered her, was back. ‘Where did you say the champagne was?’
‘How did it go, Hope?’ Charlie managed to get a quiet moment alone with his daughter once the guests had begun to disperse.
‘Better than I expected.’
‘You’ll be yesterday’s news before long,’ he comforted her.
Hope nodded. She’d managed to be philosophical about the gossip that followed in her wake at the moment.
The whole world thought she was having an affair with Lloyd Elliot, the producer of the film she’d just starred in. She’d read countless articles about how she’d heartlessly broken up his marriage. Her motivation, so said the general consensus, had been to further her career. Lloyd’s estranged wife, the tempestuous singer Dallas, had given some very moving ‘brave victim’ interviews. If Hope hadn’t known she and Lloyd had been living separate lives for years, she’d have been touched herself!
When Hope had agreed to divert public attention from the real new love of Lloyd’s life, she hadn’t realised just how much that decision was going to affect her and her family. It was too late to wonder, with hindsight, whether her decision might have been different if she had known. But her family knew the truth, and before long, when Lloyd went public about the real object of his affections, so would everyone else.
‘It’ll be a relief,’ she admitted to her father. ‘You certainly get to know who your real friends are. And today wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, unless I’m getting over the paranoia.’
‘It seemed you were making a new friend.’
‘Someone doesn’t miss much,’ Hope responded drily; the casual tone didn’t fool her for a second.
‘Your mother did happen to mention that you had Alex Matheson in tow.’
‘I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that. He’s an interesting man.’
‘Not an easy man to get to know, though—aloof… He’s never really gotten involved in village life. I’ve known him since he was a boy, and he always supports local charities and fund-raisers very generously, but…’ He frowned, trying to put into words his doubts about Alex Matheson. Women were strange creatures, they probably found the fact the man was something of an enigma attractive.
Hope was torn between irritation and exasperated affection. Sometimes her parents forgot how long she’d been out in the big bad world.
‘So, he’s a private person. At least he didn’t treat me like some sort of scarlet woman! There’s no need to look so worried, Dad. I’m not about to do anything stupid.’ Am I? she silently asked herself. Wasn’t there something very appealing about doing something very stupid with Alex Matheson?
Charlie Lacey enfolded his daughter in a bear-like hug. ‘I know you’re a sensible girl,’ he said gruffly.
Am I? Hope wondered, recalling with a shiver the smouldering expression in Alex’s eyes as he’d left.
CHAPTER TWO
THE curls that had escaped the fat plait Hope had tied her hair in were tugged this way and that in the gusting winds. Her light waterproof jacket cut out the worst of it, but her nose felt distinctly pink as she strode sure-footedly over the hillside.
Bishop’s Crag was a well-known landmark; it was the highest point for several miles around. She knew the spot well, but it had been years since she’d been here. She paused to get her breath and inhaled deeply. She’d forgotten how beautiful her home county was. She was surprised to see a light dusting of early snow on 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