Love on Trial by Diana Palmer Page B

have a valid point.”
    â€œBut, Hawke…” she protested.
    â€œMy terms, Siri,” he reminded her.“And you agreed to them. I want you kept out of this as much as possible. I’ll tell you what I want you to know, when the time is right.”
    â€œMale chauvinist,” she grumbled. “I can take care of myself.”
    â€œI’m going to let you prove that one of these days. But for now, you’ll do what I tell you,” he said darkly.
    â€œYes, Uncle Hawke,” she said in her best juvenile voice. “Will you buy me an ice-cream soda?”
    His eyes narrowed. “Keep digging me, and you’ll wish to God I was your uncle.”
    She made a face at him. “Honestly, you and my father…!”
    â€œDo you think I want to find your body washed up on some godforsaken stretch of beach because you flirted with danger one time too many?” he demanded hotly. “I’d give blood if Bill Daeton would take you off that policebeat. You like the risk just a little too much for my peace of mind.”
    â€œYou’re not my keeper!” she flung at him.
    His eyes narrowed, sliding boldly over the bodice of her beige dress, and it was almost as if he was touching her.
    â€œDo you burn like that with a man, Siri?” he asked in a soft, low voice. “Has Holland ever tapped those deep fires?”
    She felt herself flushing. “I’d like to go now.”
    â€œAfraid to talk about it with me?” he taunted.
    â€œThe lobster was delicious,” she replied as she rose.
    He chuckled softly, walking behind her to the cashier. There was something almost predatory in the sound of his soft laughter.
    She didn’t believe for a minute that she might wind up being washed in on a wave with her throat cut, but Hawke wasso doggedly protective of her that it made her uneasy. He seated her in a booth in the darkened bar where the jukebox blared like an orchestra in a closet, deafening and brassy. He ordered her a sherry, ignoring the dirty look she gave him.
    â€œStay put,” he said, leaning over to growl in her ear so that he could make her hear him over the music. “I’ll be at the bar.”
    â€œHawke, why are you being so…”
    He caught her soft throat with one big hand and pressed her head back against the cold leather of the booth, his mouth hovering just above hers. He held her eyes for a long, static moment. His hand moved, testing the effect of the look with a finger at the stampeding pulse in her throat.
    The noise, laughter and flickering candlelight faded away and there was only Hawke, bending over her, with his eyes appearing almost black under thosedarkly knit brows as he studied her. His fingers lifted to her mouth, touching her lips, whispering across them, making them part as her breath whispered frantically past them.
    His thumb gently pressed down on her lower lip as he bent. Dazed, her eyes dwelt on the chiseled perfection of his mouth as it opened slightly just before he leisurely fitted it to hers. It was a tantalizing kiss, so brief and light and teasing that it felt more like a fleeting breeze. But the effect it had on her was evident in her trembling pulse, the breathless sigh that passed her lips, the slender young hand that involuntarily lifted in protest when he drew away.
    His forefinger pressed against her mouth for an instant, and he smiled at her with a quiet, tender warmth that made lightning spark in her mind.
    Siri gazed after him, helplessly. Of course, he’d planned it, it was part of the charade. But his mouth had been hard,and tasted of tobacco and mint, and she ached for something more violent than that whisper of promise. What would it be like, she wondered dazedly, to let him kiss her the way he must kiss Gessie; to feel the hunger and rough passion in that eager mouth, to let him touch her….
    She jerked her mind back into place as the waitress brought the mild drink he’d