The Bronzed Hawk (2 page)

“Enjoying yourself?” O’Brien drawled, and Kelly felt the color flood her face as her gaze flew guiltily from his taut, hard stomach to his face.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, moistening her lips nervously. “Did I get you out of the shower? I can wait until you dress.” So much for her cool, sophisticated facade, she thought disgustedly. Damn it, why did the man have to be so attractive? His golden bronze complexion and shining, coal black hair reminded her of a modern-day Montezuma. His brilliant aquamarine eyes were startlingly beautiful. From her dossier on him, she knew his mother had been of
Mexican descent and his father Irish-American, but who would have believed that the combination would produce this magnetic attractiveness?

His gaze was very sharp as it slowly traveled from the top of her curly blond head to her small booted feet. “I wasn’t in the shower,” he said coolly. “I’m doing some yoga exercises.” Then his gaze fastened on her face, and Kelly felt suddenly that she’d been analyzed, categorized, and was now being filed away somewhere in the computer banks behind that lazy smile. “I admit that I was curious to see what kind of seductress had tempted our stalwart security guard from his post. I was going to look you over, and then I was going to chew you up in little pieces, Miss McKenna.”

The last sentence was said with such geniality that Kelly at first thought he was joking until she saw the hard, ruthless curve of his mouth. She bristled indignantly and was about to reply when he threw open the door and stepped aside. “Instead, I think that I’ll listen to what you have to
say. You’re not at all what I expected, Goldilocks. It may prove to be amusing.”

Kelly sailed past him regally. Any remorse she might have felt about the distasteful method she’d been forced to use to get to see O’Brien had vanished with his rude arrogance. Goldilocks, indeed!

“How condescending of you, Mr. O’Brien,” she said icily, as she walked briskly down the foyer steps into the sunken living room. “I’ll try to be entertaining.” She was infuriated to hear an amused chuckle behind her, which she pointedly ignored, and proceeded to gaze disdainfully around her. However, as she moved to the center of the room, she found it increasingly difficult to maintain the pose. She was attracted in spite of herself, to the splendidly tranquil beauty of the room.

The decor had a distinctly oriental flavor—ambiguously opulent yet restrained. The plush, ice blue wall-to-wall carpet was the only Western note in a room that was as unusual as the man who had created it. There was no furniture in the room at all except for a lovely low teak
table in front of the fireplace. There was a midnight blue velvet mat on the carpet in front of the table; the mat was surrounded by nile green, cerulean, and cream pillows. A bronze screen with beautifully engraved peacocks occupied one corner of the room, and the walls were covered with original paintings obviously chosen for their serenity and delicacy of color.

She turned away from an unusually fine Renoir to say sincerely, “What a heavenly place to live. Is the rest of the apartment like this?”

There was an odd flicker behind his blue eyes. “No, the rest of the apartment is more Western in decor,” he said slowly, his eyes on her glowing face. “I find a blend of cultures suits me better than a total devotion to one.” He gestured mockingly to the midnight blue velvet mat. “Won’t you sit down? You’ll find it surprisingly comfortable.”

Kelly seated herself carefully, her eyes fixed warily on O’Brien as he dropped gracefully down beside her. It seemed that her offer to wait until O’Brien was more suitably dressed was being ignored; his nudity obviously didn’t bother
him at all. She wished that she could say the same. The proximity of all that virile muscular flesh was having a most peculiar effect on her heartbeat and respiration. She drew a deep breath hoping that O’Brien had not noticed. It seemed that he hadn’t, for his gaze was fixed with definite admiration on the expanse of silken thighs revealed by the slit in her skirt. Kelly instinctively tried to draw the skirt closed, but it was impossible in her half-reclining position.

“You know, I may decide to redecorate the rest of the apartment, after all,” he said, his eyes still on her naked thighs. “It’s beginning to look increasingly attractive to me.”

Kelly gave up the battle with the skirt and looked up at him crossly. “It may be lovely, but it’s definitely not meant for western apparel. Don’t your guests find it a bit awkward?”

He shrugged, then leaned back against the pillows. “On the contrary, I find it relaxes them and is much more conducive to the lowering of social barriers.” His lips quirked slightly. “It’s a little like going back to the womb. Haven’t you noticed how children gravitate naturally to the
earth? It’s practically instinctive for them to avoid chairs in favor of the floor.”

“I hadn’t realized that,” Kelly said thoughtfully. “But you’re right. I remember that as a child my father was always telling me to get off the floor and sit properly like a lady.”

“And that was such a long time ago,” O’Brien scoffed gently, his gaze on the glossy, sun-streaked curls that framed her face. “You’re not much more than a baby now.”

Kelly bristled indignantly and tried to draw herself up haughtily. Unfortunately, she found the move only further opened the slit in her skirt, a fact that added to her displeasure. “That was some time ago, actually,” she said coolly. “I’m twenty-three years old, Mr. O’Brien, and I’ve been a photojournalist since I was nineteen. If you’d care to check my credentials, you’ll find that I’m quite respected in my profession.”

“Oh, I thoroughly approve of your credentials,” he said mischievously, his gaze returning to her thighs. “Although I’m not at all sure of your ethics.” He picked up the envelope that he had dropped on the low teak table and waved it
at her carelessly. “I believe that blackmail tactics are still frowned upon by most responsible journalists.”

Kelly flushed and bit her lip, her jade green eyes wide with distress. “How would you know?” she asked belligerently. “You haven’t seen fit to give any of us an interview since you were sixteen, Mr. O’Brien. That hardly makes you a competent judge.”

O’Brien’s lips thinned, and his expression became bitter. “You think not? I was a qualified expert on the members of your profession while you were still in diapers, Goldilocks. I had to put up with the circus they made of my life when I was a child, but I’ll never be put in that position again.”

“You couldn’t expect the media to just ignore you,” Kelly responded. “You were news. How many geniuses of your caliber do you think appear in a generation? For that matter, how many appear in a century? Your IQ ran right off the scale, and by the time you were ten, educators were comparing you to Einstein. You graduated from college when you were twelve and received
your doctorate in computer engineering when you were fifteen. For heaven’s sake, you were a phenomenon!”

“I was a freak,” he said tersely, his aquamarine eyes brooding. “And thanks to the media, I was a very well publicized one—as you have just proven by rattling off the facts of my life. It didn’t occur to the media that I was also a child and didn’t know a damn thing about how to handle a problem on that scale. I was just lucky I learned before I went around the bend.”

Kelly felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of that confused little boy. Then she dismissed the thought. There was nothing in the least pitiful in this outrageously attractive male next to her.

“You seem to have thrived despite our insensitive handling of your delicate feelings, Mr. O’Brien. You scarcely can say that you’ve led a retiring life despite your aversion to publicity. You’re only in your late twenties, yet you’re practically a legend in your own time. The larger than life, fabulous Nick O’Brien.”

O’Brien’s eyes narrowed to icy blue slits. “You seem to have done your homework at least, Miss
McKenna. I’d be curious to know what else you’ve discovered about my murky past.” He gestured to the envelope. “Besides this little item, of course.”

Kelly moistened her lips nervously before saying decisively, “I’d hardly be a competent reporter if I’d neglected to research you thoroughly before approaching you, Mr. O’Brien, though most of it was pretty well cut and dried. If I may continue ‘rattling off the facts’ of your life, you’re the only son of Michael O’Brien, head of O’Brien Computer Corporation. Your mother died when you were two, and you were raised by your father and a number of qualified tutors. You have a photographic memory, which must have been a great help in your education because you have a string of letters after your name. You’ve made several advances in computer technology in the past ten years, and you’ve recently developed some little chip or something that everyone says will completely revolutionize the industry.” She looked at him gravely. “There’s even talk about a possible Nobel Prize nomination.”

“As you say, pretty well cut and dried,” he said coolly. “But I’d venture to guess that you’ve delved deeper than my academic background.”

She nodded, her eyes shifting away from him to rest on the misty Renoir on the wall. “Your private life is just as newsworthy, Mr. O’Brien. You’ve been something of a daredevil since you were in your teens. Skydiving. Rodeo bronc busting. Race cars. You like to take chances, and so far you’ve been lucky. There was, of course, the time you were shot when you arranged to rescue those American oilmen who were being held hostage after the revolution in Said Ababa. But that was only in the shoulder and hardly counts, does it?”

“You overestimate my Spartan endurance. It ached damnably for about two months and was stiff for another three.” His eyes were fixed with amused speculation on her face. “You must have very good sources. If I remember correctly, that particular episode was never publicized. The State Department was a bit touchy about the rescue since they were negotiating sub rosa for a treaty with the new regime.”

Kelly’s eyes twinkled impishly. “A certain amount of guesswork on my part,” she admitted. “But I’m glad to hear it confirmed.”

O’Brien chuckled, a glint of admiration flickering briefly in his eyes. “Strictly off the record, Goldilocks. Officially that airlift never happened. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me how you managed to uncover my tracks?”

She shook her head firmly, and he chuckled again. “I didn’t think so.” Then his smile slowly faded as he removed the black and white photograph from the envelope and tossed it on her lap. “Now, suppose we get down to brass tacks,” he said grimly. “I believe this photograph was meant to open negotiations?”

Kelly was jerked back to reality with a vengeance by the abrupt change in O’Brien’s manner. From lazy, almost indulgent good humor, he had switched with lightning swiftness to the dangerous alertness of a stalking panther. She had almost been lured into actually enjoying his easy camaraderie. Which only went to prove that the man was even more dangerous than she’d imagined.

She picked up the picture and glanced at it. “It’s really a good shot, isn’t it?” she asked coolly. “I was quite proud of it. If ever a picture tells a story, this one does.” She had taken the photo of O’Brien and his voluptuous female companion at a small French restaurant a few nights before.

“A hand on a lady’s thigh hardly constitutes a compromising situation,” he said. “Perhaps I was merely being platonically affectionate.”

“The look Señora Dominguez is giving you was almost hot enough to melt the film in my camera,” Kelly said bluntly. “You left the restaurant five minutes later, without waiting for your dinner, and returned to this apartment. Señora Dominguez didn’t leave until ten the next morning.”

“And you were waiting outside all that time?” O’Brien asked. “You should have come on up, Goldilocks. I can’t say that I’m overly fond of
ménage à trois
, but I just might have made an exception in your case.”

Kelly could feel the hot color stain her cheeks. “I’m not concerned with your love affairs, Mr. O’Brien. I’m sure you’ve had more mistresses
than even my expert research can substantiate. The only reason I took the photograph is that I needed a lever, and I thought this might prove the only one I could use.”

“Oh, what a wicked blow to my self-esteem.” O’Brien mockingly arched his brow. “And I thought you were shivering outside all night long in a fever of lust for my virile young body.”

Damn the man, Kelly thought vexedly, and damn this blasted habit she had of lighting up like a Christmas tree at the slightest provocation. How could she maintain the image of a hard-bitten cynical newspaperwoman when she still blushed like a schoolgirl?

“Hardly,” she retorted. “You seemed to be very well taken care of by Señora Dominguez.”

“Yes, I believe I was at that,” O’Brien agreed, a reminiscent grin on his face. “But you needn’t be jealous, sweetheart. I’ve always preferred blonds.”

“Actually, your track record displays a leaning toward brunettes by almost two to one,” Kelly corrected.

“Well, there are blonds,” he said, his blue eyes
twinkling mischievously as he reached out and tugged at a curl, “and then there are
blonds
.”

She pulled away from his hand. “You needn’t waste your sexual expertise on me, Mr. O’Brien. Judging from your reputation, I’m sure that it’s spread fairly thin already. You’d do better to ask me what I intend to do with that photograph.”

“All right, Goldilocks,” he said obligingly. “What do you intend to do with that photograph?”

She gritted her teeth in frustration. This interview was not going at all as she’d imagined. O’Brien did not appear to be the least bit worried about his liaison with Maria Dominguez. In fact, he seemed to be outrageously amused by the entire affair. Or perhaps that was a front, she thought speculatively. Well, she would just have to pursue it further and see if he showed any signs of annoyance or anxiety.

She drew a deep breath and said in a little rush, “Señora Dominguez is the wife of the minister of finance of an important oil-rich country in South America. I doubt very much if the State Department would be pleased if your little affair
threatened the negotiations for their oil reserves.” She moistened her lips nervously. “Based on your new discovery, the Pentagon has just signed a gigantic contract for O’Brien computers. It’s possible that they might even cancel the agreement if the State Department applied enough pressure.”