Witchchild

Witchchild

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

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 as he glowered down at her from his imposing height of well over six feet. To someone who barely scraped over five feet he just looked huge.

It was a pity she couldn’t take notes of this conversation; she was sure she would never be able to convey all the nuances when she related it to Laura later. Those eyebrows, for example, expressed his feelings exactly every time he spoke.

‘How old are you, Hawk?’ she asked interestedly.

‘How old—–?’ He looked ready to explode. ‘What the hell does my age have to do with any of this?’

‘A lot—if you’re still young enough to be approaching your mid-life crisis rather than having already passed it.’ She eyed him guilelessly.

In the next second he did explode, using all the swear words Leonie knew—and quite a lot that she had never heard before!

‘Are you always this damned kooky?’ he finally calmed down enough to ask. ‘Hal needs his head examined—–’

‘Hal knows a good thing when he sees it,’ she corrected chidingly. ‘You haven’t reached forty yet, then,’ she guessed lightly, glancing sideways as Pop, a smoky-grey cat, strolled through the room to join the white cat in the kitchen.

‘Hal’s age is the one that’s relevant here.’ Silver eyes dared her to pursue whatever subject she might be leading up to with her questions. ‘He’s not even twenty yet, and you’re already twenty-four—–’

‘Twenty-five last month,’ she corrected pertly, her eyes widely innocent as he looked at her fiercely for interrupting.

‘Too old—and too experienced—for Hal,’ he rasped.

‘Do you really think so?’ Leonie sat forward on the edge of her seat, looking very youthful with her rich red shoulder-length hair curling loosely about her make-upless face, her green T-shirt moulding the slender delicacy of her childlike body, the tight-fitting denims making her legs look longer than they actually were.

‘Not the way you look right now, no,’ he conceded, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Did Hal call you and let you know I’d probably be coming to see you today?’

She wished he had! ‘The last time Hal mentioned your whereabouts you were in Nassau.’

‘That was over a week ago!’

Leonie shrugged. ‘To tell you the truth, Hal and I haven’t really spoken a great deal.’

Hawk drew in a harshly angry breath, towering over her threateningly, his hands at his sides now, clenching and unclenching. ‘Do you get some cheap thrill out of telling me you’re too busy sleeping with my son to bother with conversation?’ A nerve pulsed at his jaw.

‘I realise you’re having trouble accepting Hal’s maturity because it makes you feel old, but—–’

‘The only thing I feel when I think of the two of you together is angry!’ he grated.

‘Because knowing your son is involved in an intimate relationship forces you to acknowledge that he’s grown-up—–’

‘When did you qualify as a psychiatrist?’ Hawk Sinclair demanded viciously.

Leonie relaxed back in her chair, lifting her feet up to rest on the cushion beneath her, her arms wrapped about her knees. ‘I didn’t,’ she said without rancour. ‘However, I am an observer of life.’

‘Well, I wish you’d do your observing a thousand miles away from my son!’ He glared at her.

She observed him curiously. ‘Did you know you have the most expressive eyebrows? They define your every mood. They’d make a fascinating characteristic for one of the people in our books—–’

‘If I ever recognise anyone even remotely like myself in one of your books you’ll live to regret it!’ he warned savagely.

Leonie sat forward eagerly, her chin resting on her knees. ‘Have you ever read any of our books?’ she asked.

‘Fourth-rate detective novels aren’t my favourite choice of literature,’ he said with contempt. ‘They obviously aren’t making you a fortune either, otherwise you wouldn’t need to take advantage of Hal’s youthful naïveté in this way.’

‘Hal was never naïve, not even in the cradle,’ she dismissed reprovingly. ‘He’s too much like you.’

‘Thanks—I think,’ drawled Hawk Sinclair dryly.

‘And our books aren’t fourth-rate,’ she defended indignantly. ‘Leonaura Brandon is very popular.’

‘You may well be,’ he dismissed with impatience. ‘Personally I can’t stand books where everyone ends up getting murdered and the butler did it!’

Leonie shook her head. ‘No one ever gets murdered in our books.’

‘Then how the hell can they be murder books?’

‘They aren’t,’ she shrugged. ‘Not every detective investigates murders.’

He gave an irritated sigh. ‘Miss Brandon, I asked you how much you want to get out of—–Why the hell do you keep saying our books?’ He gave a dark scowl at the realisation that his curiosity about her had once again diverted him from his purpose of buying her out of Hal’s life.

‘My sister and I co-author them,’ she explained lightly. ‘Leonie and Laura—Leon-aura,’ she provided.

‘Let’s leave your sister out of this—–’

‘Oh, I don’t think we can do that,’ she told him thoughtfully. ‘You see, I’m Leonie.’

Angry disbelief claimed the hard contours of his face, his eyes were silver slits. ‘You mean you aren’t—you’re not—–’

Leonie realised she was probably witnessing history being made, seriously doubting that Hawk Sinclair had ever before been rendered speechless. ‘I mean you’ve been trying to buy off the wrong sister,’ she confirmed ruefully. ‘Laura is the one who’s been dating Hal, as I’m sure you know.’

‘You—I—–’

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she offered as angry colour darkened his cheeks. ‘Your blood-pressure—–’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my blood-pressure!’ he finally managed to burst out.

‘Except that it’s rising,’ Leonie told him calmly. ‘You really should learn to relax—–’

‘Relax!’ he repeated harshly. ‘I’ve been trying to reason with a child when I meant to bargain with a mercenary, and you tell me to relax!’

‘Laura and I are twins,’ she chided his reference to her age, bending to stroke Pop as he left the kitchen after eating his lunch.

Hawk became suddenly still and, if anything, more dangerous. ‘You mean there’s another one just like you running around loose somewhere?’

Her mouth quirked. ‘Not quite.’

‘How “not quite"?’ He was eyeing her now as if he thought he might need to make an escape at any moment.

He really did look worried, poor man! ‘Laura and I are identical. But only in looks,’ Leonie added consolingly as he gave a pained groan. ‘I’m the only kooky one,’ she added mischievously.

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I was angry when I said that.’

‘And you aren’t angry now?’ she teased.

‘Bloody furious, as you English would say,’ he scowled. ‘If your sister isn’t here where is she?’

‘Out. With Hal,’ she revealed without guilt. ‘They left early this morning.’

‘Why didn’t you say so when—–Oh, what the hell!’ He raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘I’ll talk to her some other time.’ He turned to leave. ‘When my blood-pressure is back to normal,’ he muttered grimly.

‘A nice cup of tea will help with that.’ Leonie sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll go and make one and we can drink it while we finish talking.’

‘I thought we had finished…’ He was starting to look slightly dazed now.

Leonie had seen the same confused expression on the faces of most of the people she met. It usually faded once they had known her for a while, but Hawk Sinclair seemed determined this would be a brief acquaintance. A very brief acquaintance! Maybe he would change his mind once she had told him about Laura.

‘I don’t think so,’ she smiled. ‘We haven’t really talked about my sister yet. I’m relieved the two of us met first,’ she continued chattily. ‘It means that most of your anger will have dispersed by the time you do meet Laura.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it!’ He sank down weakly into an armchair, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Leonie moved happily about the kitchen, preparing the promised tea, confident she would be able to reason with Hawk Sinclair once he had calmed down enough to listen.

A kook, he thought. A one hundred per cent, fourteen-carat kook! And he had been trying to reason with it—her.

It had all seemed so straightforward when he had left the hotel this morning, enjoying the drive out into the country to this big rambling house that stood completely on its own on the outskirts of a small village. But that was before he had met Leonie Brandon!

Twenty-five. She didn’t look anywhere near twenty-five. And what was all that rubbish about his age? Damn it, thirty-nine—well, almost forty—wasn’t old. He certainly wasn’t going through any crisis because of it. Hell, he was trying to justify his age to himself now! he realised with an inward groan.

God, if Laura Brandon was anything like her peculiar sister this was going to be more difficult than he could ever have imagined; Leonie seemed incapable of even taking an insult seriously!

When he had left New York yesterday he had been looking forward to being with Hal, and he had been shocked to the roots of his being when shortly after meeting him at the airport Hal had told him that he had met the woman he intended to marry. God, the woman was six years older than him, wrote flaky detective novels for a living—with her kooky sister; it was obvious she was more interested in what the Sinclair heir could give her than in Hal himself.

That surmise had been easy to make after Hal had told him all about Laura Brandon last night, just as it had been a simple thing to decide he would pay her off as she had obviously intended he should.

Fifteen minutes with Leonie Brandon and he wasn’t even sure what he was doing here any more!

And how many more cats were going to come strolling through here? He had no patience with the creatures himself, thought they were totally hopeless as companions, never there when you wanted them, demanding when they were. Very much like a woman, in fact, and he had little time for them either, apart from their rather obvious attraction.

He turned sharply as Leonie Brandon came back into the room with the tea. My God, he thought, she looked so young. Or maybe he was getting old after all. He certainly didn’t want any tea—a Scotch maybe, but not tea!

‘Here we are.’ She put the tray down on the coffee-table, smiling at him brightly.

She looked ten years old in that get-up and with that sprinkling of freckles across her uptilted nose, and yet the breasts beneath the T-shirt definitely proclaimed her a woman—–Get a grip on yourself, Sinclair, he instructed himself impatiently. That was definitely a complication this situation didn’t need!

He sat forward obediently to take the proffered cup of tea.

He had such strong hands, Leonie admired as she curled up on the sofa opposite him. He also looked totally ridiculous wrapping those long fingers about one of their delicate china tea-cups!

‘Laura,’ he prompted abruptly.

‘No,’ she smiled. ‘I told you, I’m Leonie—–’

‘I meant you intended telling me about your sister,’ he clarified in a controlled voice.

‘Drink your tea,’ she encouraged.

‘Why?’ he raised dark brows sceptically. ‘Do you think it will leave me more open to the sad tale you’re undoubtedly going to tell me?’

‘It is only tea, Hawk,’ she reproved. ‘And what sort of sad tale did you have in mind?’

‘Oh, something like Laura needs money for your old, sick mother, or father, or aunt, or—–’

‘There’s only Laura and I,’ she cut in quietly. ‘And all Laura wants is Hal. She happens to love him very much.’

His mouth twisted scornfully. ‘I’m sure she does,’ he rasped. ‘More to the point, Hal is sure she does,’ he added harshly.

‘You don’t understand—–’

‘No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand,’ he slammed his cup down impatiently. ‘My son is nineteen years old, I’m not about to sit back and let him ruin his whole life by getting married far too young to a woman he barely knows!’

‘Is that what you did?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘After all, to have a son of his age you must have married at nineteen yourself.’

‘I was just twenty when I married,’ he ground out, looking as if he would like to pick her up and bodily shake her. ‘And the situation was entirely different. My wife and I grew up together, we always knew we would marry.’

‘Okay, so it didn’t happen this way for you, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t such a thing as love at first sight,’ Leonie reasoned. ‘Or that that isn’t the way it happened for Laura and Hal,’ she defended.

He sighed. ‘I’m not denying that at this moment in his life Hal is sure he does feel that way about your sister, it’s her feelings for him that I doubt,’ he bit out grimly.

‘Because your name is Sinclair and hers is Brandon, because you’re rich and we’re not so rich, because—–’

‘The reasons for my doubting the sincerity of her feelings are, as you are so ably proving, too many and would take too long to go into individually,’ he told her impatiently. ‘Besides which, Hal still has a long way to go before he knows the business as well as he’ll need to to take over from me one day. He’s going to be travelling extensively over the next few years.’

‘Laura could go with him—–’

‘And no doubt she’d want to take her sister along too,’ he sneered.

Leonie chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. ‘Have you always been rich?’ she asked at last.

‘Always,’ he admitted without apology for the fact. ‘My father founded the Sinclair hotels, and by the time I was born they were already a worldwide concern.’

She nodded. ‘Then I suppose you must have a pretty good idea of what it’s like to be pursued just for your money.’

‘Yes, I—–I believe I was just insulted,’ he drawled irritably.

Her eyes were widely innocent. ‘Really? I can’t imagine by whom.’

‘Leonie,’ he began reasoningly, ‘I do not intend to let your sister marry my son.’

She grimaced. ‘I was afraid you were still going to feel that way.’

Hawk eyed her suspiciously. ‘Afraid?’ he repeated slowly.

‘Don’t look so wary,’ she chided. ‘I’m not threatening you. Good gracious, do I look as if I could threaten anyone?’ She looked down pointedly at her childlike body.

‘It’s the non-violent threats that are usually the most dangerous,’ he replied.

She sighed. ‘Well, I’m not making any kind of threat. I was just going to tell you that of the two of us Laura is the more practical one—–’

‘So practical she knew a meal-ticket when she saw it,’ scorned Hawk.

Leonie gave him a censorious frown. ‘When I get Winnie in a seemingly unsolvable situation Laura is always the one who—–’

‘I know I’m going to hate myself for asking, but who is Winnie?’ he prompted irritably. ‘Not one of your cats?’

She shook her head with a smile. ‘The detective in our books,’ she supplied. ‘No matter how unlikely the situation—and believe me, I’ve thought of a few over the years—–’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ he muttered.

Her eyes glowed with humour. ‘Laura is always the one who comes up with the solution to the problem.’

‘I’m surprised anyone reads your books at all; it’s difficult to relate to a man named Winnie—even if you did once have one as Prime Minister over here!’ Hawk sneered.

She arched mocking brows. ‘That coming from a man with a name like Hawk?’

‘Henry Hawker Sinclair the Second,’ he corrected dryly.

She blinked at the length of the title. ‘Then Hal is…?’

‘Henry Hawker Sinclair the Third,’ he confirmed softly. ‘My father was called Harry, by his friends—none of his enemies was ever brave enough to come forward and say what they called him!’ he drawled. ‘I was called Hawk to avoid confusion, and now my son is called Hal for the same reason.’

‘What’s wrong with Henry?’

‘About the same thing that’s wrong with Winnie,’ he returned mockingly.

‘Henry seems a good solid name to me,’ she shrugged. ‘By the way,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘Winnie is a woman. Now, about Laura—–’

‘You write about a female detective?’ he said disbelievingly.

‘Are you a chauvinist, Hawk?’ she taunted.

‘Not at all, Leonie,’ he drawled. ‘I was just a little surprised. I don’t know why I should have been! Is Winnie as kooky as you?’

She smiled. ‘Things—happen to her,’ she nodded.

‘I’ll just bet they do,’ he jeered. ‘You were going to tell me about your practical sister Laura,’ he reminded her dryly.

She sobered. ‘Maybe that’s the wrong word to have used. Sensible might be a better way of putting—–’

‘Believing herself in love with a nineteen-year-old boy is sensible?’ scoffed Hawk.

‘I doubt if Hal was any more as innocently gullible as you’re making him out to be than he was naïve,’ Leonie reproved. ‘He gives the impression of having always been mature.’

The man seated opposite her gave a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with bringing your child up to be independent.’

‘I’m sure there isn’t,’ she soothed. ‘I was just pointing out that Hal is hardly your typical nineteen-year-old.’

‘No—he’s a potentially very rich nineteen-year-old,’ his father grated.

‘You’re going to upset Laura with that sort of talk, you know,’ she chided. ‘She’s very sensitive about the age difference.’

‘Not sensitive enough to stop seeing Hal!’

‘That’s the trouble,’ Leonie sighed. ‘She will if you ask her to.’

He gave an inclination of his head. ‘Then I’ll ask her to,’ he drawled. ‘End of problem.’

‘You don’t really believe that.’ She shook her head. ‘Laura will be heartbroken if you ask this of them—something I’m sure isn’t going to bother you too much!—but Hal will resent your interference in his life.’

‘He’ll get over it,’ his father dismissed harshly.

‘Would you have “got over” loving your wife if your father had disapproved?’

Hawk gave an impatient frown. ‘The situation never arose.’

Leonie stood up restlessly. ‘Because the woman you loved was suitable.’

‘She came from a prominent Texas family, yes,’ he admitted grudgingly.

‘Rich,’ Leonie drawled. ‘Maybe we don’t have a lot of money, but Laura is rich in such a lot of other ways—she’s kind, totally loyal to those she cares about, and she cares for Hal so much. Oh, Hawk,’ she went down on her knees beside his chair, her hands resting imploringly on his legs, ‘don’t break my sister’s heart!’

He flinched back at her close proximity, the tension slow to leave his body. ‘Leonie,’ he sighed, ‘I can’t, in all conscience, approve of this marriage. They’ve only known each other three weeks, damn it!’