Hawke: Christmas in Paradise (Billionaire Boys Club)

by Ellie Masters

  I know what she’s thinking, but I need to put our insane attraction on the back burner for a minute or two. She’s not ready to accept the inevitability of our union. With time, I’ll get her there.

  “Tell me about Scott.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Considering what happened back there…” I leave off the kiss. “I’d like to know more. The two of you were involved. He proposed. I know what happened next. But tell me about your business venture.” I cock my head and watch the wheels turn in her head.

  “I suppose it’s a bit complicated now.”

  Very careful with how much I reveal, I remind myself I’m not supposed to know much about her startup company.

  “I thought maybe we could spend the rest of tonight getting to know each other better. You know a little more about me. I’m a rich, entitled bastard who happens to own Euphoria. Most of what you said on the boat hit things pretty much on the head.”

  She winces. “I’m sorry about that overgeneralization.”

  “Don’t be. Sometimes it’s helpful to see yourself through a different lens. Now, here’s what I know about you. You come from a big family, four older, overly protective brothers, blue-collar, I think those are the words you used. I sense strong family bonds.”

  “All true.”

  “But you chose to come here instead of heading home for the holidays because you didn’t want them to…. What was it you said?”

  “Murder Scott.” She huffs a laugh. “Not sure if that’s what I said, but it’s pretty much the truth.”

  “You’re lucky to have that. Mother? Father?”

  “Yes, to both, and very much in love. They’re your stereotypical high school sweethearts. They started dating in high school, went to prom together senior year. He was a senior; she was a freshman. It was scandalous, and of course, he knocked her up.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You’re kidding?”

  “Not at all. Mom dropped out. Had my brother. Dad finished high school, enlisted in the Army. Served six years. In that time, Mom popped out Gideon, Brett, Ian, and Steven. Dad started his construction business. Mom got her GED and went to work for Dad as his office assistant and accountant. They’re still wildly in love.”

  “I feel like I’m reading a trashy romance novel.”

  “You wouldn’t be far off. They hit it hard and heavy, and they’re still incredibly affectionate. Nobody thought they’d last. But Dad stepped up, did what he needed to support Mom; their family grew. Not that it was easy. They were on food stamps. Shopped at the thrift stores. Everyone got hand-me-downs. When Daddy felt he had his feet under him, he got out of the Army, started his business, and the rest is history.”

  “Then you came along. How many years separate you from your brothers?”

  “Steven is twelve years older than me. Gideon is eighteen years older. I really am the baby. Kind of a surprise pregnancy.”

  “Wow. So, the youngest and only girl. The only one to graduate college?” I’m not entirely certain if she’s told me this. I’m confusing what I read in her dossier with what she’s shared.

  “I did. Caltech, actually.”

  “Wow, you’re like a super nerd.”

  “I told you I was.”

  “You’re a very cute nerd.” Her glass is empty. I swallow down the rest of my drink and refill our glasses. “Then what happened?” I want to get to how she and Scott got together and their startup.

  “I majored in computer science. Dabbled in apps. I actually sold my very first app in high school.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I got taken.”

  I wondered if she knew her worth.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a learning experience.” She shrugs like it’s water under the bridge. I’m going to have some people look into that. I swear, nothing keeps this girl down.

  “Then what?”

  “Got my degree and got this wild idea stuck in my head.”

  “Really? Tell me about it.”

  “Oh, you don’t want to hear about my work.”

  “I want to know about everything. You fascinate me.” The strange thing is, it’s the truth.

  “Do I now?” Her eyes pinch as she gives me a look like I’m full of shit. “Tell me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “Am I anything like the women you date?”

  “I don’t date, but we’ve been over that.”

  “That’s right. You fuck.”

  “I’m very honest about it. You say it like it’s a bad thing. Honestly, the expression of pure, unadulterated lust can be quite freeing.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Her arms cross. It’s a dangerous sign. “We’re wired differently.”

  “You disapprove?”

  “I just don’t get it. You’re an attractive man, interesting, and fun to be around. Why have you closed yourself off to something more than base, physical release? There’s more to love than sex, and I think that’s the part you’re missing out on.”

  “I disagree. First off, sex is fun, and I indulge myself. Why not take advantage of what’s freely offered? Second, there are too many who see me, my wealth, and my status as stepping stones to what they want. I learned very early what my worth was to others and what they wanted from me. I figure if they’re willing to take from me, then I’ll take what I want from them.”

  “Don’t you ever want more?”

  She says it as if there is more to be had. Sadly, I know the truth.

  “I’m content. Why are you afraid of sex?”

  “I’m not afraid of sex.” Her tone turns defensive. I hit a nerve, more like a landmine from the way her body language closes off. But truth is revealed in her eyes. She’s wary, cautious, and untrusting of men.

  Of me.

  Shit.

  Suddenly, I realize something incredible. My little vixen is clueless how potent her sexuality can be to a man. What did Asshat Scott do to mess with her head? Why is she so repressed?

  She wasn’t repressed in my arms. She fucking melted when I held her. My chest puffs out because I’m a pretentious prick, preening over my ability to make women swoon—to make her swoon.

  We’ve yet to discuss that kiss. The one I took without permission.

  “Poor choice of words.” I hold my hand to my chest and give a slight bow. “My apologies.”

  She was a hot and fiery vixen in my arms. I bet I saw more passion in that one kiss than Scott ever saw in the years they dated.

  Fucking putz. He has no idea what he fucked up.

  “Hawke, you deserve better from life.” Her fingers lift to her lips, brushing them softly. “You have wealth and power. I don’t know what you do for a living, but you’re more than the sum of your bank account. I hope, someday, you find the right woman who sees the real you. Who falls madly, and desperately, in love with you. When that happens, you’ll understand what ‘more’ means, and why everything that came before was achingly empty.”

  I’m entranced by everything she says. The way she keeps touching her lips reminds me how they felt against my mouth. I imagine how they’ll feel wrapped around my cock and hold back a groan.

  Her breathy moans awakened the slumbering beast inside of me. I’m desperate to lay claim to her body, but I’m willing to wait for the right moment.

  “Achingly empty?” My brow lifts. “I don’t feel empty.”

  “Maybe those were my poor choice in words.”

  “Well…” I place my glass down and fix her with a stare. “Now that we’ve sufficiently danced around the issue, it’s time to actually dance.”

  Twenty-Two

  Quinn

  “Dance?” What the hell does Hawke mean? I’d ask, but I’m pretty sure my expression says it all. “I don’t dance.”

  He extends his hand to me. I take it, cautiously, and he lifts me to my feet. I stumble forward, into him, and place my hand over his chest. The steady lub-dub of his heart beats beneath my palm. I swear
the man is unflappable, always in complete control.

  As for myself?

  I’m a fucking mess. I still taste him. I still feel his lips on mine. My entire body buzzes with memories of that kiss, confused about pretty much everything.

  “You and I are going to dance.” He gives a wink. “Then, we’ll talk about that kiss.”

  “Um…” I glance around the pool area. “There’s nobody dancing.”

  “Not here silly.”

  “Then where?”

  “Do you know how to tango?”

  “No.”

  “Salsa?” His eyes narrow wickedly.

  I sense he’s up to something.

  “No.”

  “Dirty dancing? The kind your mother would never allow and your brothers would kill me for if they knew I danced with you like that?”

  “I have two left feet and the rhythm of a white chick. I’m better off standing on the sidelines. Trust me. You do not want to dance with me.”

  “I’d never let you sit on the sidelines.” His voice turns husky. It’s hot as fuck. Not to mention his golden eyes practically glow with all manner of dirty thoughts.

  I’m not sure how to answer. Not that I have a choice. Before I know it, he leads me through the expansive gardens.

  “You’re going to learn how to dance like a goddess.” Not only does he sound sure of himself, the rat bastard is positively smug about it.

  “Um, two left feet. Did you miss that part?”

  “Your feet don’t need to move. Don’t worry, I’ll show you everything you need to know.” His wink is a devastating force of nature. I practically swoon.

  He brings me to a pavilion where a handful of couples gather. Two staff are present, a man and a woman. The man’s dressed in the resort’s signature white shorts and matching white polo shirt. She’s dressed in a flowing white diaphanous gown, which makes me think of clouds billowing in the wind. Each one of her dainty steps is a sensual testament to the beauty of the human body.

  “Mr. Sterling, it’s so good to have you joining us.” She comes over to greet us.

  “Thank you, Lisette.”

  While he’s good with people and names, I’m glad for the name tag pinned to her top.

  “I think you’ll be very pleased with tonight’s lesson.” Her smile is bright. Her makeup is practically nonexistent. She’s gorgeous. And she gives me a knowing wink.

  What does she know that I do not?

  “This is Quinn.” He introduces me. “She claims to have two left feet and is better left on the sidelines.” I give his teasing tone my best stink eye. A deep booming laugh is his response.

  Lisette takes my hands in hers. “You have nothing to worry about, Miss Hayes. I’ve taught people with three left feet to dance and they’ve all left very satisfied. Besides, you have an amazing partner. Mr. Sterling is an accomplished dancer.”

  “Really?” My eyes gravitate back to Hawke’s imposing presence.

  “Just wait and see.” He pulls me out of Lisette’s grip and tugs me tight to his side. “We’re going to make magic tonight.”

  Magic? I don’t think we define magic the same way.

  Lisette’s partner claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. Everybody quiets and turns toward him.

  “Gather ‘round. We’re getting ready to start.” Lisette glides up beside him, whispers something into his ear. His attention shifts to me and I’m taken in with one sweep of his gaze. “How many people have seen the movie Dirty Dancing?”

  Most of the couples in this crowd are older, in their forties and young fifties. Nearly every hand goes up. Mine does too, but only because it’s my mother’s favorite movie. I spent many Saturday nights watching it with her. She would tell me how salacious the movie was when she was a girl and how her parents wouldn’t let her watch it.

  I think she liked it because it reminded her of my dad. He was the older, more experienced boy, a senior in high school, and she was the young girl, a naive freshman, just blooming into a beautiful woman. I’m sure there’s more to their relationship than I want to know. After all, he did knock her up on prom night.

  The corner of Hawke’s mouth turns up in a smirk. He tugs me tight against his body.

  “You ready for a little dirty dancing?”

  “You ready for me to step on your toes?”

  This is when I would normally excuse myself, too embarrassed by my lack of rhythm to have fun. I’m not the kind of person who lets myself go. I’m rigid and focused. This is the kind of wild and crazy shit I don’t do.

  But somehow, I find myself in the middle of the dance floor with Hawke’s hand wrapped around my waist. His fingers splay across the small of my back. He gives a little kick to my right foot.

  “Widen your stance a bit, Miss Hayes.” His voice simmers with passion, lust, and other dark thoughts.

  “Why?”

  “So I can step between your legs, silly.”

  Lisette and her partner, whose name is Brian, stand on a slightly raised podium. It allows us, their students, to see them and for them to see us. Brian demonstrates how he wants the men to hold the women; how it allows the man to lead.

  Hawke follows with no hesitation. He’s got the moves down.

  “Now, ladies—” Lisette’s crystal-clear voice rings overhead. “You need to let him in. You’re going to be riding his leg. This isn’t called dirty dancing for nothing. We’re going to be doing a lot of bumping and grinding, and you can’t grind if his leg isn’t bumping between your thighs.”

  Nervous giggles surround us as everyone loosens up. My cheeks heat because there’s no way I’m going to grind on Hawke’s leg. Except he pulls me to him and forces his leg between my thighs. He presses tight, right against my sex.

  Mortified doesn’t begin to describe my current state, but then Brian starts the music and we all move. Well, everyone but me. I stand like a statue, terrified to move.

  Lissette and Brian encourage us and walk us through three basic moves. Hawke is right about one thing. My two left feet have nothing to worry about. They aren’t involved in what we’re doing. As for the rest of my body?

  I’m stiff as a board while Hawke oozes raw, potent sex appeal. His entire body is one fluid movement, a pulsating wave that begins with his head, rolls through his shoulders, and undulates somewhere between his waist, hips, and knees. Honestly, I didn’t know the human body could move like that.

  Lisette and Brian demonstrate those three moves again, combining them. One’s a slow sway back and forth. Beginner stuff. The next is more of a grind. That one makes me blush. Hawke’s grip tightens. His husky laugh has me looking anywhere but at him. The last one, kind of a mixture of the first two, is sexy, sinuous, and looks a lot like fucking.

  Our instructors demonstrate one last time, then separate. They hop off their podium to circulate between the couples. Brian shows the men how to lead, and Lisette shows the women how to follow.

  Like a scene right out of the movie, I find myself sandwiched between Lisette and Hawke as she comes up behind me. Her fingers press lightly on my hips and she shows me how to meet and match the undulations of Hawke’s body.

  Holy hell, the man can move. I’m stiff and gangly, more than awkward, and just want it all to stop. But there’s no stopping the force which is Hawke Sterling when he sets his mind to something.

  “That’s it, Miss Hayes.” Lisette brings me back to the moment, forcing me to crawl out of my introverted shell. “Let your hands hang down. We’ll get to those in a bit. For now, feel the music wash through you. Focus on the beat. Shift to the left. Shift to the right. That’s it. Left. Right…” Her voice soothes and guides me. All the while, Hawke keeps his hands on my waist, applying slight pressure, which accentuates the push and pull of Lisette’s hands. “Keep your feet in place. Move only your hips and your knees.” She stays with me for a moment.

  The first bit is awkward. My entire body locks up, but she’s phenomenal at her job. Hawke is simply Hawke. He echoes Lisette�
��s words without overpowering her instruction.

  Her fingers guide one hip forward, the other back. Once I get a hang of that, she shows me how to roll my hips forward and back. Like a figure eight, or something like that.

  Hawke says nothing. I think he does that on purpose because the moment I relax, he clears his throat. My hips move up and down, forward and back. I may not be a total loser at this dancing thing. Just don’t ask me to move my feet. Lisette moves on to the next couple, which leaves Hawke and me alone.

  My arms dangle. Normally, I’d feel self-conscious about that, except they seem perfectly capable of swaying to the low, sultry beat on their own. It’s hypnotic and sensual as hell. The music rolls out of the speakers and settles into my body, one pulsating wave after the next.

  The song is sexy, filthy, absolutely dirty. It carries a wanton, lustful sound—a wild, carnal beat which demands an answer.

  “Your body was made for this, luv. You’re fucking intoxicating.” Hawke leans in. His low breaths heat the skin of my neck and raise the fine hairs on my arms.

  I’m not sure if I agree with him, but something is happening. Not worried about how I look, who might be watching, or who might laugh at me, I surrender to the beat and follow Hawke’s sultry lead.

  There’s no thinking. Only feeling.

  And I feel like a fucking goddess.

  Sexy.

  Sexual.

  Powerful.

  Hawke grabs my wrist. He moves it to his shoulder, placing it precisely where he wants it. He takes my other hand and lifts it too. Now, my arms dangle over his shoulders while my hips move with his. I’m getting that part down. He leads, adding in his shoulders, showing my body how to move with him.

  I’ve never danced like this before. With his leg wedged between my legs, my pussy rubs up against him. A cascade of sensation ricochets through my body. Nerves on fire. Senses overloaded. I’m coming apart in his arms.

  There’s no cautious touching going on down there. Our bodies are in close, physical contact, in the middle of a dance floor with several other couples who are similarly grinding and bumping, and practically humping.