Falcon

by Bex Dane

  "You out now?" she asked.

  "Retired three years ago."

  "And now you do bodyguard work?"

  He shook his head. "Private military contractor now."

  "Like a mercenary?"

  "Something like that."

  So he and Rogan didn't only do bodyguard work. Was this a special assignment for me?

  Leticia worked to cover the tattoos on his pecs with matching skin color. "Why do you have this bird?"

  The bird covered most of his chest. The feathers of the wing tips crawled up his neck and ended below his ear. "Falcon. The fastest predator on earth."

  "I see. Well, this one will take a while to cover. And we got these hairs here to deal with." She bent close to his chest. "Gonna spend some time on this." She smiled up at him and he returned it.

  Was she flirting with him?

  "This your wife?" She pointed to purple script that said Eden.

  "Nah. Buddy's wife. Not mine."

  He had his buddy's wife's name tattooed on his heart?

  "You married?" he asked her.

  She gave him a shy smile. "No."

  I noticed she didn't mention her boyfriend.

  "Did it hurt? Getting the piercings?" she asked him.

  "Yes."

  "Why'd you do it?"

  "If you were married, I'd show you. But you're not, so it'll remain a mystery to you."

  "Oh, you bad. You a bad, bad man."

  He grinned. Holy Moses. Leticia drew all kinds of personal facts out of Falcon.

  Why on earth would he prefer married women?

  "Why married?" Leticia voiced my question.

  "Safer."

  Leticia washed her hands and stepped behind Falcon to brush his hair. He had gorgeous hair. Dark, shiny, and thick. It hung to the base of his neck.

  "Safer than what? You're not afraid of angry husbands but you scared of single girls?"

  "I'm not afraid of anything. Fear is a manufactured emotion. I control it."

  Leticia pulled his hair back and wrapped it in a leather band. "You control your fears? Even when you served?"

  "Especially when I served."

  She finished with his hair and stepped in front of him again. "Where I'm from, we call that brave."

  He shrugged. "Call it what you want."

  They exchanged a look again. She was sweet and Falcon liked her. But this flirting needed to stop.

  Thank God Babette knocked on the door and came in. Her eyes scanned Falcon in the chair, and she glanced down at the costume in her hands. "This might be too small, but it's the largest I could find. We might have to improvise a bit." She stopped short when she saw Falcon in his tights. "Oh my. He needs a dance belt."

  "Didn't fit." Leticia and I answered in unison.

  "Hmm. Stand up." She wrapped a skirt made of leather panels around his waist and fastened it in the back. "That works. Don't tell any other guards you're not wearing a belt."

  Falcon nodded. I'm sure he wouldn't be discussing his undergarments with the other actors.

  She fitted Falcon with a leather harness that traversed his pecs.

  Babette added strapped leather sandals and a white cape that attached on each shoulder. She stepped back and admired her work. "Wow! You are one of the best-looking supers I've ever seen. I name you Hercules."

  Oh dear lord, Babette had fallen under his spell too. "He's an Egyptian warrior not a Greek demigod." I found my voice to protest in some way to what was happening, but it made me appear petty and jealous, which I totally was.

  "He still looks like Hercules to me." Babette handed him a round seven-foot stick with a fake spear at the end.

  Falcon stood tall, puffed out his chest, and pulled his shoulders back. He set his chin in a regal pose and tapped his staff on the ground.

  I swear to God I never would've guessed he had it in him but Falcon could act.

  He reached for Babette's hand, bent at the waist, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Babette and Leticia both sighed like schoolgirls.

  As he did it, he raised his gaze to mine. Oh my lord in heaven. His eyes were molten and dark. They glimmered and my stomach flip-flopped. The heat from my neck spread through my chest and wetness grew between my legs. My body vibrated with his energy. He had seduced a room full of women with a few short sentences, a pair of tights, and his undeniable confidence.

  How dare he? How dare he give me ice shoulder for two weeks, but in front of my staff, he pours on the charm? What the hell was his game?

  Could he be trying to make me jealous?

  Oh, that had to be it. Why else would he be putting on this show if it wasn't to get a rise out of me?

  It totally worked too, but he'd never catch wind of it. Two could play at this game.

  My body was revved and ready to perform. The spotlight would shine on me for the next few hours. Falcon would be forced to stand behind me and watch me. Matteo and I would light up the stage with our legendary chemistry. Even Falcon's untrained eye would notice it.

  "Well, thank you, ladies. You've done a fantastic job again. I'd better get this super over to the staging area to get his direction.

  "Bye, Falcon man. We'll see you before tomorrow's show, alright?" Leticia batted her lashes and waved goodbye to him.

  "Until we meet again, my Hercules." Babette spoke with Shakespearean drama.

  Falcon nodded, and began to stride out of the room. He stopped and paced back to the bathroom. He came out with his clothes under one arm and a gun in the other hand. He tucked the gun under the waistband of the skirt!

  "You can't bring a gun on the stage!"

  "No one will know. You won't tell will you, ladies?"

  Babette and Leticia shook their heads in a stupid trance. Traitors.

  And so Falcon and I walked out of the dressing room and strode through the Metropolitan Opera House in full costume.

  The surprised PA allowed us to pass through the point he had stopped us before.

  Lord help me.

  Chapter 9

  After the show, high from the rush of the performance, I soared on a cloud as we greeted the gold-star patrons in the foyer. A mixed crowd of older season-ticket holders and younger influencers from Broadway gushed over my iconic portrayal of Aida.

  Falcon stood stone-faced behind my right shoulder, checking out each pen and camera as if it held a hidden IED. Earlier than I preferred, Falcon placed a firm, warm hand flat between my shoulder blades and gave a not-so-subtle signal, by the way of a push, that told me the time to socialize was over. I disregarded him and kept my feet planted as I leaned into the conversation with a co-star I'd be working with next month in Los Angeles.

  Falcon bent down and grunted in my ear, adding a quick pat on my back. No words, but a clear message.

  Enough. Time to go.

  I excused myself and waved goodbye. He kept his hand in place on my back. A shudder trailed down my spine as the blunt pads of his fingers scrunched over my bare skin.

  Inside the dressing room, I maneuvered out of his hold and spun to stare at him, seeking clues to his reaction to the show.

  His eyes scrutinized me too. Intense blue beacons blinded me and amplified the adrenaline already coursing through me. His skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. The shoulder straps of his harness pulled tight against his rounded muscles. His legs spread wide and strong, not looking one ounce of feminine in his leather pleated skirt. The Egyptian warrior faced down the enemy—me—with no fear in his posture at all.

  Oh my. What had I done? Using every tool in my arsenal to ramp up the sexuality of the performance created one of the best shows I've ever experienced. Amid the multi-tiered sets depicting sandy ancient walls and towering statues of gods and pharaohs, I poured on the emotion, lust, and desire in every scene. Matteo responded and played off me brilliantly. He touched my hips more intimately, pressed his groin to my backside more firmly, and turned the chaste kiss at the end into an R-rated extravaganza of tongues. Perhaps Matteo played alon
g because he sensed my intention to drive Falcon mad. Or maybe he felt extra motivated tonight too. Either way, we rocked the dress rehearsal and impressed the small crowd in attendance. From the looks of him, Falcon was not immune.

  A permagrin grew on my face. This was perfect revenge for his flirting with Leticia and Babette before the show.

  He kept his eyes on me as he slowly removed his gun and placed it next to his spear on the dressing table.

  The aquamarine of his eyes glinted in the fluorescent lights as he pinned me with a half-lidded gaze. "Quite the show, Aida."

  "Well thank you." I bit my lip to hide how absolutely thrilled I was to get some kind of reaction out of the iron soldier.

  He tilted his head and squinted as if trying to read my mind. "Do you love Matteo?"

  Oh yeah. The jealousy gremlin revealed himself. Yipee.

  "Not the way you're implying. My job is to convince the audience that I love him so much I would give my life for him. Apparently I have succeeded."

  He blinked and moved his foot in a small, slow step toward me. "Do you love Thorne?"

  The urge to answer his approach with a retreat overtook me, but the Aida costume helped me summon the bravery to stand my ground. The question about Thorne threw me off my game, but I couldn't let him get the upper hand here.

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "You didn't answer." He took another predatory step closer, his eyes flaring ice blue.

  "Thorne has been my companion for years." This was not a lie, but also not the truth.

  "Still didn't answer."

  Uh oh. He had figured out my relationship with Thorne. Time to cover. "Of course I love Thorne."

  "And he has no problem with you teasing Matteo and every man in that theatre till they went hard wanting to fuck you?"

  I gasped. Surely, that did not happen. "Most of those men are gay." I shook my head.

  "Doesn't matter. Anyone with a dick was sporting a chubby tonight."

  Oh really? "Including you?"

  "Most definitely me."

  Oh.

  Well.

  He'd dropped his guard a bit by admitting I'd affected him. I made him hard. Good, because he made me wet and horny.

  My gaze traveled down the rocks of his eight-pack and stopped on his leather skirt. My mind conjured up an image of the scene in there. A fully erect beast with barbells pressing against the fabric of his tights, his cock head trying to escape out of the top.

  I cleared my throat and turned to the mirror to escape from the searching fervor in his eyes. "Then you should've worn the dance belt we gave you. It's meant to hide such things." Luckily my makeup concealed the blush blooming on my chest.

  His reflection watched me remove the pins from my head piece as his massive body stepped close to my back, not touching, but close enough to make me tremble. "What game are you playing?" he asked me.

  "I'm not playing any games." I lied. I was playing "Let's Confuse Falcon" and I planned to win.

  "You sing," he said softly and inexplicably.

  "You just saw me sing for hours, quite well I might add."

  He nodded and leaned down so his gaze met mine in the mirror. "Do you moan?"

  The air gushed from my lungs in a huge burst. "I'm sorry?"

  "Does Thorne make you moan?" He somewhat repeated his question.

  Oh no. This just crossed a line. He wasn't playing fair, using his eyes on me, his heat at my back, and bringing up the one thing I refused to discuss.

  The past.

  "None of your business."

  His fingers grazed my hip and I flinched. He held them there for a second, likely waiting for me to push his hand away. I could have. He had touched me without permission or invitation, but evoking this reaction out of him made me feel powerful. I couldn't walk away now. We'd entered into battle. I froze, waiting for his next move.

  He pressed his palm flat to my belly and snaked it slowly around and up under my left breast. Holy Mary Mother of God, help me.

  My gaze was drawn to his giant hand spanning my ribs. For the first time in my life, I felt… petite. The pain in my chest forced me to suck in a huge breath. He had me forgetting to breathe.

  He bent down and brushed my ear with his lips, his gaze moving from his hand on my body up to my eyes again. His eyes glowed a powerful blue against the sooty black edges of his eyelashes. "Are you gonna tell me the truth, or are we gonna keep playing our game where you lie and I pretend not to care?"

  Was that the game he was playing? Was his ice sculpture imitation an act? It sure convinced me his heart was frozen solid. Falcon didn't care about anything except his job.

  Which was me…

  Oh.

  I spun on him and had to lean back against the tabletop to get some space from the expanse of his naked chest. "Let me go, please."

  He placed his hands on the table on either side of me, bringing his face parallel with mine. "Has anyone made you moan?" He smelled good, pungent like kerosene. "I got a feeling the answer is no. You're too busy keeping all your bullshit straight so you can manipulate men to doing what you want. You never let go and just moan. You're too uptight."

  "Uptight? Did you not see me on the stage. It was like one long moan."

  "No. It was drama for effect. I'm talking about the real you. The Magdalena from Nuevo Laredo. Has any man ever had what it takes to get in there and make her moan?"

  I turned my head to the side. Painful memories slashed through me.

  Primitivo promising me he'd find my mom, telling me to sing, and telling me to moan.

  If he doesn't make you moan, kick him out of your bed.

  No. No one had made me moan. Not at all.

  His eyes softened and his hand came up to my cheek, angling my jaw so I was forced to look at him. The corners of his mouth turned down and his face moved slowly closer. He kept moving closer, closer, till the warmth of his breath kissed my face.

  I didn't expect the gentle press of his mouth to mine. Strong, full, soft lips kissed me. I didn't kiss him back or close my eyes. But as his lips started to move, my body took over. My eyes closed, my head tilted, and my hands came up to grip his forearms.

  He kissed me with my cheeks cradled in his palms. I whimpered a weak protest. Never in a million years would I have guessed Falcon could kiss this sweet. And God I wanted it.

  The sweet didn't last long because within a few seconds, his tongue forced my mouth open and swept mine into a wet, hot, penetrating kiss. The rough hairs of his goatee scratched my face. Overwhelming lust crashed through my system. Even with all the fabric between us, something huge pressed between my legs as he angled his hips closer.

  Fire and ice. Cruel and kind. Distant and close. Forbidden and accepted. Totally physical but also completely ethereal. My hands caressed up his chest, fingertips exploring the heavenly dip and swale of each groove. Coarse hair on soft skin and billowing muscles.

  His hand moved under my hair and gave a tug at the base of my neck. The demand in the way he yanked my hair crumbled what was left of my resolve to keep him at a distance. Regardless of the battle between us, I needed to kiss him more than I needed to breathe. And I had to give back as good as I got.

  Each hungry swirl of his tongue drew me deeper into him like an aria that starts pianissimo and crescendos to an all-encompassing forte. We were flying with the music.

  He moved closer yet, and my chest pressed to his abs. The leather of his skirt pressed the fabric of my dress into the skin on my legs.

  His hand left my hair, and I felt massive palms at my hips lifting me up onto the makeup table like I weighed nothing.

  I'd been with actors, singers, and dancers. Most of them equal in height to my five-foot-ten, and most of them smaller in stature than me. No one had ever lifted me by my ass like a babe from a stroller.

  Putting me up on the table brought us closer to eye level, but he was still bending down to kiss me. My hands had full access to his back, and I scratched the
bare skin, feeling it give under my fingernails.

  His warm palm hit my breast and skimmed my nipple over the velvety green fabric of the dress. A promise of all the ways Falcon could touch me. Forbidden ways. Ways I shouldn't even be thinking of.

  He pulled his tongue out and raised his head. He wiped his thumb across his lazy, plump bottom lip. His eyes had changed to a darker blue. His beard seemed darker and more pronounced. My God, turned on Falcon was a sight to behold. "Got a call from my boys on Thorne." His voice scratched, and he spoke quietly.

  What? Oh shoot. Darn. Darn. Thorne. Where was Thorne this week?

  "Said he spent the last few days in Orlando with a man."

  Darn, darn, darn. That's right. He left to visit a new guy he'd been dating. He'd missed him too much to stay away any longer. Darn. He got caught.

  "You followed Thorne?"

  "Of course we did. He's the number one suspect for the murders."

  "He's what? Oh my God. No. Thorne is not a murderer."

  "No? What is he then? Cuz he's got a boyfriend down in Florida he seems to be heavily involved with, and he also plays the dutiful husband to you."

  "Oh." Shit. I needed to get my game face on and lie to Falcon. Game face was hard when I felt like having an O face. O face would be one hundred times easier right now.

  "You're a beard for him?" He asked his pointed question while I was thinking about my O face.

  "I don't know what you're talking about." I knew what he meant, but I was avoiding the topic.

  "A beard. You cover for him. Act like his wife so the public thinks he's straight."

  "Of course not."

  "Sure. Listen, you're hot as fuck and I'd really like to hear your moan because I'm sure it's beautiful with the kinda noise that comes outta your mouth, but I need you to admit the truth first."

  Uh oh. He wouldn't make me moan if I didn't tell him my secret? This was highway bribery! Coercion! Racketeering! Someone arrest this man for being a thug. Well, I guess he was a thug considering who his father was and where he grew up. God, Falcon frustrated me to no end!

  "I'm not interested in moaning for you, Mr. Hendrix, which by the way you didn't tell me was your name until I heard you tell Gaspar that."