by Beth Rhodes
A look around had her looking inward, waiting for the unease to return.
She took a deep breath and let it out. That was yesterday. Today, she had Jamie skulking around outside, trying to give her space without really giving her space. And she had herself. Going down at the hand of that kid hadn’t been incompetence. She’d been proud. She’d fought. And she hadn’t come out on top, in the end, and that had been mental.
If she had a weakness, it was that she cared.
She could live with that.
In the mirrored closet doors, she did a little turn. The outfit was a favorite of Hawk’s, and she was smart enough to know it was the way it rode low on her hips and accented her slimming waist that drove him crazy. She needed makeup on that face. Before she knew it, she was prepping for Hawk’s return like she hadn’t seen him for the length of a deployment.
They had a lot to talk about, so much unsaid.
Unfortunately for good relations, her need was so much baser than that. She wanted him, missed the weight of him on top of her, ached for the look in his eyes when they made love.
Stacy cleared her throat and checked the time. Just a few more hours.
As she left for lunch on the resort patio, excitement started low in her gut.
***
Hawk left his gear in the car after parking it as close to their suite as possible.
He’d slept as much as possible during the flight, which didn’t end up being much. Not with the international, jet-setting toddler in the seat behind him. He’d been distracted, too. Thoughts of Stacy and the trouble surrounding their vacation had kept his brain from truly settling, even after the poor kid finally crashed in his dad’s lap.
Now, jet lag was about to bite him in the ass. His head ached, and the sharp pain behind his eyes was a sure sign that it was just a matter of time before his vision gave out.
The path around to the south side of the resort passed through the pool area and skirted the café where Roberto had the finest cuisine of any resort in Belize. The scents wafted through the air, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in several hours. When he stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, his vision tunneled, turning fuzzy at the edges until all he saw were barely outlined blobs. “Damn.”
At the sound of laughter, Hawk came to a sudden stop. Stacy. The low murmur of voices. A late afternoon meal at the patio café…
A funny feeling came into his gut.
His plane had gotten in early. His layover in Houston had been cut short because of a coming storm. His heart pounded against his sternum, painfully.
He could go find her. Or he could hurry back to the suite and get a quick nap, rest his brain and hope his vision returned.
He reached out, and ran his hand along the hedge that bordered the path and listened for the air conditioner attached to the first unit in their row of bungalows. If it hadn’t been rattling incessantly since their arrival, he would probably be lost. He let his eyes adjust to coming dusk and made out the shapes of the small cabins then turned when he reached the third one.
And he slowed as he came to the door. This was where some asshole kid had hurt his wife. Rage at being helpless filled him. Everything was wrong. All wrong. If he had to let her go in order to protect her—
He shut down the thought that had been slowly growing in the back of his brain, keyed in, and pushed the door open.
Inside, the air was cool and still. He went to the kitchen for a beer first, cracked it open on the bottle-opener, and took a long drag. Then he sighed. Thankful to be back.
With his vision all messed up, he was better off remembering that he couldn’t keep her safe. If the business failed, he’d be able to keep them afloat financially because of smart investing, but losing the main source of income would be rough. He wouldn’t only be failing his family, but all the men who depended on Hawk Elite as a source of income. They had the gym and the shooting range, but those had been established as extras. It was taking on clients and protecting them that made them the most of their money.
Work belongs to the team.
They were a team. Could he stand aside while everyone else did what he wanted to do? He was sitting at a juncture that could change his entire life. And he wasn’t sure he could take the worst-case scenario.
He showered, the hot water and the soothing of those travel-achy muscles didn’t help, not when he knew she was out there, enjoying herself.
Without him. At your insistence.
“Fuck.” He was not going to let her go. He was not going to save her from himself. And if he wasn’t going to do that for her, he couldn’t do that for them team, either. He couldn’t watch other people do what he loved without him. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” he whispered as the water really did clean the bull crap from his conscience. And then he laughed. “You won’t have to watch anything, you dumbass.”
The house phone interrupted the conversation with himself—thankfully.
The local police, reminding him that he had bigger things to worry about than how much he wanted his wife right now.
Chapter Eleven
She’d rejected him.
Miguel got back from lunch with Stacy and opened his suite door, slamming it shut behind him. He tossed his wallet to the table against the wall, and turned…
And found his son. “Daniel.”
“Pop,” he said in that awful American slang he’d picked up.
The smug look of confidence had a story all its own, and without asking Miguel knew. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
His boy sneered at him. “You’ve gone soft. Instead of getting revenge, you’re sweet talking her, and what? Hoping she’ll swoon at your feet?” Daniel stood. Just eighteen, he had yet to fill out, but he had grown taller. “You’re a disgrace.”
Miguel’s hand tightened around the small crystal tumbler. He forced himself to relax, to not show the emotion that was like a cloud of anger on a shit-storming day. “Don’t be stupid.”
His son gave a disbelieving laugh, rose from his seat on the couch, and headed straight for the minibar. He poured from the small bottle of Jack into a shot glass then tossed the liquid back. “I saw you at lunch today. Laughing with her. You touched her hand. And she blushed.”
“So, you’re a big man, now,” Miguel spoke, his voice low and quiet. He would not yell this time, would not let his emotions win. He was the one in control. “You run women down on mopeds, too.”
Daniel’s eyes went wide.
“Yes. I know about that, too.”
He scowled.
“Don’t mess with what is mine, Daniel. Don’t come here to pull your juvenile stunts. You have no idea what real revenge entails, no idea the planning and satisfaction that comes from real work, and seeing the one you hate go down in the best way.”
“And now she’s gone!” His son exploded, his face mottled with youthful wrath. “You had that bitch, and you let her go. That mark on her head,” he gloated, “that was my doing. My right!” Daniel came toward him with his fists clenched.
Miguel slapped him, the sound of skin against skin echoed off the walls. “You fool. Now the Hawkins have tightened their security. They have closed in the ranks, and I have been set aside. Only a thread of the friendship I strove for exists. You,” he breathed harshly to his son who stood, rubbing his cheek, “have ruined everything.”
He was too young to understand controlling that anger, using it.
“I will have the revenge you promised.” When his son stood now, he towered over Miguel, and the fierce rage in his eyes held an element of imbalance he’d never seen before.
“You will force us to work against each other?”
“We need a new plan,” Daniel suggested. “There is an event coming up next week. We can take her—”
“I have a plan,” Miguel said, bulldozing his son’s words. “And you will get on board, or I will send you to Manila to work a desk job at headquarters. You can forget the money for school and that sweet little apartment you have.”
&nb
sp; His son turned away, fists clenched at his sides. He walked to the heavy curtains closed over the windows. He stood that way for one minute then two. Miguel could hear his breathing, hear the way he fought to control the rage.
Pride coursed through him at the sight.
“Tell me your plans.”
***
In one breath, crossing over the threshold, she smelled him. He was early, and he hadn’t come to find her. Why?
His return was both relief and nerves, unbearable nerves fluttering through her stomach. And if that wasn't fickle, she'd eat her shoes, she thought.
Quietly, she reached the bedroom and pushed the door open.
The shower was on behind the closed bathroom door, and as she walked toward it, the water shut off. Stacy stopped in her tracks.
What the freak was wrong with her?
She couldn’t move forward. What if Hawk didn’t want her? What if the last few days away from her had only confirmed the doubts he was having?
Instead, she kicked aside the bag at her feet and began a slow straightening of the room. Meticulous about the things that mattered to him―weapons, in particular―she was always surprised by how sloppy his personal life could get even though she didn’t mind picking up. It usually satisfied something inside of her.
When she lifted his jeans from the floor, a rattling gave her pause. She slipped a hand into the pocket and pulled a small orange prescription bottle out. Tylenol, with codeine. She opened it and poured one into her hand. Codeine?
She returned the pill and set the bottle on the nightstand. The door opened next to her and she turned with a pounding heart. He stood, a towel at his waist, the familiar scars on his left side and the smooth skin that spanned his abdomen and tapered to his waist. It had been a while since she'd taken the time to really look at him.
“How was your flight?
He stared, almost as if he’d never seen her before. “Too long.”
“I bet.” Stacy smiled, even though there was still something holding her back. When she wanted to be in his arms, take him down and fairly jump him, the uncertainty of their life got the better of her.
He wasn’t exactly open-armed and taking her, either.
Then he moved and reached for her, pulling her close and tucking her into his embrace. She took a deep breath. “My God, Hawk. I need you so badly.”
“I didn’t expect to find you here. Not after what happened.” He kissed the top of her head, kissed behind her ear.
“I’m here.”
“Thank God.” His lips came around and grazed her cheek, before finally taking her mouth. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders.
He gentled his touch, nipped at the corner of her mouth. “Are you okay?”
“Unsettled, Hawk. Scared. And worried about you.” She dragged her hands down his back and tucked them into the towel at his back while she placed a kiss over his heart. The towel dropped to the floor. “Oops.”
He lifted that brow of his and a smile twitched at his mouth. “Let’s be serious here.”
“There’s way too much serious going around right now—” She broke off as her throat tightened against tears. “Shit. I was going for levity.”
He placed his hands on her head, covering her ears, and tilted her head up so she had to look into his eyes. “You wanted to finish this.”
“Get to the bottom of,” she replied, not liking the sound of those words—finish this. “Not now.”
He bent his head to feast at the pulse under her ear. “Hello,” he murmured with longing that ignited a fire within her.
She gripped his shoulders, already her entire body sang with need. And he took them to the bed, gently laying her down and covering her with his body. He clamped her legs with his own, holding her still. Placing a kiss along the ridge of his shoulder, she avoided his eyes, avoided seeing something that would throw her world into a million pieces.
Contact was all she could stand, all she wanted or needed. A tear slid down her cheek—relief. That he was safe and here and with her, touching her and holding her. It was the one thing that cut through every other desire.
His hands spoke for him, climbing her ribcage. He lifted the soft cotton of her tank and left traces of need on her skin, before he pushed her back into the mattress and took the tight peak of her breast into his mouth.
She held him against her, and then just as quickly, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He rolled her then, the movement so familiar; she smiled down into his face. “Hello, love.”
He touched her face, the bruising at her temple, and his hands were gentle as he found the knot and then traced a line, down across her jaw.
Stacy leaned in, let the friction of her breasts against his chest send a zing through to her core. He braced her hips with those strong hands and rocked her gently, on and off, off and on. She didn’t want to come alone. “Come on, baby.”
Her breath broke. Her eyes slid shut when, in one smooth motion, he rocked her forward onto her clit and sent a bolt of lightning straight through her.
The mini climax shattered her resolve, and she slid down against his abdomen and rested her cheek on his beating heart. “You always do that.”
He laughed. “I like watching you come.”
This was the man she missed. This was the man who made every other man fade from existence. His own body was strung tightly beneath her. When he took her hands, she followed the playbook and rolled with him. It wasn't always the same, but she craved what she knew. Craved the familiar.
Lips gently met hers, and she dueled his desire with her tongue, stroking once, twice. He nibbled at her lips and trailed kissed down her jaw. A sigh escaped.
Their hands remained clasped above her head as they gave in to the union. His actions demanded of her like a desperate plea, tasting her and sipping from her mouth. As if it had been months. Something had happened to him.
“I can't let go,” he whispered.
“Then don't.”
Their kiss exploded, sending her heartbeat faster and faster into oblivion. His body against hers, the weight of him, the breadth of his shoulders, shadowing her face. And she looked up into his, found his eyes half closed in the ecstasy of her.
She struggled against his hold, wanting to be free, needing to touch him. Her struggle only made him hold tighter, and leave a trail of warm wet kisses down her neck over her collarbone to the slop of her breast. And when he filled his mouth with her, she twisted free and found purchase on his shoulders and touched him, massaged the tight muscles and then ran fingers through his dark, salt and pepper hair. A little love bite on the side of her breast made her laugh an instant before he rolled her to her side and trapped her with his leg.
He reached over her, never letting his lips stop feasting—now at her neck, then behind her ear. Her hands found his rear and squeezed. His mouth was on hers again and he fumbled with the lamp, turning it on. “I need to see you so badly.”
There was an instant of fear in those gorgeous eyes before a wicked gleam came alive, and he kissed her soundly before getting up to take off the rest of her clothes. One quick tug, and her skirt slid free. Hawk tossed it and came back, his hands reaching for her, taking her feet, her legs, her hips. He rested in plank pose above her, making her grin. “Show off.”
“You just have no idea how much I want to be able to see you while we do this.”
She bit her cheek. “Do you want me to make a video?”
His eyes crinkled with laughter. “Next time.”
“Good, because if you don’t get inside me soon, I’m going to scream.” And she brought her knees up, and lifted a brow.
He teased her with the tip of his length so she got her heels up on his ass…
…and he slid home. Stacy groaned as every inch of him grazed her little clit. She blew out a breath and forced the coming orgasm down. She did not want this to be over too soon.
His body trembled. His eyes fell closed as he pulled out with a groan, never quite leaving
her body completely. He gripped her knees with loving hands and drove into her again. And then moved, setting a pace that would take them over that edge to completion.
Stacy met him thrust for thrust, watching a bead of sweat leave a glistening trail from his temple and down his neck to pool in the hollow where collar bone met collar bone.
She knew the exact moment the orgasm started in his gut and recognized the concentration as he held it off.
Her muscles, fatigued by disuse, ached with the stimulation.
“Hawk,” she warned him then, squeezed him deep inside of her as a groan escaped from her trembling lips. His thrusts came faster, rubbing along her walls, reaching into her soul and taking her to the edge. She couldn’t stop it this time, wouldn’t if she could.
“Now,” she growled, and he gave, grinding into her and sending them both into that oh-so-needed, oh-so-perfect climax. Her back arched, her breasts rose to him. His hands circled her rib cage, and when she thought she could stand it no more, he sucked her breast into his mouth and gently bit down.
Lightning stroked through her, a summer storm raging within her, and she cried out with her release.
Chapter Twelve
He couldn't move, and it wasn't merely the fact that his wife had drained him of all his remaining and depleted energy. His head pounded from temple to temple, which was actually a relief. Usually the pain rose from his neck and struck behind his eyes.
Being stuck in this position wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't draped over her like a damp blanket, every inch of her body trapped beneath his. When he turned his head, all he had to do was purse his lips to find that taste of heaven below her jaw. “They'll find us like this in a week.”
Completely unmoving, she hummed a response and her pulse kicked under his lips. She smelled of her shampoo, which, oddly enough, set his world a little righter—headaches be damned. Obviously, he was a lost cause, and ridiculously unable to separate himself from this woman. Of course. What an idiot that he thought he could save her from himself.
