Sinful Rewards 3

by Cynthia Sax

  I can start over tomorrow with a blank slate, with no unfinished business hanging over my head. The ache inside me compounds, making me a little bit nuts, a little bit wild.

  I open the door. Cyndi meets my gaze and her eyes widen. My crazy is showing.

  “We’re going to the Road Gator tonight,” I announce. “It’s a biker bar, and I have it on good authority there will be red velvet cupcakes there.”

  There will also be one rough, tough former marine who has promised to show me his junk, vowing to make our one and only night an experience worth waiting for.

  “Hot biker men and cupcakes.” Cyndi grins. “It isn’t Cole Travers and R, but it does sound promising.” She holds out the corset. “You’ll wear the top?”

  “I’ll wear the top.” It isn’t my style, but clearly my style isn’t working for me. Nothing is working. My whole life is in the toilet, on permaflush.

  “I’m choosing your man for the evening,” Cyndi declares.

  “There won’t be any man of the evening,” I lie, having already chosen my man. Hawke will be my first one-night stand. “I’m drinking, dancing, and that’s it.”

  Cyndi laughs. “If you’re drinking, that will be it.” She leaps to her feet. “You’re a lightweight. Two shots and you’re under the table.” She jumps into the air, pops a balloon with one of her fingernails, the sound shockingly loud. “We’re using one of your precious limo chits. Reward Man is sponsoring our wild and crazy girls’ night.”

  Reward Man, also known as Friendly, is likely Nicolas. I’ll be using his gift to meet another man. I glance at his photo on Cyndi’s phone and part of me, the raw, hurting, betrayed part, likes this idea. Too much.

  “We’re using a limo chit,” I concede with a strained smile. “We’ll have fun tonight.” Even if I have to break some of my personal rules to do this.

  “We will.” Cyndi looks as grimly determined as I feel. “Fuck your cupcake-stealing coworker, fuck Angel, and fuck Rainer.”

  Yeah, fuck them all.

  Chapter Five

  BY THE TIME we’ve eaten dinner, fixed our makeup and hair, changed our clothes, and climbed into the limousine, it’s eleven o’clock. My anger has cooled and my misgivings about having a one-night stand have returned in full force.

  What am I doing? I stare at my hyperactive best friend. Cyndi is also wearing a corset, except hers is crafted from green silk, the color matching her eyes. Her black skirt resembles mine.

  This is where the similarities end. I’m completely covered up, the neckline of my corset sedate, almost classy, my skirt knee-length. Cyndi is giving off serious slut vibes, her big breasts threatening to spill out of the bodice, her black skirt barely covering her ass.

  I can’t be Cyndi. I don’t have the body type, and I don’t have the personality. She’s excited about her upcoming one-night stand with a stranger she hasn’t yet met. I’m one wrong thought away from hyperventilating, and I’ve kissed Hawke twice.

  “You’re paler than usual,” Cyndi comments, her curves jiggling. “Are you going to hurl? Do you want me to crack open a window?”

  “Hawke kissed me again today,” I blurt.

  “No shit?” Cyndi leans forward, displaying way too much boob for my self-confidence. “Was the second kiss as nice as the first?”

  I nod, regretting having used nice to describe Hawke’s first kiss. There wasn’t supposed to be a second kiss, and I never thought Cyndi and Hawke would meet.

  “That’s disappointing.” She sighs. “You’d think he’d know how to kiss. The man is hung like a horse, has ink and a bike.” Her eyes widen. “Hey, do you think your Hawke will be at this bar tonight? He’s a biker.”

  My face heats. “He promised to bring the red velvet cupcakes.”

  “No way!” My friend throws herself against me. “You did not tell me that.” Every word is punctuated with a punch in the shoulder. I’ll be covered in bruises by the end of the evening. “You’ll definitely be riding a biker tonight.” She flops in the seat beside me. “You’re going to do the couple thing and leave me alone, aren’t you?” Her bottom lip curls.

  “We’re not doing the couple thing.” I roll my eyes at her drama. “And I won’t leave you alone.” She’ll forget me, as usual, her focus turning to some guy she meets. A second limo chit is tucked into the bodice of my corset, along with my passcard and an emergency credit card. If things don’t work out with Hawke, I’ll make my way home alone.

  Things will work out with Hawke. My lips flatten. I have to do this. Hawke won’t leave until he has his one-night stand with me. And the attraction between us will cause problems with the next forever man I date. I have to end this.

  “Oh my God.” Cyndi peers out the tinted windows, her face pressed against the glass. “There are bikes everywhere.”

  This is a mistake. I curl my fingers, pressing my nails into my palms. We should turn around, go somewhere safe, somewhere Hawke isn’t. “I’ll tell the driver—”

  “This is going to be the best night ever.” Cyndi opens the door before the vehicle stops and jumps out. I hesitate for two seconds and then follow her, having no other choice. She’s my friend. I won’t desert her.

  The street is reassuringly well lit, the streetlights supplemented by the headlights on hundreds of very pretty motorcycles. No, not pretty, I mentally correct myself, remembering how upset Hawke had been when I called his bike pretty. They’re manly. . .and beautiful. Handsome? I frown, searching for the right word.

  “Come on, slowpoke.” Cyndi grabs my wrist, pulls me forward, toward the entrance to the Road Gator. The sign is lit in neon green. Leather-clad men lounge around their bikes. They turn their heads and then straighten, their perusal escalating my anxiety.

  “Cyndi, I think we should reconsider this.” I tug on her hand, attempting to slow my reckless friend’s approach. “We don’t know—”

  A very large man separates from the pack, and my words fade. He’s backlit, his face and form in darkness, but I’d recognize that blunt buzz cut, square chin, broad shoulders, and confident swagger anywhere.

  “Hawke,” I whisper, my toes wiggling in the practical flats I was forced to wear. My lack of heels makes him appear even larger, more dominant and manly.

  “Sweetheart.” He cups my chin with his rough fingers and tilts my face upward. Our gazes meet and hold, time stopping, the noise and lights fading. There’s only the two of us.

  I’ll have sex with this mountain of a man tonight. Decades-entrenched fear battles newly formed desire. The temptation to turn, to run from him, from this fate, increases with each heartbeat. I know of only one way to quiet my mind, to ensure passion wins. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

  Hawke doesn’t hesitate. He swoops down and claims my lips, the strength of his embrace stealing my breath. I gasp. He surges inside me, his tongue tangling, tumbling with mine. He tastes of whiskey and chocolate, a burning sweetness I could quickly become addicted to.

  My knees tremble, and he straps his arms around my body, holding me upright, pressing me to him. I forget everything, my doubts, our audience, my friend Cyndi, losing myself in him, in the rasp of his stubble-covered chin against my skin, the stroke of his tongue along mine, the hardness of his body.

  Hawke lifts me higher, fitting me into his fit form. My curves flatten against his muscle. My feet dangle above the pavement. Never have I felt this delicate, this cherished.

  I grip his shoulders, clinging to him, relishing his strength and size. This is right, this kiss, this night, this man. I’ll give him everything, expecting only pleasure in return, forgoing forever for one evening.

  A man whistles, breaking the spell. Other men join him, hooting and hollering, their unruly behavior heating my cheeks. Hawke releases my lips and pushes my face into his cotton-covered chest, bending over my smaller form as though to shield me from them.

  “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep and arousing. I wiggle closer to him, my nipples pressing against the red silk
of my corset. He strokes my loose-flowing hair, his big hands gentle, almost reverent.

  “I almost didn’t,” I share quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear us. “There are a lot of rough-looking men here.” I peek around his huge body. Bearded faces, scarred faces, lean, mean faces gaze at us, the men dressed in leather, denim, and chains, their tattoos and piercings visible.

  “No one will hurt you, love.” Hawke holds me to him, partially concealing me with his jacket, his scent filling my nostrils. “They know you belong to me.”

  I belong to him. For the night. I squelch the fluttering of doubt and look up at him, at his rugged face, his pale blue eyes. He’s a badass, and tonight he’s mine.

  Hawke chuckles. “I’ll take care of you.” He skims his lips over mine, his touch reassuring me. “Trust me.”

  “I trust you.” This isn’t a lie. I trust him to protect me and to give me what he promised—one night of pleasure, nothing less, nothing more. I don’t trust myself to not want more.

  Hawke’s lips quirk into the lopsided grin I adore. “More secrets.” He rolls his shoulders back, drawing his body upright, his height and width impressive, and he turns to face the collection of bikers.

  “This is my girl,” Hawke announces. Men cheer, horns honk, engines rev, the crowd rowdy and wild. I give them a wobbly smile, my face burning with embarrassment and pleasure. I haven’t been anyone’s girl in a long, long time.

  “You must be Cyndi.” My biker man extends his hand to my wide-eyed friend. She grips his fingers, and I struggle to contain my jealousy, not liking the thought of any woman, including my man-slaying best buddy, touching Hawke.

  “I have something for you,” Hawke announces. He then lowers his head and brushes his lips against my earlobe. “You’ll be safe here, sweetheart.” He squeezes my hip and walks away, strolling toward a group of bikers.

  The bikers straighten as he approaches. A man with a handlebar moustache and a flat leather cap salutes him. Another man hands him a box.

  “His kiss was nice, my double Ds.” Cyndi slaps my shoulder, the impact shaking my body. “That tongue tussle gave me a lady boner. The man lifted you off the ground. I got hot watching it.”

  The heat inside me rises, scorching my worries. Hawke bends over, faded denim pulls tightly across firm male ass, and I sigh, appreciating how ripped he is, yearning to dig my fingernails into his taut flesh. Will he have more tattoos on his back?

  “You’re getting lucky with the birdman, and I’ll be alone,” Cyndi grumbles, kicking a loose piece of pavement with the toe of her Jimmy Choo shoes. “This is worse than not getting into R.”

  “R was okay,” a male voice drawls, his slow southern accent sounding vaguely familiar. “They put on a good party, slick and sophisticated. But the Road Gator is more my scene.”

  Cyndi glances over her shoulder, and her face turns ghostly white, her mouth opening and closing. I turn, wondering what has my usually unflappable friend in such a tizzy, and I blink, not believing my eyes.

  “The ladies here are certainly prettier.” Cole Travers, movie star and my best friend’s favorite obsession, winks, his blue eyes sparkling. He’s dressed in a gray T-shirt and black jeans, a chain-and-roses tattoo winding up his right arm.

  “You-you-you.” My previously slick friend stares at the man of her dreams, her green eyes as wide as saucers. She splutters for several more embarrassing moments, unable to pull herself together.

  I can’t allow this. She’s my best friend, and she’ll hate herself tomorrow if she screws this up. I consider my options and decide a hard jab in the ribs will do the trick.

  I misjudge my height and plant my elbow in her gut. Her breath whooshes out of her. She doubles up, grabbing her stomach.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Sorry? That’s all you have to say?” Cyndi straightens, glaring at me. “Why the hell did you do that?”

  “Because I love you.” I lower my voice so only she hears me. “And you were about to make a complete ass of yourself.”

  “Oh yeah.” Some of her anger fades. “You’re right.” She shakes her shoulders, and Cole’s gaze drops to her jiggling cleavage. “Thank you, Bee.” Cyndi beams at me and then turns this brilliant smile on the movie star. He blinks as though he’s been hit by one of her infamous tackle hugs. “Please tell me you have a bike.”

  Cole scowls. “My bike is in California. Hawke lent me one from the Organization for a few days so I wouldn’t feel completely deprived.”

  “I wouldn’t call riding a 1940 Crocker a deprivation,” Hawke comments dryly, returning to our little group. He hooks one of his arms around my waist, drawing me into his hard body, his warmth engulfing me, his distinctive scent filling my nostrils.

  “That’s because you don’t ride an SS100,” Cole retorts.

  I have no idea what they’re talking about. I meet Cyndi’s gaze and she shrugs, also clueless.

  Hawke chuckles. “They’re vintage bikes,” he murmurs in my right ear. “Very pretty,” he teases, acting as though he’s my boyfriend, not simply a one-night stand.

  I relax. If I view him as a boyfriend, I could do this, I could have sex with him.

  “I understand one of you ladies likes red velvet cupcakes.” Hawke holds up a pink pastry box. My smile spreads. He remembered.

  “I like red velvet cupcakes.” Cole gives Hawke a boyish grin. Although I suspect the two men are roughly the same age, the movie star appears less worldly and much younger. I cover Hawke’s scarred fingers with mine, silently communicating my preference.

  “Are you a lady?” My former marine isn’t intimidated by Cole’s fame. “There are two left.” He opens the box, displaying the cupcakes. Speckles of red decorate the cream cheese frosting. I breathe deeply and my mouth moistens, the scent heavenly. “The ladies can decide if they wish to share them.”

  Cole opens his mouth.

  “Belinda is sharing her cupcake with me,” Hawke adds, and I frown at him. He’s making a big assumption. “If she chooses to share,” he amends with a smile.

  “I suspect you’ve had a cupcake already.” I hand Cyndi her treat. Hawke’s mouth had tasted of chocolate and sweetness. I cradle my cupcake. It’s light and looks delicious.

  “I had to test them.” Hawke is unapologetic, his gaze following my hands.

  I take pity on him, peel the wrapper, and offer him a bite. The scoundrel extends his tongue and licks most of the icing off.

  “Hey.” I pull the cupcake out of his reach. “That’s not how you share.”

  “Sharing isn’t my thing, sweetheart.” There’s an edge to Hawke’s words. He knows about Nicolas, has seen me exit his limousine.

  I nibble on the cupcake, his possessiveness pleasing me. Which is silly because tomorrow, he’ll be gone.

  “Sharing is my thing.” Cole turns the full force of his charm on Cyndi, and my friend visibly melts, her face softening and her hands trembling. I’ve never seen her this affected by a man.

  “I don’t know.” Cyndi’s voice is husky. “You don’t even have a bike.”

  “I have a bike.” Red streaks across the movie star’s cheeks. “One of the best bikes in the world.”

  “One of the best vintage bikes in the world,” Hawke notes. He lunges forward and bites into my cupcake, taking advantage of my distraction. I stuff the rest of it into my mouth, my cheeks puffing out, and chew. His eyes gleam with amusement.

  “Take pity on him, Cyndi.” Hawke rubs my stomach, his touch scorching my thoughts. “He can’t help his choice in bikes.”

  Cole glares at Hawke. My biker man simply laughs.

  “I’ll share with you,” Cyndi concedes. Cole moves closer and she pushes him away. “But first, I have to take a photo.” She holds her phone in front of her, posing with the cupcake. Cole slides behind her, rests his chin on her shoulder, and smiles his million-dollar smile.

  “There seems to be a vintage bike rider in my shot.” Cyndi feigns a frown as she looks at her screen. Only I se
e the glimmer in her eyes. I know how much this photo with Cole means to her. This is my best friend’s fantasy come true. Angel will be livid, and the rest of her friends will be as jealous.

  As Cole and Cyndi natter back and forth, clearly enjoying themselves, I look up at Hawke. Our gazes meet and my heart beats faster. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  Hawke bends lower and rumbles into my ear, “Cole is a goner.” His lips hum against my skin, sending ripples of pleasure down my neck. “He likes it here because we treat him like a biker, not like a movie star.” He splays his fingers over my stomach, holding me tightly to him. “Your friend seems to sense this.”

  I study Cyndi. She smiles and laughs as they take turns biting into the cupcake, her face flushed and her eyes animated.

  “She’s used to being seen in one way also.” I clean and cook, thinking those are the only things I add to our friendship, but maybe that’s not true, maybe I’m one of the few people who see Cyndi as an individual, rather than an extension of her wealthy father.

  An older man approaches us, a frown on his wrinkled face, his left foot dragging on the pavement. “Hawke, sir.” He pulls himself upward and salutes, touching his fingers to the furrows on his forehead. “You gave us authorization to disturb you if there was a situation we couldn’t handle.”

  “Let me guess—there’s a situation you can’t handle.” Hawke sighs, his chest rising and falling against my back. He turns me until I face him. “Love, I have to take care of this, but I’ll be back.” His expression is serious, his eyes reflecting his regret. “You’ll be safe. I promise you.”

  “I’ll be okay.” This is a lie. I won’t be okay and, when he leaves me, I also won’t be here when he returns. I’ll chicken out, using the limo chit nestled between my breasts, and we won’t ever have our one-night stand, won’t ever finish this, whatever is happening between us. I clutch his arms, selfishly not wanting him to go.