by Cynthia Sax
People scatter, murmuring thank-yous as they leave. My gaze remains fixed on the big man standing by the door, looking at me with heat in his pale blue eyes.
“Sex on a stick,” Cyndi breathes. “I’m getting a lady boner just watching him eyefuck the hell out of you.” She hugs me tight. “I have to see Cole, burn off some of this energy.” She turns. “Where’s my entourage?”
Mack and Prick step forward, gripping containers hastily filled with macaroni, resignation on their faces, and I feel a twinge of sympathy. My hyperactive best friend can’t be the easiest person to keep safe.
“Cole and I are on the eight-forty-one flight with United,” she informs me.
“We’ll take you to the airport.” Hawke moves closer to me.
“Okay.” Cyndi glances at him and then at me. Her eyebrows lift. I give her the don’t-say-anything death stare, not wanting Hawke to know I’m considering leaving Chicago.
“All righty, then,” she concedes. “Boys.” She waves one of her hands in the air, as though she’s twirling a lasso, rounding up cattle. “Let’s get this show on the road.” She flounces out the door, Mack and Prick trailing in her wake.
Dawg and the newly made-over Ellen remain. Hawke’s top female employee is stunningly beautiful, crazily skilled, and well able to protect herself. My stomach twists. I might have earned his team’s respect but I’ll never be Ellen’s equal, not in combat, not in military know-how.
If I was at all noble, the good girl that I pretend to be, I’d step aside, allow the better, more worthy woman to win.
I’m not a good girl. I’m Hawke’s dirty little pervert, and my inner bitch wants to fight for him with everything I have. I take a step toward him, prepared to defend my territory.
“Sir.” Ellen fidgets, my new friend unaware of my dark thoughts. “About today.” She tugs on her ugly T-shirt, trying to cover her exposed skin.
“Yes, about today.” Hawke’s voice is edged with a hardness.
I glance upward. That hardness is anger. My military man is pissed off at the seductive assassin. A burst of irrational joy explodes in my chest, warming my soul. There’s no lust, no masculine appreciation darkening his pale blue eyes.
Hawke wants me, not her. I remain his.
“Today, you attacked a client and exposed her private information,” he thunders, his words echoing in the room.
Ellen’s head reels back as though she’s been struck. She slides her gaze to me, her eyes glittering with fury.
She thinks I ratted her out. “It wasn’t me.” I wave my hands. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
“I called it in,” Dawg volunteers. Ellen glares at him next and he takes a hasty step backward.
“Dawg followed protocol.” Hawke shifts to the left, sheltering his employee from possible retaliation. “Protocol that I assumed you knew. Was I wrong to assume that?”
“No, sir.” Ellen’s face turns red.
Why doesn’t she explain the situation, tell him what she told me—that she didn’t consider me a client, she considered me one of them? I wiggle, wishing for everyone to feel the same happiness I do, knowing I shouldn’t interfere.
Ellen, however, says nothing more, not giving her boss a reason for her actions. She’s no longer a threat to me, to my relationship with Hawke. She’s now a friend, was the first to accept me into the group. That is a moment I’ll always cherish.
I can’t remain silent, not while I’m the cause of this tension between the two of them. “She didn’t consider me to be a client.” Excitement erupts out of me. “Ellen views me as part of your team.”
I beam at him. Hawke knows my background, my history of being excluded and abandoned. He’ll understand what this means to me.
“You’re not part of my team,” he yells, popping my joyful bubble.
“Oh.” I gaze downward, struggling to absorb this new development. “I see.”
I do see. After working my ass off trying to fit into his little group, memorizing military terms and learning about biker patches, listening to gory war stories, making everyone my macaroni and cheese, he’s telling me I never had a chance.
Because if he doesn’t accept me, no one will.
Hawke’s men are loyal. They’ll follow his lead and rescind their offers of friendship. The heartwarming sense of belonging I felt during the impromptu party will be a one-time occurrence. I’ll never again be part of his team, will never be one of them.
I’ll always be on the outside, looking in, not privy to all of the information, all of their jokes, unworthy of Hawke’s trust, of his forever.
My eyes burn with tears, the pain overwhelming me.
“Belinda.”
I ignore him, wetting a sponge, swiping it over the counter. The cleaning doesn’t calm me.
“Until this situation has been dealt with, you’re a client,” Hawke adds, as though I need this clarification, as though I haven’t already realized that I’m merely a client, an outcast, excluded.
Fuck him. Fuck them all. I scrub a puddle of melted cheese off the black surface, my decision made. I’m going to LA with Cyndi and Cole, and I might never come back. I refuse to worry about what dangers my former marine will face not having me here, giving him a reason to be cautious.
Hawke makes a strangled sound. “Love, don’t cry.” He pulls me into his arms.
Am I crying? I push against his shoulders, struggling to be free. Hawke presses me more firmly against his chest, smothering me with warmth and his delicious distinctive scent, a combination of engine grease, leather, and man.
The door snicks shut. I don’t look up, not caring if Dawg and Ellen left or more people arrived. Every movement I make is being monitored. I no longer have any privacy.
If I was their friend, I’d view this as proof that they cared for me, but I’m not. I’m their job. “Do you hold all of your clients?” I squirm, unable to move away from Hawke, not knowing if I truly want to. “That can’t be protocol.”
“Their assignment is to keep you safe.” Hawke slides his hands from the top of my head down to my ass, stroking my hair, my back, my curves. “They have to remember that.” The barbed wire tattoo ripples over his right bicep. “I would never forget you’re my top priority.” He kisses my forehead, his lips hot and firm. “My everything.”
“My friends are leaving the city with their movie-star boyfriends or they’re busy organizing a ball I won’t be attending,” I mumble into his ugly T-shirt. Susan sends me daily e-mails on the progress with the Magnificent Ball and I’m envious of her involvement with the high-profile event. “I can’t spend time with your friends because they’ll forget to protect me.” I stare bleakly at black cotton. “I’m alone, Hawke.”
“You’re not alone.” He tilts my chin upward and wipes the tear tracks on my cheeks with his calloused thumbs. “And you can spend time with my friends, but they must treat you like a client.” Hawke frowns. “Ellen got physical with you. She conveyed your personal information to the entire team. I arrived at the condo and the door was open. Anyone could have crashed your party.”
His fears might be justified. I didn’t know half of the attendees. “No one would have gotten close to me. Dawg and Ellen wouldn’t have allowed that.” I gaze at him. “I’ve never hosted a party. I didn’t know the rules.”
“Never?” Hawke cradles my face between his palms, his eyes softening.
“Never.” I give him a tentative smile, salty tears seeping into the seams of my lips. “When I was young, I’d dream about inviting my friends to a princess-themed birthday party. We’d wear sparkling tiaras, pink party dresses with crinolines billowing, ballerina slippers, and little white lace gloves.” I hold out my hands.
Hawke, my unlikely Prince Charming, kisses my wrists, and my fingers tremble.
“We never had that party.” I sigh. “My mom couldn’t afford it, and we had no place to hold it.” My stomach twists. Is he angry because I held a party in his condo? “I didn’t plan today’s party or I wou
ld have asked for your permission first. I didn’t factor in the popularity of my macaroni and cheese.”
“You don’t need my permission to host a party in your own home.” Hawke covers my lips with his.
My own home. I open to him, allowing him inside me, our connection restoring the imbalance within my soul. Our tongues dart, dance, Hawke tasting of mint and forever. I’m tempted to lose myself in him, in the fantasies his words create. I’ve never had my own home, never had a permanent place to stay.
But this isn’t a permanent place for me either. I reluctantly pull away from Hawke. We’re temporary, he might die, and when we end, this illusion of forever will end also.
This could happen tonight, if I decide to go to LA with Cyndi and Cole.
“Belinda—”
“I made you macaroni and cheese.” I twist out of Hawke’s arms, not wanting him to read my face, to guess my concerns.
Hawke allows me to go, to retreat to my corner of the kitchen.“Nicolas mentioned that.” He watches me, lust, concern, and something I won’t name reflecting in his eyes. “He offered me a half-assed apology and I accepted it, as you said I should.”
“Good.” I smile at him. They’re back to being friends, the trouble that I created between them has been resolved. I plop a humongous serving of still-warm pasta on a plate and hand it to Hawke.
“He doesn’t know anything about apologies or being a good friend,” my military man grumbles, finding a clean fork in the pile of silverware on the counter.
“He’s aware of that.” I pour him a glass of crisp, clean Chicago tap and place it beside his plate. “I’m training him to be a good friend.” I climb onto the bar stool next to Hawke, pressing my leg against his big thigh. “Don’t give up on him.”
“That’s exactly what he told me—don’t give up on him.” My former marine bites into the mac and cheese. His eyelids lower and a dreamy smile curls his lips, his expression euphoric.
“Nicolas says that to me also.” I lean into Hawke’s warmth, thinking about the billionaire. “Someone must have given up on him, someone he cared about.”
“Mmm . . .” Hawke places one arm around my waist, holding me to him as he devours the dinner.
I shouldn’t say anything, shouldn’t mention my rival. Shit. I have to know if he cares for her. “Ellen’s very beautiful.”
Hawke sucks on his fork, his lips wrapped around the metal tongs.
“She’s smart and strong.” I try again, looking for a reaction.
My military man shovels another forkful of pasta into his mouth, his entire body humming with appreciation, and my heart lightens.
“If you dated a woman like Ellen, you wouldn’t need to worry about her.” I need to know if he’s interested in his coworker. Cyndi’s flight leaves tonight. Should I be on that plane? “She can protect herself and you. She already fits into your group. The men like her. You must trust her.” He wouldn’t work with someone he didn’t trust.
Hawke’s gaze slides to my face. “The men are scared of her.” His thick eyebrows lower, his forehead furrowing. “I do trust her, which is why she was positioned downstairs today, guarding the building and you.” He spears a noodle with his fork. “She’s a subordinate. There’s no need for you to be jealous, sweetheart.”
“I’m not jealous.” I bounce off of my bar stool, wincing as my damaged toe touches the floor.
“You’re a terrible liar.” Hawke gazes downward and his face darkens.
“Don’t look at my feet.” I hurry around the kitchen island. “My toe is hideous.” I take his empty plate and transfer more macaroni and cheese onto the plain white china. “I’ll never wear sandals again.” I place the food in front of him, trying not to think of the gorgeous shoes I received today for my reward. “I bet Ellen has perfect feet.”
“I’m not interested in Ellen’s perfect feet.” Hawke sticks his fork into the mountain of macaroni. “Ellen isn’t the woman I’ve been watching for months, obsessing over every waking moment, worrying about because every single man in Chicago, along with an unnerving number of married men, wants her, hideous toes and all.”
“Hideous toe,” I correct. “My other toes are adorable.”
Hawke’s lips twitch.
“I create problems for you and more work for your team,” I say, knowing I should let the subject go, yet unable to.
“I can deal with the problems. I can’t deal with losing you. You make me sane, love.” He meets my gaze, his eyes reflecting his sincerity. “You’re my quiet moment.”
Men join the marines, risk their lives, for different reasons, Hawke had explained to me. Some wish to serve their country. Some seek to make their parents proud. He fought for the quiet moments everyone else takes for granted. My fingers tremble. I’m that quiet moment for him.
This revelation tempts me to stay, to make foolish life-changing decisions.
“You’re bad for me.” My voice is husky.
“I’m the worst.” Hawke’s lips lift into that lopsided smile I adore. “Come here”—he pats the bar stool beside him—“and tell me about your impromptu party. Who did you meet today?”
I talk about my morning, detailing everything I can remember, not leaving anything out, while he eats, demolishing an entire pan, equaling Dawg’s impressive macaroni and cheese consumption. Hawke isn’t as forthcoming about his day, but I expect this. He’s very careful with client confidentiality, and there’s no reason to press him. He promised me he wouldn’t put himself in danger today.
“Ellen isn’t our suspect,” I say sheepishly, embarrassed that I’d targeted one of his own people. “I’ll look at the footage again this afternoon.”
Once I find the hostiles, he’ll be safe. I won’t have to worry about him. The only concern left would be financial, and my business with Cyndi might solve that problem.
“There is more than one suspect, Belinda.” Hawke places his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “It’s unlikely that any of the incidents you’ve seen are connected.”
“Oh.” This makes my plan more complicated. “Then we’ll catch them all and—”
“We’ll never catch them all,” he bluntly states. “There will always be more hostiles.”
The hostiles, possibly waiting outside, will lose interest in me. I could find financial success with Cyndi, giving my mom and me the security we need. But Hawke will always be in danger. That problem will never be solved.
Can I accept this?
“You’ll be safe in the building,” he assures me, not realizing it’s his safety I’m concerned about.
“I know.” I link my fingers with his. His palms are huge, his tanned skin marked with silver scars and calluses. My hands are smaller, slender, pale, and soft. “I still want to look at the footage.” I walk with Hawke toward the door. He shortens his stride to match mine. “I realize I’m not part of your team, but I want to help you.” I need to do something to protect him or I’ll go insane.
“I’d appreciate that help.” Hawke gazes down at me. “Being part of my team implies you report to me, sweetheart.” His eyes glow with emotion. “You don’t.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my right ear, grazing my cheek with his rough fingertips, sending delicious tremors over me. “You’re my partner.”
Oh, God, he knows what I long to hear. “Come here, partner.” I grasp his shoulders, trying to lower his lips to a kissable level.
Hawke dips his head and captures my mouth. I part my lips, eager to taste him, touch him, and he slides his tongue along mine. I suck, pulling on the tip, taking him inside me. He groans and grips my hips, drawing my curves into his muscle, flattening my breasts against his chest.
When we kiss, caress, mesh together, the rest of the world disappears. I fit as I’ve never fit before, merging with him, belonging, perfect and right. Hawke’s stubble grazes my chin, heating me down to my damaged toe. His fingers span across my lower back, his hold on me protective and sure.
I swivel against him, dragging my taut nipples
over his pecs, grinding my mons against the hard ridge in his jeans. My panties are soaked, my scent flavoring the air, exciting me, but we can’t fuck, not now. He has work to complete, people to protect, and I have decisions to make.
I break our kiss, panting, hot and horny, my lips throbbing. “You should go.” My voice is sensuous, my tones belonging to an erotic goddess, a sexual pervert who knows how wild she’s made her man.
Hawke’s eyes are brilliant blue with desire. “You should come.” He glides his lips over mine, a light, tempting tease, maintaining the simmer inside me. “Touch yourself while I’m gone.”
“Hmmm . . .” I hum, drifting my fingertips over his chest. “If you insist.” I open the door, hanging on to the frame, looking up at him with a small smile on my face.
“I do.” He kisses me one more time and stalks away, his shoulders broad, his hips narrow, his gait long and smooth. I watch him move with a mixture of appreciation and dread, realizing I should say good-bye, let him go, yet not knowing if I’m strong enough to do this.
Chapter Five
I CLEAN THE condo, arranging our newly acquired folding chairs, the mixture of materials and styles in the space appalling. None of my mom’s furniture ever matched either, the pieces inherited from the previous tenants or obtained free.
If I stay with Hawke, this horrific hodgepodge of designs might also be my future. This possibility doesn’t scare me as much as it would have yesterday.
Because I have a plan. I’ll do everything I can to make my business with Cyndi a success. If I decide to stay in Chicago, I can use video conferencing and other technology to connect with our LA clients. Selling Friendly’s rewards will give us an influx of cash. I’ll find a temporary job or two or three to bridge the gap. We’ll make the numbers work.
I load the last dirty plate in the dishwasher and run it, the sound of rushing water calming me. Hawke dying is my primary concern. I can’t go through what I did this morning—believing he had been killed, had left me forever.
My phone buzzes and I look down at its small screen, thinking it is my former marine. I don’t recognize the number. The caller must be someone I know. All of my communications continue to be screened by Hawke’s team.
