All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  Because this man knew how to kiss. Lips parted, breath warm and tinted with coffee, his tongue dashed against hers. Testing. Tasting. Teasing her to do the same. His mouth devastated her reluctance and shoved her protests behind a locked door. She stood on tiptoes to make sure the liplock didn’t break.

  Giddy shivers shimmied up and down her spine. She even felt the kiss in her tingling toes. She pressed her thighs together, wanting to capture the feeling that hummed in her core and moved lower to circle her clit. She was already wet, and not a bit ashamed.

  Becca slid her hands up his rock-hard torso. Hawk's chest felt like a warrior’s steel armor, yet fashioned from hot, sensual flesh.

  He smelled so good. She’d scented his aftershave before. Old Spice. Boring. But today he was spiceless, and instead teased with a hint of crisp winter woods. Could it be his natural scent? She liked it. Wanted to lap at his skin like that puppy dog she’d been thinking about. Lick him. Eat him…

  Pressing her body against his she moaned when she felt his hard-on against her hip. Mercy, that meant business. Breathe, Becca.

  No. Don’t breathe. You can’t let this kiss end.

  And she would not. But when she slid a palm down his ribs, tracing the ridged muscles that wrapped his lower torso, he caught her fingers with his and suddenly pulled from their connection.

  Becca blinked. Heart pounding and thighs shaking, it took a few seconds to regain her capability for speech. “Uh, that kiss was, er…”

  “Wrong,” he quickly said and grabbed her by the arm to escort her toward the door. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me. I just wanted to make the argument stop.”

  He opened the door and pushed her across the threshold. She turned around to protest and comment that his excuse was lacking in real merit, when the door closed. Right in front of her face.

  Mouth hanging open, she couldn’t manage the swear word that teased the end of her tongue. Had the man actually slammed the door in her face? And after so boldly taking a kiss from her?

  She never let a male get away with such aggressive treatment. She was the one who chose her lovers, and she was the one who told them what to do. Safer that way. Prevented her heart from getting hurt.

  She lifted a fist to knock on Hawk’s door but paused. Frowning, Becca shook her head. If she glimpsed those tight abs and looked for one second at that masterful mouth, she’d want to kiss him again.

  Turning, she marched down the hallway to the private stairs and stomped up to the penthouse. After slamming the front door behind her, only then did she release the words she’d held back from spewing at him.

  “Sexy bastard!”

  Monday mornings, Hawk always escorted Miss Wylde to her eleven o’clock meeting in the Woolworth building. It concerned her private charity, JUSTGIVE, so she liked to enter and exit discreetly. Only a few in the building knew her reason for being there, and she preferred it that way.

  She strode before him down the marble-floored hallway, which was walled on one side with dark walnut office doors sporting sleek, brushed-steel handles, and on the opposite side with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out toward the Freedom Tower. Hawk always took a moment to nod acknowledgement to the monument erected in remembrance. One of his good friends had lost his life on 9/11, but not before rescuing six people from the burning building.

  Miss Wylde had inquired about the nod a few months after he’d started working for her, and now she oftentimes added to his acknowledgment by saying, “Thanks, Joe.”

  Not today. She had given him the silent treatment since they’d met in their building lobby and he’d escorted her out to the limo. Those sexy steel-heeled shoes had never clattered more loudly than they did now.

  Admonishment for his rude treatment of her earlier? For sure.

  It had been a mistake to kiss her. He still wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. Probably the sight of the silk negligee caressing her pale skin. Or it could have been her softly parted pink lips.

  No, it had been the nipples. He hadn’t needed to see through the silk; the texture of her tight buds had been plainly displayed beneath the thin fabric. Jutting out in a sensual tease. He'd even seen a bit of dark areola. He’d gotten an instant hard-on. The only appropriate reaction had occurred, as far as he was concerned.

  Hell, no, he wasn't about to be sorry for kissing the sweet and sour princess.

  Smiling to himself, Hawk followed Miss Wylde toward the meeting room. He usually sat in the outer annex, waiting for the hour or two she would be inside. Crossword puzzles on his cell phone or an audiobook by Koontz kept him occupied. Today, she crossed the threshold, turned, and without taking her dead-serious stare off him, pushed the door closed—which was on hydraulics, so even to force it closed took a while. He had to stop himself from smirking.

  “Right,” he muttered once the door had closed. “Guess I won’t be getting the Chivas Regal in my Christmas stocking this year. Going to need a double shot of coffee this morning.”

  Just punishment, he supposed. Much as he'd enjoyed it, the kiss had been uncalled for. A blatant step over the line he should draw between employer and employee. Idiot. He’d let his cock lead, and that should never happen while on the job. He prided himself on his work ethic. Romance was for men who had a life and time for silly stuff like roses and poetry. He’d certainly never gotten it right with any of his previous relationships.

  Ah, well. The woman did not stay angry for long, so when she held a grudge, Hawk knew to bow his head and let it ride.

  Everything was in order. The stats for the month showed the distribution of assets. New charitable opportunities were being monitored. All JUSTGIVE operations were in focus. Becca hadn’t expected anything less from her crack team of four who helped her to distribute the wealth that seemed to multiply like bunnies in her bank account. Being the heiress of a multi-billion-dollar estate was a tough job, but someone had to do it.

  She probably didn’t perform the job as gracefully as one would expect from a society girl who had grown up wearing diamond-studded diapers, had modeled Ralph Lauren in Vogue at the age of four, and had been surprised that not all children had three or four castles to vacation at during the summer. But she tried.

  She honestly did want to be a stellar example that the public could look up to and admire. It just seemed that whenever she got a foot away from that pedestal something caught her eye. Like an all-night rave in the Meatpacking District featuring Beyonce in a surprise appearance. Or a sexy Italian stockbroker who offered to fly her to Venice for the weekend, no strings attached. Or the fashion freebies she could stuff in her closet if only she’d get caught by the paparazzi wearing said sparkly dress or chrome high heels.

  It was so freaking fun!

  But seriously, she much preferred giving away her money to spending it. Not that she didn’t spend it. All the time. On pretty things. Charity work was her way of making up for the wild child who dwelled—no, inhabited—her very soul. Maybe?

  She never thought about it too much. The compulsion to create JUSTGIVE had felt so right. It filled some part of her that even she couldn’t identify. Or rather, it was a part of herself she knew well but didn’t want to label. So she ignored that as well. And partied on.

  Enough sweetness and grace for the week. She had a pedicure appointment.

  Thanking her crew as they filed out of the meeting room, Becca guessed Hawk would not be in the annex after she’d given him the cold shoulder. Was he deserving of such treatment? Yes. But now that she'd delivered the shoulder of coldness it wasn't as much fun as she had anticipated it would be. Hawk had this sad look that always got to her. His lashes lowered over downcast eyes and the corners of his mouth turned down.

  He hadn’t done anything terrible. She couldn’t even label it wrong. The kiss had rocked her world. How many times had a kiss ever disturbed her so much that she was still thinking about it hours later? Never! But it had also taken her by surprise. And she'd had one too many surprises re
garding herself and her bodyguard this morning. The Page Six photo still loomed in her thoughts. Hawk hadn't cleared the area before carrying her to the limo. It was his fault that she'd been caught in such a compromising position.

  The man needed to up his game.

  Tugging out her phone from her Givenchy handbag, she texted him that she’d be down in five minutes and to have the limo ready. He replied with his standard ‘K’, short for okay, yes, ma’am.

  He’d never actually yes, ma’amed her, thank God. Of course, she’d never heard him call her anything but Miss Wylde either. It was nice and respectful. But after that kiss? She could so Becca all over him.

  But she would not because he’d been mean to her by slamming the door in her face. She’d tried to reciprocate, but that stupid hydraulic door—well, she’d worked it as best as possible.

  Before dropping the phone into her bag, she noticed a new text from an unknown number. She got those more than she cared for. Being a celebrity, it was impossible to maintain any modicum of privacy on tech devices. How hackers were able to get into her stuff was beyond her.

  Reading it quickly, she walked toward the elevator. Know where your nude selfies are?

  “What?” She pushed the lobby button. “I don’t do nudies, buddy.”

  Must have the wrong number, or it was someone’s idea of a stupid joke. She’d gotten some nasty texts from haters over the years. It went with the territory. A lot of people had her phone number. Few had her private number that she used strictly for charity work. This was her public phone number.

  Deleting the message, she dismissed the text and clicked out into the lobby. Hawk waited by the glass doors with a Starbucks cup in each hand. She accepted the brew from him and strode past him without a thank you. She could manage a few more minutes of the cold shoulder.

  That way, she’d get to see his sad face again. His sweet, hug-me-and-make-it-all-better, sad face.

  Once back home, Becca led Hawk through her kitchen and down the hallway. His arms were laden with bags from Macy’s, Tiffany & Co., and Lush Cakes. He knew the drill. No chatting unless she initiated it. Deliver the goods and leave.

  She dropped her purse on the bed and filed into the walk-in closet that was as large as her bedroom. Behind her, the bags crunched as Hawk set them on the tufted velvet bench at the end of the bed.

  Slipping out of her cherry leather Manolos, she placed them on the correct shelf, below which, a photo of the shoes indicated the right spot. She’d hired a shoe whisperer to organize her closet years ago and did not regret that expense one bit. Everything was categorized by designer and color.

  Putting up one foot up on the dressing-room chair, she admired her new tootsies. Bright red polish and a foot massage that had lured her close to orgasm. Close, but not quite. She’d sensed Jacques’ need to move on to the next appointment. And all he could talk about was Paris, Paris, Paris. Really, the City of Light did not call to her, so she’d zoned out on the latest celebrity gossip while he had pushed back her cuticles.

  As for the packages Hawk was relieving himself of, she’d had an unexpected shopping urge after the pedicure, and one must never ignore the call to indulge. She could already taste the red velvet cupcake from Lush Cakes. If a pool of cream cheese frosting were spilled before her, she would dive in head-first. As soon as Hawk left, she would gobble up that treat.

  “That’ll be all then, Miss Wylde?”

  She almost called out “thanks,” but then remembered her silent treatment. She’d managed to navigate all the stores, Hawk dutifully tailing her, without saying a word to him. Poor guy. He didn’t deserve the rude silence anymore, but to end it would require she be the bigger person and step up with an apology.

  She wasn’t a complete ogre. Nor was she a mean girl. But this wild child wasn’t sure how, exactly, to apologize. She’d never received a spoken apology from anyone in her lifetime. How was it done without diamonds or platinum?

  She turned to leave the closet, but Hawk stood in the entry, hands on either side of the doorframe. He still wore the dark glasses that were like another appendage to him. And he smelled of Starbucks, one sugar, drown-me-in-cream.

  “You’ve pouted long enough, Miss Wylde.”

  Yay, she hadn't had to say a thing. She’d consider that the apology required to break the silence. Oh, but that stern mouth, framed by dark stubble that also hugged his jaw? It teased her. Softened her staunch need to remain distant.

  “I have,” she said. “Now, it’s my turn to call the shots.”

  Because…really? She owed him one for that stolen kiss. No man was going to be the aggressor in her affairs, and that included both the love kind and the dangerous.

  He started, “But haven’t you been—”

  She pushed him out from the closet and into the bedroom until his legs slammed against the high bed. Before he could topple backwards onto the Anne Klein linen spread, Becca gripped him by the coat lapel and pulled him forward. Rising onto her tiptoes, she landed a kiss on his startled mouth. He didn’t push her away. Instead he pulled her against him by her hips and leaned down, deepening the embrace.

  Hawk kissed like there was nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. She was it. World? Gone. And that felt like a drug, of which, she couldn’t get enough.

  Leaning into him, Hawk pulled her forward, and they landed on the bed. On her knees, Becca straddled his hips without breaking the kiss. She tongued him deeply, pleading for his taste, his rough growl that echoed up from his throat.

  Pulling off his sunglasses, she tossed them aside, then stroked her fingers over his short, dark hair. He always wore it shaved close. Militant. He had served in some military branch, but she couldn’t recall which one, nor did it matter right now.

  With a throaty growl, he cupped the back of her head, keeping her at his mouth. A place she had no intention of leaving. His clutch at both her hips wasn’t hard but it was certainly claiming. As if he wanted to possess her.

  The bodyguard’s girl? It would never happen. But the bodyguard’s fling did have a nice ring to it. As long as it didn’t land on Page Six.

  Be careful, Becca.

  Not easy to do when a girl could become addicted to this man’s mouth. Because his tongue tracing across her teeth and dancing with her tongue? Mercy. And accompanied by his sweet coffee hushes of breath? She felt the treat shiver through her body and seek all nerve endings. Once again, his kiss succeeded in making her wet. So wanting. She rubbed her mons against his erection, dry-humping him.

  “You taste good, Becca,” he murmured. He kissed the corner of her mouth and glided his lips along her jaw, finding her earlobe and sucking it.

  She stopped her gyrations. He’d called her Becca. Did he realize his faux pas? For a year it had always been Miss Wylde. She wasn’t going to remind him of their employer/employee roles. She didn’t want to do anything to stop this ride.

  “You taste like coffee, but the sweet kind,” she said, and kissed him quickly. “Too much cream, Hawk. You gotta start taking it black.”

  “I’ll leave the caffeine freak-outs to you.”

  About to protest that she did not freak out, she was instead distracted by his mouth. So she kissed him deeply. Diving in and spreading her arms wide to glide into the surf. Giving more than she normally did and seeking to take as much in return.

  He spoke to her in gasping breathes and groping clutches. She answered eagerly. Sliding her palm down his white dress shirt, she tugged because she wanted to touch the tight abs beneath, but the fabric wouldn’t pull free from his pants. And her knuckles skimmed the leather gun holster.

  Oh!” Becca pulled away as if she’d been stung.

  Hawk’s eyes fluttered open, and he gaped at her as if a man denied his very breath.

  “Your gun.” Cringing, she pointed at the weapon. “That thing freaks me out.”

  He lifted a brow, but still didn’t speak.

  “I know it’s your job to carry, but guns scare me. I don’t li
ke to touch them.”

  “Sorry. Just, uh…don’t touch it?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” She sucked in her lower lip. Heartbeats thudded against her ribs. A year ago… The attempted kidnapping. One of them had pointed a gun at her, held it against her temple. “I can't…”

  The mood withered, plunging her heartbeats down from their frantic thunder. She’d allowed memories of that horrible night to resurface.

  And yet, when Hawk took her hand and kissed the knuckles, it felt as if she’d landed in his safe zone again. And sitting on his hips wouldn’t allow her to ignore the need she had for him. Want bubbled in her veins. The desire to connect with him on this new level pulled at her better judgment.

  She could ignore the gun.

  “You're right.” Hawk exhaled. “We shouldn’t be doing—”

  She planted a firm kiss on his mouth before he could finish the protest. The hands at her hips did nudge her gently, but not hard enough to make her move off of him.

  Whew! She'd almost let him get away.

  She was making out with her bodyguard. It was a fantasy she had often indulged. And fulfilling that desire? Deliciously intense. But the daydream usually went further than kissing. And…

  Ah hell, he was right. Not that they shouldn’t be doing this, but that it was happening so quickly. She wasn’t that kind of girl. Sometimes she was. She hooked up. She had one-night stands because she craved sexual satisfaction without the hassle of commitment. It was a woman’s right, and she wasn't ashamed of it.

  Hawk was different. Though just how different baffled her at the moment.

  Why did her morals have to suddenly pop in for a show? The wild child was an expert at ignoring all things right, virtuous, and moral. Blame it on the gun. The proximity of it disturbed her. She couldn’t concentrate on enjoying him as much as she wanted to.

  Hawk abruptly sat up. Becca slid off his legs and stood on the floor with him sitting on the bed before her. “Don’t say it,” she said. “I know what you’re thinking. And, actually…” Right. Time to be the employer not the wanton. “We can’t do this. You work for me, and I don’t pay gigolos. So leave.”