by Michele Hauf
But instead, she nodded and caught her forehead in her palms. “I know, I know. I’m doing this so wrong!”
Well, Sunday bloody... This scenario was not going at all as expected.
She wasn't one hundred percent wrong. Because she had managed to get a rise out of him, and he was already reconsidering his odd refusal to fall prey to her seductive skills. Of which, she hadn’t really exercised beyond throwing herself at him.
She was usually more controlled and commanding with the hookups Hawk had witnessed. Teasing the potential suitor, and then she was the one to decide if they went go home together. And she was always the kisser, not the kissee. So, why the awkward plunge into his arms?
“I got another gift from Daddy,” she said and nodded toward the kitchen.
A small blue box sat on the black marble counter. Hawk knew that it was from Tiffany. She had tons of diamonds from that place. She adored them. Accept the ones that came in a box from her father without a note or even a scrawled thinking of you or the impossible I love you.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I sort of acted out my neediness on you.”
“Becca, you don’t need to be needy. I mean… I don't know what that means. Don’t you know I’ll come up and sit and watch a show with you whenever you want me to? Or chat when you need someone to talk to?”
“I thought that’s what I was trying to do.”
“Well, jumping my bones is a new addition to the list.”
“But it’s on your list?” she asked with hope.
He nodded. If he had a list, it would top it. But right now, she was too vulnerable to start writing that one down. “You don’t ever need to feel alone, Becca. I promise that.”
She slunk down the sofa back and landed in a cross-legged position. She patted the seat beside her and he sat. He couldn’t smell the sweet and sour perfume, but he did smell her heat. Her desire.
And his. Rein it in, Hawk. Be cool.
“You know,” she said. “I never feel more alone than when I step out the door into the fray of paparazzi screaming and yelling at me to smile and look their way.”
“Really? I thought that made you feel—well, special. Wanted. Loved.”
She shrugged. “It does. And it doesn't. I know it’s not real. I have to force myself to smile and not fall victim to the false love. Well, I do more often than not. Being alone isn’t fun. But when I’m walking and smiling and waving and then suddenly I feel your hand at my back? I know I’m not alone.”
She tilted her head onto his shoulder. “You’re my rock, Hawk. And lately I can’t stop thinking of about you. Of kissing you.” She turned onto her knees and put her hands on his shoulders. “Of making love with you.”
“I think about that, too.”
“I know you do.” She smirked. “You’ve got this sort of puppy dog look. Devoted and sweet.”
“When I think about making love to you, Becca, it’s far from sweet.”
“Really?”
She was challenging him with a look. A delving, knowing look that revealed the smart, sexy woman beneath the wild child. The woman he most admired.
“I want to make love to you,” he said on a whisper. “But I don’t want it to ruin what we have.”
“Our business relationship?”
He nodded. “I work for you.”
“You think it would be wrong to fool around on the clock? Because you’re off the clock tonight.”
“I am. But…”
“But?”
He didn’t have another argument. He was in. For good or for ill. He couldn’t see himself standing up and walking out of the penthouse tonight. Not unless there was a fire, and he held Becca in his arms as they raced to safety.
“Kiss me,” she said softly. So softly, it fell on his ears like magical sprinkles that could only be conjured by a pretty girl with big, doe eyes and a wanting heart.
He couldn’t refuse his Princess Sweet and Sour a thing.
Hawk leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, that smooth, porcelain skin that was like something so valuable against his mouth. He closed his eyes and drew in the air around her and it was sweet and sour and sexy and sad and inexplicably…Becca.
She tilted her head and kissed his mouth. Tender, not greedy as their kisses had been. It sought acceptance with a promise of more of that inexplicable magic. Straddling him, she sat on his lap and walked her fingers up his shirt until she slid both hands along his neck and up over his hair. Tingles of pleasure skittered across his scalp and down his neck, chest, and to his groin. Yeah, so his hard-ons were unavoidable when she touched him.
He wasn’t going to fight it tonight.
8
Becca stood over Hawk and crooked her finger at him. He rose from the sofa, gliding his hands along her thighs as he did so. He stopped at her hips, slid his hands around to cup her ass, and lifted her so she could wrap her legs around him again. Moaning, he bent to kiss the base of her neck. The heat of his breath shivered over her skin and traveled the surface of her body, tingling his muscles, tightening her nipples, and raising goosebumps up on her stomach.
“To the bedroom,” she said.
He walked slowly, kissing her, feeding the want that had only grown since he’d first kissed her. A kiss designed to shut her up. Funny how things had changed. But not really. Nothing had changed, except they were both willing to face their desires head-on.
Hawk’s shoes clicked down the marble hallway and were softened as he turned into the bedroom. The Manhattan skyline glimmered out the window, dazzling like a Broadway stage. No need to pull the curtains up here on the fifty-sixth floor. Becca’s sky-level neighbors were few.
Stopping in the middle of the room near the side of the bed, Hawk held her securely. He pulled down the thin negligee straps and pressed kisses to each of her shoulders and then lower to the tops of her breasts. Every part of her screamed for more.
She tugged up his tee shirt and pulled it off over his head. His chest was solid, a sculpture fashioned from his morning workouts. A flex of his arm pulsed his pectoral against her palm. She tweaked his nipple and he gasped.
With a shrug of each of his hands down her arms, the negligee straps fell, as did the silk sheath, to reveal her body. Hawk bowed to kiss her shoulder, then glided down to suckle at her luscious breast. Becca moaned.
And he, well, he lost what was most important to any bodyguard, his focus. And with that surrender, he dropped to his knees and kissed her stomach, willing to worship her as he’d only dreamed to do.
A fierce beam of sunlight lasered the surface of Hawk’s eyelid. He blinked, comprehended it was morning, then shot upright in bed. Not his bed. The sheets were silky and soft and…pink. And he was naked. And beside him lay Miss Wylde. Also naked.
“Shit.”
He turned to spring out of bed but the silky sheets served to glide him out to land the floor on his feet. He’d had sex with her. It had been awesome. His sweet and sour princess really was a wild child in bed. And that thing she’d done with her fingers on his cock?
“Hawk?” murmured a small voice that still clung to sleep. “You’re up?” She spread her fingers over the side of the bed where he’d lain and closed her eyes to smile. “Good morning, lover.”
“Uh, Becca—er, Miss Wylde, I have to be going.”
“Why?” she asked in dreamy reverie.
“This, uh…this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”
He grabbed his jeans and pulled them up, not zipping as he scanned the floor and snagged his shoes and shirt. Where was his gun? He’d left it at home before coming here. Right.
“What are you talking about?” She sat up, the sheets falling away to reveal perfect, pale breasts that—was that a hickey on the side of one of them? He’d done that?
Yes, he had. And, in the moment, he’d enjoyed it. Hell, he’d enjoyed it all. Asshole.
“This was wrong.” He backed toward the door. “You and me. It’s not right. I’m not your ty
pe. And you’d never forgive me if the tabloids found out. And—”
“Hawk, you’re freaking out.”
“I, uh—nope, I don’t think I am. I gotta go. Bye.”
He turned and swiftly made his way through the living room, pulling on his shirt as he did. Locking the front door behind him as he left, he could only be thankful his walk of shame involved a private stairway down to the next level.
She’d be angry. She would rage and throw a fit, surely. But he’d had to do it. He couldn’t risk the press finding out that the billionaire heiress had screwed her lowly bodyguard. It had to be a one-time thing. Much as he adored the woman and had really enjoyed the sex, he needed the paycheck more than another sweet kiss from Becca.
That’s what he told himself, anyway.
“A mistake?”
Becca lifted a shaking hand to her neck. She couldn’t stop staring at the pillow beside her, still depressed from Hawk’s head. He’d left so quickly. As if he’d been ashamed.
Opening her mouth to scream or yell, or whatever, she couldn’t find the energy for it. Instead, she closed her eyes tightly and squeezed her fingers into fists.
How could he do that to her? She had such respect for the man. He was honorable and kind, and so damn sexy. But he’d called her a mistake. The idiot rockstars, playboys, and social-climbers she hooked up with could call her that. They meant nothing to her. But Hawk?
A teardrop spattered the silk sheets and puddled in her lap. For the first time, Becca felt as if a man had used her.
9
Tonight’s icy shoulder was brought to him courtesy of Becca Wylde. Hawk deserved it. And he did not. Hell, yes, he did. He’d made a mistake. A costly one. She may never trust him again. And in his line of work, trust was everything.
Should having sex with a woman you genuinely cared about be a mistake? Because he did care about her. More than he would ever admit. He’d been another hook up for her. Though to judge the coldness of said icy shoulder maybe she was angry with him. For what? Hadn’t the sex been good? He’d thought it was. She couldn’t be upset that he’d left so quickly this morning. He’d been giving her the space he knew she needed.
And he’d been escaping.
Hawk bowed his head in the shadows behind the rows of folding chairs that lined the runway. She attended these fashion events frequently, and he did not like them. They used the models like meat to hang pretty fabrics on and flaunt to sell their goods. Hawk doubted any of the women were treated with respect as they were clothed, shuffled onto the runway, then grabbed and re-clothed for the next run.
Becca seemed to spend more time chatting with the people sitting next to her than watching the show. A few times she unobtrusively looked over her shoulder at him, but not long enough that he might suspect she had been looking for him—though he knew she was.
Hell, what had he done last night? He didn’t want it to be wrong. Standing here now, staring at the back of her perfectly styled head and remembering her skin against his made him feel good. Didn’t he deserve that feeling? All the time? Or was he fooling himself that she even cared about what had happened?
Becca tugged her cell phone from her purse and read through her texts. Why did she go to these shows if she never paid attention? Right. Because she got to wear the clothes for free if she could promise to be photographed wearing them to a big event.
She frowned at the cell phone screen and sucked in her lower lip. She only did that when she was upset, like when her father sent her a gift without a note. Idiot man. Didn’t he realize the way to his daughter’s heart was through a simple hug or attention?
The rich and their problems. Hawk shook his head, but just when he thought to go track down some coffee, he was alerted when Becca abruptly stood and filed out into the lobby. He followed, but she arrowed toward the ladies room. He took up position against the wall opposite and waited.
She stayed inside for a long time. Ten minutes passed, and Hawk grabbed the arm of a woman in a striped blazer. “Would you mind checking for Becca Wylde in there, please?”
“You her date?”
“Her bodyguard. She’s been in there a long time.”
The woman smirked but nodded. “Sure, buddy.”
A minute later Becca exited the bathroom, looking as if she’d been pushed. She pressed her hands to the wall behind her as if to stabilize her stance. Hawk noticed her red eyes. She’d been crying?
“What is it?” He approached her, positioning himself before her so only she could hear him speak. He didn’t want to make a scene or attract the snap of a camera, especially if she had been crying. “Are you all right?”
“Call the limo.” And then she strutted away, clutching the cell phone as if it were a club.
Five minutes later, Hawk sat in the front passenger seat. He turned to silently implore Becca to speak. She avoided his gaze and looked out the window at the camera flashes. He’d talk to her when they got home. Something was bothering her. She never left a fashion show early. Not without picking up her swag bag.
Becca slammed the penthouse door before Hawk could follow her inside. He’d just asked if there was anything she wanted to talk about. If something at the show had upset her.
Hell, yes, she was upset. But she couldn’t know whether to be more upset about the text she’d gotten or over Hawk calling her a mistake. She should tell him about the message. But he was being a jerk. Did he think she’d mark off having sex with him as a mere fling?
She stepped out of her shoes and plopped onto the sofa. He likely did think himself a fling. He’d witnessed her hook up more than a few times at nightclubs, usually never to see the man again. On occasion, she dated them for a bit. Flew to Greece with them. Went clubbing for a weekend. But it never turned into anything permanent.
They never gave her what she needed.
What did she need?
“I don’t know!” she cried and pushed her palms over her temples and squeezed. “And now this?” She eyed the phone she’d set on the table.
Three times now she’d gotten that mysterious text about her nude selfies. A smart woman would tell the man she’d hired to protect her. But a smart woman hadn’t lured that same man into her bed the previous night.
“It was more than a fling,” she whispered. She wanted it to be so. But she didn’t know how to do that. She didn’t do the relationship. It felt unnatural. Out of her realm.
But if ever existed the perfect man for a relationship, it would be Clinton Hawk. He, well, he seemed to care about her. Was concerned for her above and beyond merely guarding her. Maybe? Was she reading him wrong?
She tilted her head toward the front door. They hadn’t argued. They always argued. It felt good to toss out her issues and have him counter them with his common sense. So why had she clammed up tonight and felt the shoulder of coldness more necessary?
“What have you done to me, Hawk?”
She wrapped her arms around herself and pulled up her legs to snuggle into the sofa.
Hawk closed his front door, kicked off his shoes, tugged off his jacket, and unhooked the holster, and slammed everything on the kitchen table.
Becca Wylde was the queen of the cold shoulder. And he was still feeling the chill. But something wasn’t right. She was upset, and he wanted her to talk to him. Even if it was yelling and screaming. Actually, he preferred yelling. Because then he knew how to engage with her. The silent treatment was a challenge to figure out, and he had so many tangents to veer off onto that he would go mad trying to figure her out.
“I’ve got to do it,” he decided. “I can’t stand knowing she’s sitting up there alone and upset.” He drew in a breath and exhaled. “Time to man-up and take one for the team.”
Meaning, he’d apologize for…whatever it was she might think he needed to apologize for. For having sex with her? Or for leaving so quickly? Or for not standing in the right place at the fashion show? Whatever it was, he'd lay himself out before her.
Anything to get
her to talk to him again.
Ten minutes later, the man had the audacity to knock on her door.
Becca wiped a teardrop from her eye and called over her shoulder, “Leave me alone.”
“You need someone to talk to. And I need to apologize.”
She turned around and stared at the door as if to do so would divine the man’s truth or lie in the man’s words. He wanted to apologize for calling the sex they'd had a mistake? Sliding over the edge of the sofa, Becca silently walked over to the door and pressed her palm to it. The door was locked, but he did have a key. He wouldn’t barge in, though. That wasn’t his style.
“What are you sorry for?” she asked.
His heavy exhale was audible through the door. A pause. More silence.
The man had no idea what he wanted to apologize for. She knew this routine. Guy wants to see the girl all smiley and happy, so he figures if he apologizes for something—anything—it will make everything better. How stupid could the guy be?
“Was it for the thing at the fashion show?” she prompted.
“Yes,” he said immediately. “I’m sorry.”
Aggh!
Becca marched away and paced the living room carpet, fists forming at her sides. “You liar!”
The doorknob turned, and in walked Hawk.
“You can’t just walk into my place whenever you feel like it!”
“I was wrong, wasn’t I?” he asked as he closed the door. “There was nothing at the fashion show.”
“There was something at the fashion show, but I’m not going to tell you about it because you called us a mistake!”
“We are not a mistake. What we did…” He winced.
Right, buddy, keep talking and dig yourself in deeper.
Becca paced more rapidly, turning in a long oval before the coffee table. “You know who takes off like a bat out of hell after a night of awesome sex? A coward!”
“I am not— Miss Wylde.”
