by Michele Hauf
The doorman greeted him frantically as soon as the elevator doors slid open. “There’s so many of them! I’m sorry, but you must tell them to leave. The other residents are bothered when there is more than the usual three or four.”
Hawk assessed the crowd of photogs outside the building doors. Must be two dozen out there. He rubbed his jaw and strode toward the exit. “I’ll take care of it, Donnelly. Thanks. Don’t alert Miss Wylde.”
“I won’t. I know you’ll get it under control.”
Dreading having to face the flashes and knowing whatever reason had brought the press to Becca’s building could not be good, Hawk walked out and into the din. Someone held up an iPad that showed a photo posted on one of the gossip sites. Another cell phone showed a Twitter stream with a zoom onto the same picture.
Hawk scanned the crowd. Everyone shouted at him. “Are you and the heiress a thing? Why did you kiss her at the charity ball, Hawk? What secret liaison are the two of you hiding?”
His eyes focused on the iPad. The photo was a blurry shot of a woman in a pink gown and a man in a tuxedo. It looked like they were kissing. On a balcony.
Hawk’s stomach hollowed. His jaw muscles tensed. Camera flashes recorded his every expression, so he fought to keep calm while inside he was shoving photographers left and right and smashing that damned iPad on the concrete.
He’d told her it was dangerous to kiss him in public. For this very reason.
And yet, he had let it happen. Fool.
“Can we get an official statement from the wild child?” someone called out.
Hawk put up his hands in placation, which brought some modicum of quiet to the insane crowd. He scanned the group, hoping to recognize Jackson. He’d know him if he saw him, but no one stood out.
“What’s this about?” he stupidly asked.
“The evidence is here! You kissed Miss Wylde. You’re her latest hook up,” volleyed at him like scatter-shot from the enemy fire. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”
Hawk gripped the man to his right who’d asked the vile question. “You are out of line.” He shoved him backward but cautioned his strength. He didn’t need a lawsuit. “Whatever you think you know is not true.”
Fuck, lying never felt right to him.
“What about this picture?”
He made a show of squinting to take in the photo held up on the iPad. Whoever had taken it had uploaded it but obviously hadn’t been able to sell it to a paper tabloid. Otherwise it would have hit the media much sooner. Like this morning.
“That’s not a kiss,” he said firmly. “I was informing Miss Wylde of something. Whispering to her. Just business, I’m afraid.”
“Do you always put your lips on hers when you inform her?”
That same damned asshole with the prying questions. What was his name? Tedford or Redford?
“Listen, I know you folks like a good salacious story, but it’s not what you think it is. Miss Wylde is my employer, and I respect her and would never cross the line.”
He winced inwardly. Since when had he become such a good liar? And if they ever caught him in a lie? He’d never hear the end of it.
But he felt trapped. Caught in the headlights. He wanted to make a quick escape.
“I’ll thank you all to please leave. It’s late. You’re not going to catch Miss Wylde leaving the building tonight. And the residents do not appreciate all the noise.”
“Give us the truth, Hawk, and we’ll leave you alone.”
“I just did. And I don’t see anyone leaving.”
“You’re lying!”
“No, I think we can trust the guy,” someone muttered. “He is her bodyguard. And he’s done a great job of it. Right, guys?”
A few muttered positive responses.
“I’m sorry, it does look a little suggestive,” Hawk decided to say, “but it was business. I had to ask her when she wanted to leave so I could arrange for the limo. Now goodnight to you all. Go home and get some sleep. Why don’t you all go to church tomorrow?”
He stepped back and entered the building and walked over to the doorman’s post. “I think they’ll leave, and if not, at least be quieter.”
“They’ll find out the truth sooner or later,” Donnelly said.
“And what truth is that?”
The man shrugged but didn’t meet Hawk’s eyes. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to her, Hawk. Don’t let the press ruin it.”
He didn’t know how to reply to that. So instead Hawk said goodnight, cast a glance over his shoulder—the crowd outside had moved away from the front doors, though some still lingered—and headed to the elevator. Once inside with the doors closed he pounded his fist on the wall.
“This mistake is starting to bite.”
“Where were you?” Becca asked as he strode through the penthouse door and into the living room.
He stood with hands to his hips, looking down at her in her short, black nightie with the red bows queued down the center.
“The doorman called me down to do crowd control at the front door.”
“What?”
He looked at her, drawing his eyes up and down her body, then shook his head and paced behind the sofa. “Someone got a picture of you kissing me at the ball. They wanted to know if we were having a secret liaison.”
“We are.” He cast her a gaze that chilled her so much she hugged herself. “Jess told me she created a diversion when she saw us kiss.”
He gaped at her. “Miss Fletcher saw, too?”
“But she promised me there was no one else around. Maybe it’s hearsay?”
“They had a picture,” he said sharply. “I managed to convince them I was merely leaning in to speak to you. Arranging for the limo. I’m not sure they all bought it. Becca, this is what I feared would happen. I should have never allowed it to go so far.”
“I thought you liked me?”
“I do, but—”
“But what?”
He splayed his hands helplessly before him. “You know this is bad.”
“Why does it have to be?”
He raked his hands over his scalp and paced around the sofa to stand before her. “I care about you. You know that. And because of that, I can’t allow what we have to become the latest gossip in Page Six.”
“Please, I’m used to it.”
“But I’m not. Don’t you see? And you can’t be seen with someone like me.”
“Hawk, would you knock that chip off your shoulder? I can date who I want. And I want to date you. We’ve discussed this—”
“It’s not good for you. The publicity. You dating your lowly bodyguard.”
“What can I say to make this right for you? Why do you have to put yourself on some imaginary scale below me? That’s so wrong. You are a good man. You are amazing, actually. If either of us is going to rate higher on some scale, it would be you.”
“As you’ve said, we’ve discussed this.”
“Exactly, and I don’t recall agreeing that this—us—would be a problem.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to hear the rumors that’ll come of that photo. Okay? Because I know exactly what they’ll say. How did he manage to get her? What the hell is a guy like that doing with a class act like her? Is she paying him for sex?”
“Get out.”
So, there it was. The goodbye that would never have been possible had they never started this stupid affair. Because it could never work. He knew that. She knew that. They’d been playing a stupid game.
Hawk nodded. She wanted him to leave? He swung toward the door and opened it.
Before he could cross the threshold, she called, “No, don’t leave!”
He slammed the door behind him and marched to the stairway at the end of the hall.
“Fool,” he muttered. “You got what you deserved.”
17
Sunday morning. Nine forty-five. As usual, Hawk headed out to follow Becca. He always made s
ure to leave the building before her, and he could still hear her rushing about above him. He took the elevator down to the lower level and left via the employee’s entrance that opened into the alley. Turning right, he walked half a block down and slipped between the buildings. For the year he had been tailing her, she’d never noticed him tucked into the narrow aisle.
Ten minutes later, Becca’s heels sounded on the blacktop. The way the shadows fell between the buildings, she’d be hard-pressed to see him where he stood even if she peered down and purposely looked for him. But she never did. Usually, her attention was on her cell phone as she texted or chatted with someone. Surprisingly this back route to the church was never staked out by the paparazzi, and she took advantage of the rare freedom.
When she turned the corner, he slipped out and followed closely enough. When she arrived at the street before the church, Hawk swung around the brick building and leaned against it until her beige heels clicked across the concrete that wended up to the church’s back door.
The park behind the chapel was small but it was where he sat in the summer and fall. Leaves sifted down from the oak tree in the courtyard. The days were getting cooler, but he had another good month before he’d take a coffee with him or seek warmth in the café down the block.
He crossed the street and sat on one of the benches in the church park.
It didn’t take long for his thoughts to zoom around to his fight with Becca from last night. It had been because he had a stupid concept of what kind of man Rebecca Wylde should date. That man had money, wore suits that cost more than a monthly boat payment, and was vapid enough that when Becca bored of him, he was easy to dump. Hawk suspected that man would spoil her with diamonds and champagne and nights out at fancy restaurants. And if he ever managed to win her attention for more than a night or two, he’d best spoil her like mad while giving her free rein if he thought to keep her.
Hawk wasn’t in that league. He hadn’t the finances to appeal to her materialistic desires. And his idea of a fancy date was wandering through Times Square looking at all the neon lights. While he did approve of the concept of spoiling a woman, he couldn’t do it with cash or diamonds. Instead, all he had to offer was his presence and attention.
If he knew what was best for the both of them, he’d settle back into his role of watching her ass from four paces away and not expect to be invited into her bed again. Because they shouldn’t work. They could never work.
He wanted it to work.
Grabbed on the shoulder from behind, Hawk stood abruptly and turned. “Miss Wylde?”
“Seriously? We’re back to Miss Wylde?” She tapped her toe on the concrete sidewalk. “I suppose so after last night’s discussion.”
“What are you—?” He was sure she hadn’t turned earlier to catch a glimpse of his position.
“Hawk, do you seriously think I haven’t known you follow me every Sunday morning?”
No way. She couldn’t. He was careful. He knew how to tail a person without giving himself away.
She shook her head and smiled triumphantly. “You always leave the building a few minutes before I do, wait…somewhere. I haven’t figured that part out yet. But as soon as I leave, you follow me about a block behind. Then you sit out here in the park or across the street in the courtyard until I return about three hours later. In the winter, you sit in the café. Sipping your cream with a touch of coffee, no doubt.”
She smirked at his lack of response. “You’re not that stealthy. Though I will give you credit for determination. Do you ever take a day off, Hawk?”
He assumed his role. It was easier than trying to figure how he’d messed this one up so grandly. “Your safety is my job.”
“Right, but I don’t pay you for Sundays.”
“It’s my pleasure to follow you.”
She shifted her hips in a sexy wiggle. “I should hope so. Anyway.” She extended her arm for him to grasp her hand. “I want you to come with me today.”
“I, uh…I’m not much for church.”
“Neither am I. Though I am a good Catholic girl who gives until it hurts. I think I’m mastering the guilt thing. Come on.” She grabbed his hand. “You might think you know what I do once I walk through those church doors, but I promise you, you are very wrong.”
He was not in the mood to sit in a church for three hours with a woman he was having a hard time getting out of the must-have, want-want-want section of his brain. But the intrigue would kill him if he didn’t get an answer to this new mystery.
“Are you still angry with me?” he asked as they approached the church door. “About last night?”
“No. I know you have your hang-ups. But I don’t.” She paused in the church threshold. “I warn you, I may kiss you when the mood strikes. Because that’s how I roll.”
She tugged him inside the warm church that smelled like old hymnals and echoed with the organ practice. The next service didn’t begin until ten-thirty, so when Becca pulled him through the lobby and into the narthex, there were no others. She stopped before the holy font, genuflected, then dipped her fingers into the water.
She glanced at him, and he gave a dismissive gesture. He’d never been raised with religion, his father having believed science was the only form of worship.
Again, she took his hand and walked to the other side of the church and toward a side door. She was leaving? Maybe she had coffee somewhere before the service began?
Outside, a few cars rolled slowly by, some stopping to let off parishioners. Becca walked across the street and down an alley.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Where I go every Sunday morning. Do you think I spend the whole time in the church?” Her laughter was deep and throaty. “Boring!”
And Hawk was now thoroughly stymied. His Princess Sweet and Sour had a secret? This was going to be interesting.
A four-block walk took them to a quiet neighborhood of brick buildings, savory smells, and a street badly in need of repair. All of Hawk’s alert senses surged to high. This wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it wasn’t the Ritz either. It was the last place he expected an heiress to go traipsing about on a lazy Sunday morning.
Becca turned down an alleyway, stopped at a nondescript door, and knocked. It opened to the heady smell of savory rosemary and what Hawk guessed could be roast chicken. She was greeted with a hug from a woman wearing a flour-dusted apron.
“This is my bodyguard, Clinton Hawk,” Becca introduced him. “Hawk, this is Estella Brite. She’s the head chef here at Soups and Savories.”
He knew this place, though he’d never gone in himself. No need. This was a food kitchen for the homeless. Hawk didn’t know what to say. So, when Estella took his hand to shake it, he merely nodded.
“We can use the extra hands today,” Estella said. “I’ll put you on corn, right next to Miss Wylde, who likes to man the potatoes and gravy. Think you can handle that?”
Again, he could but mutely nod as he processed the turn of events. Estella handed him an apron and latex gloves. Becca hung her coat on a hook on the wall that was smashed up against dozens of other jackets. None of them designer, and quite a few looking in need of repair. She smiled at him as she put on her apron and tied it behind her waist, but she didn’t offer an explanation.
None was necessary. He simply wanted to take it all in. To experience this side of his princess that he’d never known existed. Becca seemed to suddenly beam as if enlivened by the atmosphere. People called out orders for the food and huge tin pans were carried toward the front serving line where Hawk spied the dining area. A few volunteers in aprons wiped off tables. And beyond the plate glass front window, a line of homeless waited eagerly.
“Just put a scoop of corn on each plate,” Becca instructed him as she directed him toward the serving line where food steamed in delicious welcome. “I always do the potatoes and gravy ‘cause I like to make a little dent in the top of the potatoes. Holds more gravy that way.”
He had
no words. Of all the kindnesses he knew Becca’s charity participated in, he’d always watched her control that from a comfy chair and in designer heels. She was still wearing the designer heels, but today her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and latex gloves covered her diamond rings.
The front doors were opened, and the volunteers called out greetings as patrons filed in.
Becca beamed at him. “Sunday is my favorite day of the week.”
Indeed. He was getting that impression.
The hours passed quickly, and with a lightness Hawk had never thought possible. He marveled as Becca chatted with each and every one of the people waiting for their warm meal. Some knew her by name, and she knew many by their names. She knew the jokes and asked after those who had family members in the hospital or who were ill themselves.
When she glanced at him, he would pause from corn duty and take her in. Her brightness. The wild child trampled to let the real woman shine. This was the real Rebecca Wylde. A caring, compassionate woman who could, quite possibly, change the world.
If only she hadn’t ridiculous threats like nude photos and paparazzi to deal with. Though he assumed if she really could change the world, the paparazzi would be a given.
“What’s wrong, Hawk?”
“I want my corn!” the person on the other side of the serving table insisted.
“Sorry.” He served the waiting patron a heaping scoop of the sweet corn. “I was lost,” he said to Becca as they continued to dish up their fare. “In you.”
“Sweet-talker.”
It wasn’t Becca who had said that, but a woman with green eyes and no hair. She was thin, but her smile was brighter than Becca’s. Her boney wrists and prominent collarbones gave him a clue that she led a rough life.
“She’s only sweet to me on Sundays,” he replied to her tease.
“He’s my bodyguard,” Becca said to the woman as she ladled gravy over the cloud of mashed potatoes. “Thought I’d bring him in on the fun today. He’s doing a fair job of corn patrol, don’t you think?”
