Beyond Ecstasy (Beyond #8) (4 page)

There were a hundred seductive things she could say. In the end, she only managed his name. “Hawk…”

The bottle slipped from his fingers and clinked against the pavement. It rolled away, spilling priceless whiskey as it went, but Hawk ignored it. His hands were already moving, sliding down her body, skimming her hips—

He curled his fingers under her ass and hauled her up. Her skirt rode up her legs as she wrapped them around Hawk's body. His jeans scraped her inner thighs, underscoring just how little separated them.

His pants and his self-control. And the latter broke on another groan as he caught her mouth in a bruising, starving kiss.

His lips were lush, firm, and warm against hers, but it was his tongue that undid her. She'd expected a halting exploration, maybe even with a hint of shyness, but this was something else entirely. He licked his way into her mouth, stroking her tongue with a skill that matched his passion, and everything else vanished. All that was left in her entire world was Hawk, kissing her with whiskey on his lips.

His skin was hot under her hands, hard and soft all at once. His muscles tensed at her touch, turning the vague, empty ache that had plagued her for weeks into a deeper throb of need. It pulsed hotter when she slid her hand down over his stomach to his belt—

Hawk caught her wrist and broke the kiss. “Not yet. Not like this.”

They were words, and she knew they made sense, but not in that order, and not right now. She inhaled to clear her head, but all it did was fill her with Hawk's scent, and she almost moaned. “What?”

“We have to do this right.” He eased her hand away and tipped her head back so she had to meet his eyes. “I need to get you a collar.”

The words fell into the space between them, heavy and loud. They were still echoing through her like ripples in a pond when she found her voice. “A collar.”

“That's how O'Kanes do this, right? That's how they say they want…this.”

He was staring down at her with such earnest gravity that a laugh bubbled up. She swallowed it and shook her head. “We do what we want, sweetheart. If we want to fuck, we fuck.”

His seriousness didn't waver. “That's not all I want.”

Oh Jesus, not another one. Not
him
. “No.” Jeni pushed at his chest until he put her down, and she avoided looking at him as she straightened her skirt. “You—you what? Want to take care of me? Save me from my life?”

Hawk blinked, clearly startled. Then his eyes narrowed, and his intensity melted from hunger to danger. “Do you need saving from something?”

“Hell, no. Absolutely fucking not.”

He studied her in silence for another painfully awkward moment. “I don't understand, then.”

The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, so she took another deep breath and chose her words carefully. “We've barely spoken, Hawk. I know that we're attracted to one another, but what you're talking about—a collar? That's different.”

“Because it's serious,” he said finally, not so much questioning as confirming. “It's a commitment.”

Not just a commitment, but the most serious one an O'Kane could make short of ink. “Yeah,” she said gently. “And you can't commit to someone you don't know. It's a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I understand.” He took a step back, then another. “I asked for too much.”

He'd asked for something unfathomable. Unimaginable. “Why?”

His brow furrowed. “Why did I ask for it?”

He said it as though the answer was obvious, and the question unnecessary. “Yes. Why?”

“Because it's bad enough not having you. If I touch you...” He looked away, casting his expression in shadow. “Not having you is bad. Not getting to keep you would be worse.”

The breath squeezed out of her lungs. She didn't know which bothered her more—that he'd felt this way and she hadn't had a clue, or that he thought he had to collar her to keep her from moving on after one night.

Both were equally heartbreaking.

She moved closer to him again, stopping just out of reach. “What would a collar mean to you?”

“That you trust me,” he replied softly. “That you choose me. That you're mine.”

The words slid over her like a slow caress, and she shivered. “You don't need a collar for that.”

“Yes, I do.” He looked back at her, his gaze shrouded. Dark. “Because not wanting one—that means something, too.”

It wasn't the way O'Kanes did things, no matter what Hawk thought. She couldn't think of a single collar that had been bestowed except as a prelude to ink. But it
was
a statement, that much was undeniable, and it didn't have to be permanent the way the marks were. If it didn't work, if Hawk grew tired of her—

They could still walk away, no harm, no foul.

“I'll think about it,” she told him finally. “I have to—I have to think.”

“I understand.” He reached out, his fingers hovering just above her cheek. “I'll wait, Jeni. You're worth it, however long it takes.”

Part of her wanted to lean into his touch, so she leaned back instead. “I'm going back inside. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Jeni turned and grasped the door handle, fully ready to head back into the warehouse in search of a distraction. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the high, shatterproof window. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her from wide, glazed eyes. She looked...wrecked. Not just disheveled but rattled, with none of her usual calm composure.

How long had it been since someone had torn her apart with a single kiss?

She let go of the handle and headed up the exterior stairs that led to the living quarters instead. The night was young, but there was no way she could go back to the warehouse like everything was normal, no big deal, when her world had just been turned on its side.

She'd do all that thinking she promised Hawk instead. Christ knew sleeping wasn't an option, not after that kiss. Not after those
words
, words that still wrapped around her, the ones that meant he wanted her, needed her,
saw
her—

A collar was a promise. It would be so easy to sink into it, to trust that Hawk had done enough thinking for both of them and everything would turn out okay. But she'd sworn to herself she wouldn't do it again, just let herself fall and hope like hell things didn't end in heartbreak.

So she'd think. And somehow she'd figure out what to do.

Farming was in Hawk's blood. Before the guns and fighting, even before the cars, his earliest memories were of helping his mother in the kitchen garden. He couldn't have been very old; by nine or ten, most boys were out with the men, working the crops they cultivated for Eden. But no one escaped chores in Sector Six, not once they were old enough to gather eggs or pull weeds.

Working the garden in Sector Four was different. Jyoti's rooftop garden had spread across the sector and into Three, part of Dallas's long-range plan to secure against food shortages. Each garden was unique, its design driven by one overriding concern.

Space.

Back home, the kitchen garden sprawled across an area twice the size of the O'Kane compound. Here, every single inch had to count. Brutal efficiency took precedence over beauty, but the collective creativity of the O'Kanes had paid off.

The roof of the living barracks was alive with greenery. Raised beds, vertical beds, trellises—even a clever contraption Trix and Finn had assembled from burlap sewn with dozens of snug little pockets for lettuce to grow.

Usually, stepping out into the garden brought Hawk a measure of peace. The setting might be strange, but the work remained the same. Plants needed tending, needed water, or fertilizer. Needed thinning. He could do the work drunk. He could do it half-asleep. Hell, he could do it half-dead.

But he couldn't do it this morning. Not after a restless night with Jeni's taste on his lips and her voice in his dreams.

We've barely spoken, Hawk.

All that damn time worrying about Sector Four's rules and customs, wondering how to make his intentions clear, and he'd skipped the most important step. He'd spent months watching Jeni, cataloging her moods, her ever-changing costumes, and the different ways she smiled. He knew her. Maybe not enough, not nearly as well as he wanted to.

But he knew her better than she knew him. Which meant he'd fucked up.
Bad
.

“I think you're drowning that one.”

Hawk jerked the hose away from the raised bed he'd been watering. Jeni yelped and jumped back, but water still splashed her sandals and her legs—

He'd seen her legs before. Hell, he'd seen
all
of her before—her dances at the Broken Circle left little to the imagination. But last night those legs had been wrapped around him. He'd felt their lithe strength, had been tempted by it.

He could have let go of her hips, trusted her to hold herself against him as he satisfied his overwhelming need to bury both hands deep in her hair, to see just how hard he had to tighten his fists before she moaned for him.

Fucking
hell
.

He released the lever on the hose, and the spray of water cut off abruptly. Hawk forced his gaze to her eyes, even as the heat flooding his face told him he was blushing. Forty fucking years old, and he was
blushing
. “Hi.”

“Good morning.” Jeni bent over to swipe water from her skin. The wide neck of her loose, flowing blouse slipped off one shoulder, and she hauled it back into place as she straightened once again. “Lili needs some lettuce. For lunch.”

He nodded and stepped out of her way. “There's plenty of it to go around.”

“I know.” She picked up one of the baskets they used for harvesting and held it in front of her like a shield, both hands clutching the woven edge. “So. How was your night?”

It was awkward as hell, but her anxiety triggered something inside him, a need to soothe that overcame his lingering embarrassment. He gave her a little space, moving to the next raised bed to resume watering. “Not bad. I went to see if I could get back in the cage, but I ended up breaking up fights over who got the next round.”

“Oh.” She set the basket at her feet and began to pull lettuce leaves. “Lex mentioned that they may have to move to a lottery system to pick the fights. Seems like an awful lot of trouble, though.”

It sure as fuck clashed with the freewheeling, anything-goes atmosphere that had made fight night so popular. The mood was shifting week by week, turning grimmer, harsher. People flooded in like moths clustering around the only light in the darkness, desperate and scared and eager to fight to prove they were neither.

“A lottery might work,” Hawk said, but he couldn't find any conviction. The only thing that might work was another night. More chances for everyone to work off their frustration. It would solve their problems for a week, maybe two, until the pressure built again.

They'd run out of days of the week before they ran out of trouble.

“Right.” Jeni fell silent, keeping her attention focused on the hanging planter in front of her.

The awkwardness swelled. Hawk cursed his clumsiness and wished, not for the first time, for a hint of Ace's easy charm or Mad's forthright charisma. They'd be over there already, holding the basket for her, making her smile. Ace would be flirting outrageously, saying shit so obscene it should get his stubble slapped off his face but somehow just made women laugh.

The only things Hawk could talk about were cars, guns, and farming.

He finished watering the second bed and set the hose aside. The silence grew and twisted, unnatural and miserable. And it was his fault, for moving too fast, for putting her in this position. For kissing her, when he knew—he
knew
—that he'd want more, demand more, and that she wasn't ready.

This was his problem to fix.

He picked up the basket and held it so she wouldn't have to bend. “It's okay, you know. I don't expect an answer today. I know it'll take longer than one night.”

“That isn't—” Jeni sighed and faced him. “I feel like I'm right in the middle of something I didn't realize was happening. I'm scrambling to catch up.”

“I know.” He opened his mouth to tell her she had all the time she needed, but the words wouldn't come. Because Eden loomed to their left, the walls more innocuous in the early-morning light but still sparking a violent reminder.

No one had all the time they needed anymore.

“We could all be dead tomorrow,” she said softly, echoing his thoughts. “If you felt this way, why didn't you say something sooner?”

Because she'd belonged to Dallas and Lex. And then she hadn't, and he'd been faced with the possibility of having her.

The possibility of
losing
her.

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the basket. It was coarse, familiar. So were the scents of fresh lettuce, of damp earth. The buzz of insects attracted to the blooms that turned this roof into a scrap of wilderness in the middle of concrete. Not really like home, but still enough to stir memories. “Things are different in Six. Sex, marriage...”

She looked at him expectantly.

How could he explain the tangle of brutal practicality that formed the bedrock of Sector Six? “There's no courtship. No romance. When you're old enough, the head wife checks the genealogies and finds you a husband or wife from a nearby farm. Or if they want fresh blood, they get some poor girl from the communes who comes to your wedding night in tears.”

“Hawk.” She touched his arm just beneath his sleeve. “I'm sorry.”

Skin contact was dangerous. Heat flooded him, stirring the memory of her thighs beneath his palms, her lips parted under his. “Things are different now. On my family's farm, at least. My father was an abusive son of a bitch, but Shipp took him down. And Shipp's crew... Well, some of my sisters and stepmothers found men they could marry
and
love. But they still take things slow there.”

“I don't have a problem with that.” Her fingers moved, gently brushing over his skin, and she smiled. “But I do need to know something's happening.”

“Got it.” His voice sounded low and harsh even to his own ears, and he clutched the basket tighter as a reminder not to reach for her. “We'll just have to get to know each other, right?”