Caught (Prequel to Hawk) (Sex and Bullets) (2 page)

My face flames. He pours more wine for both of us, and I order myself not to take another sip, even if I’m so frigging nervous my fingers are tap-dancing on the table.

What am I doing? What are we doing? Is he flirting with me? Seriously flirting, or just passing his time? Maybe he does that with any girl who crosses paths with him.

Maybe his date stood him up?

“You eat here alone?” I blurt out, before I decide I shouldn’t ask. “I mean, you came here alone? I—”

“It was supposed to be a business dinner,” he says, glancing down at his shirt and pants with what looks like distaste. “My partner canceled.”

“Partner?”

“Business partner.” He winks at me over the rim of his glass. “Business meeting.”

Why does the way he says all this make me hot?

Okay, scratch that. Anything he says makes me hot. The guy’s a god. What the hell am I doing, sitting here with him?

“You work?” He puts his glass down, reaches up and undoes the top button of his shirt. Yeah… is it too warm in here? “Or study?”

“Study.” I drag my tongue over my lips, desperate for moisture, and tear my gaze away. “Publishing.”

“Sounds interesting,” he says, but when I turn back toward him, I find that his gaze is fixed on me. “Publishing novels or nonfiction?”

“Both.”

In fact, his gaze is fixed on my cleavage, I discovered when I follow it. I’ve dressed in a dress I bought a few months ago in New York, when I was visiting my mom. It’s a vintage cut, knee-length, with a deep cleavage showing off my boobs. I don’t have a great ass, like my friend Dorothy, but my boobs are good-sized. I used to like them, before Chance said one day that they were too big.

I wonder what Hawk is thinking, and crap, my nipples are tightening under his scrutiny. I like that he’s looking at me like that, especially when he glances up, meeting my eyes for a fleeting second, and gives me a wolfish grin.

“God, you’re sexy,” Hawk rasps, and hey, can I have him for dessert, please? No need to wrap him, I’ll take him to go.

“So are you,” I admit, though it costs. I swear the skin on my cheeks is blistering.

His gaze dips to my boobs again, then does a slow slide up my neck to my flaming face and he licks his lips.

Holy crap.

Never felt this way with a guy before. This insta-lust, this heat between my legs just from staring at this bulging biceps in that fine shirt, the small dimple in his chin, the long, pale lashes and thick brows over those ice-blue eyes.

“How badly do you want those artichokes?” he asks, and I blink at him, lost. “Is it like, a craving you need to fulfill no matter the cost, or…?”

What?

“I don’t like artichokes,” I blurt, and clap a hand over my mouth, because holy crap, Lay, exerting some control over your mouth might be a good thing. “I mean, I can go without.”

“Good. I’m not that hungry after all.” He’s looking at me, at my face, as if trying to read me. “I’d much rather taste you.”

Silence stretches between us. I try to swallow, but my throat is closed up.

Taste me?
“You want to kiss me?”

His eyes glitter. “Yeah. And not only on the mouth.”

Oh boy, I think I’m finally catching on, and I squirm on the seat, the heat returning between my legs, coupled with an urgent pressure and a pulse that feels like my heartbeat.

“I, um.” I glance at the other tables, wondering if they can hear any of this. “You want…?”

“I want lots of things with you,” he says, his voice low and deep. “I was watching you, watching as you crossed your legs and uncrossed them, as you put your hand over your tits.” He nods at my boobs and my nipples wave back at him, hard and aching. “Goddammit, girl. You’re so hot I’m in danger of shooting my load right here and now, just from looking at you.”

Wow.
Nobody has ever said anything like that to me. And maybe I should be running away from this guy who has no trouble telling me all this, but I find myself leaning toward him.

“Chance said I’m frigid,” I whisper, and God, what’s wrong with me tonight? It’s as if every random thought I have has to come out of my big mouth.

“He’s a goddam idiot,” Hawk mutters. “You’re anything but frigid. You’re hot like all hell, Doll. And I can prove it to you. Would a frigid woman come four times within an hour as I pleasure her?”

Ohgod, ohgod.
I’ve never… never even come once with Chance.

Hawk must read my thoughts on my face, because his brows draw together in a frown. “Tell me he at least made sure you came when you had sex,” he growls, and the fine hairs on my arms lift.

“He tried,” I say, remembering how Chance often complained it took me too long to show any signs of pleasure.

“That motherfucker,” Hawk mutters, and it’s all so weird, hearing a guy like him, in a suit like that, swear like a sailor. He reaches for my hand and strokes his thumb over my knuckles, sending a great shudder through my body. “Let me show you, Gorgeous. Show you what it can be like. What you can be like, with the right guy.”

And he’s the right guy?

“What do you want from me?” I whisper, kind of frightened at his intensity even as I’m curious as hell and turned on like nobody’s business.

“I want…” He glances to the side, sighs. He keeps his gaze averted as he says. “I want to show you how hot you are. I want to have a good time with you. I want you. My dick hasn’t deflated since I saw you. But you need to know who I am. I—”

“I know who you are,” I say.

He looks startled. “Good. Awesome. Well, a man in my position can’t offer you anything more.” At my confused look, he says. “I can’t have a relationship. Can’t date you. So if you want a boyfriend, then you can walk away from this table right now. No hard feelings. Too much is at stake.”

His money, I guess. He doesn’t want to get involved with any girl and then face a scandal.

“I understand,” I begin, but he stops me, squeezing my hand.

“No, you don’t, because it’s not that simple. Believe me. But it’s the way things are. There are bigger issues than my personal pleasure at stake here. So if you come with me to the hotel where I’ve booked a room, and we have great sex together, that’s it. That’s all I can offer you.”

I ponder this. He’s honest, I’ll give him that. Doesn’t try to lure me with promises and sweet words. He’s straight with me, and I won’t deny what he promises for tonight is already good.

If nothing else, it will take my mind off Chance and the ugliness he caused.

“I understand,” I say again and squeeze his hand back. “I’ll take your offer, Jamie Fleming.”

His grin turns boyish, and his gray eyes soften. “Call me Hawk.”

Chapter Two

The hotel he’s booked into is a block away, and we walk, hand in hand. It’s not dating, but then why does it feel so much like it?

“So… you don’t live here in Baltimore?” I ask, when the silence becomes too much as we cross the street.

“I do.”

“So why the hotel room?”

He glances at me, his mouth curling up in that easy smile that sends bolts of heat through me. “I called and booked a room when I saw you sitting at the restaurant. Just in case.”

I huff. “Confident, much?”

And he hasn’t answered my question, not really.

He shrugs. “It was a wishful thought. Besides, in my line of work, you have to be bold.”

I bet you do. And through the sting of annoyance, the heat flares stronger than ever.

He hoped to get into bed with me. He wished for it.

Holy crap, Batman.

His hand is tight around mine, and a good thing too, as my heels are too high to be walking down the street. Hey, I was only supposed to walk from the car into the restaurant and back, but they are the perfect heels—matching my lilac dress in tone and sheen, its hem peeking under my black coat. I wanted to be pretty for Chance, and then I was glad I did when he dumped me.

Better look pretty when your boyfriend of two years dumps you for a tramp and another man invites you over to his table, right? Look at all the things I learned tonight.

Right this moment, though, I am thrilled that the hotel is right in front of us, with the promise of taking the shoes off at last.

The shoes, among other things…

Glancing up at the tall man beside me, I lick my lips and warmth floods my face when I realize I’m doing it. But how can I help it? This feels unreal. He’s just too gorgeous with his powerful built and those gray eyes… That arrogant air when he stops in front of the reception desk and asks for the key to the room, then sends a smirk my way, his eyes half-closing, a speculative gleam in them.

A gleam that says he’s already undressing me in his mind, and that is so damn sexy my whole body tightens with excitement.

Can’t recall any man looking at me that way. Certainly no Chance. Chance who announced publicly that I’m frigid in bed.

Hawk makes me feel all kinds of hot, inside and out. His gaze makes me lift my head, push my shoulders back and my boobs out. Makes me feel pretty and desirable.

Naughty.

“Come on.” He takes the room key and starts toward the elevator, forcing me to run in my heels, and I want to hiss at him to slow down, but at the same time I like that.

I like how much bigger than me he is, how much longer his strides are. That he pulls at my hand, sure I’ll follow. That he gives me another once-over while waiting for the elevator, and my skin tingles and heat spreads down my belly.

The elevator doors close behind us, and he yanks me to him suddenly, without warning, his hand splayed on the small of my back, our bodies melding together. His face dips, and his mouth brushes mine, a searing kiss. Something long and hard presses into my hip.

“Feel me,” he murmurs against my lips. “Feel how much I want you. How you turn me on. Even from the distance, as you sat at your table, I could feel your heat.”

The elevators door open, and I barely notice, caught up in him, his spicy taste, his spicy scent, his cool gaze with its sparks of fire, his tall body dwarfing mine.

I lift my hand to his face, needing to touch his hard jaw, to touch his hair and see if it’s as soft as it looks.

He marches me backward before I manage, out of the elevator cage, over velvet carpet that muffles our steps.

He pushes me against a door and crowds me in again, his hot mouth skimming over my cheek, pressing to my neck, sucking. He’s panting, I realize, as zings of pleasure travel down my spine and my hands clutch at his muscular arms through the suit jacket he’s put back on when we left the restaurant. He’s aroused and kind of out of control.

Because of me.

That’s a heady thought, and when his hands close around my waist and his thigh nudges between my legs, I don’t stop to think we’re still in plain view of anyone passing by, my eyes closing, my body shuddering with pleasure.

Dry-humping Jamie Fleming’s muscular, strong leg.

Oh God.

Thankfully, he presses his mouth to mine as the pleasure spirals and my body jerks with the first orgasm I’ve had in a long while, my cry muffled.

Holy crapballs.
There’s a ringing in my ears. The dim lights of the corridor blink in my vision as my senses slowly return and I find myself slumped against the door, Hawk’s leg still between mine, and his handsome face creased in a pleased grin.

“That was so hot,” he whispers, his voice a sexy rasp, and strokes his thumb over my lips. “Can’t wait to hear the sounds you make in the bedroom.”

Suddenly I’m overheated, self-conscious and kind of sick to my stomach. “I, um. Look—”

“You’re so sexy,” he says, and leans in again. The proximity of his eyes, his mouth, his straight jaw, the golden stubble, it’s all too much for my poor brain. It short-circuits again when he smiles that devastating smile and can’t process anything else while he inserts the key into the lock and pushes the door open. “Come on.”

Coming is the one thing I’ll certainly be doing with him, that’s for sure.

***

The room is big. It’s a suite, I realize after taking in the space with the sofa and armchairs, and the separate space for the huge bed.

It’s covered in a white bedspread and has… rose petals strewn over it? I blink, sure I’m hallucinating. This doesn’t happen in real life, does it? Not in any of the hotels I have visited in my lifetime, and this hotel had a very unassuming air, from the outside, at least.

I walk toward the bed, running one fingertip along the wall. There’s a framed drawing of a naked woman hanging by the bed, and a tall crystal vase with red roses on the bed stand.

Definitely not common. I touch the satiny petals of the roses and inhale their scent.

Smiling, I turn around—and find myself face to face with Hawk whose gaze has turned sharp. Fierce.

Predatory.

“I’m going to strip you bare,” he says, his voice that same low rasp that sends heat through my body, a fiery path down my core. “Eat you out. Stroke you so deep you’ll feel it for days. And fuck you until you can’t walk straight. Are you ready, Hot Stuff?”

“It’s Layla,” I breathe, barely audible, all the air sucked from my lungs at his words and the heat in his voice.

“Trust me,” he goes on, prodding me until I fall on the bed, bouncing a little, “soon you will forget your own name.”

“Cocky, much?” I manage even as he puts a knee between my legs and shoves my coat off my shoulders, then pushes my dress up my thighs.

“I’m only stating facts.” He winks at me and in record time he has my panties off and his face between my legs.

Holy shit.

His breath is warm on my shaved pussy—shaved because Dorothy insisted I should, this being a two-year anniversary and all—and his stubble scratches against my inner thighs, jolting me. His hands land on my legs, rough and big, and spread my thighs a bit more.

Opening me up. Spreading my pussy wide.

Crap.
“Hawk, I…”

He looks up at me and stills, waiting for me to say more. “This okay?” he finally asks, when no words come to my mind, and his question sends a different kind of warmth through me.

Aggressive and yet careful, pushy and yet ready to stop.

I barely nod when he licks his lips and puts his mouth on me. Unable to hold back a moan, I fists my hands on the white bed cover, my legs trembling. His tongue circles my clit, flicks back and forth lashing at it, then licks lower, into the core of me.

“Oh God!” A shockwave of need blasts through me, zinging up all the way to my head. My nipples are so tight they ache and I need… need to come. Need to relieve the pressure between my legs that’s only growing with every twist of his tongue.

Then he adds his fingers, and they’re thick and long and oh Lord… A keening noise leaves my throat and my head falls back, my body arching into him as he strokes me, like he promised—deep and hard, stretching me, ramping up the pressure until I’m ready to beg for release.

“Please, Hawk… Please…”

Yep.
Begging.

As I’m fucking his face. And so turned on I can’t even find it in me to care. I’ve never felt so good in my life, never felt such need. It’s burning in my veins, deep inside my core, and his movements only make me burn hotter.

He licks my clit, swirls his tongue around it, thrusting two fingers inside me. Then he sucks on my clit, and I’m gone.

I shatter into a million pieces as the pressure breaks. Pleasure races up my spine, and I arch almost off the bed as I come in his mouth, a cry leaving my mouth.

Oh shit. God.
What was that?

This time when I come to my senses, I’m staring at the white stucco of the ceiling, my thoughts empty and swimming above me like glass fish in a sky of white.

Boom.

That’s my heart, banging against my ribcage.

Hawk slides up my body, braces himself on his hands on either side of me and looks down at me.

God, that’s hot. Everything he does is smooth and sexy. He looks pleased with himself.

He has every right to be.

Then something hard and hot bumps against my thigh and I jump.

He chuckles, a dark, come-fuck-me sound that steals the breath from my lungs. “Just wanted to feel you against my cock.”

He’s naked. The realization dawns slowly and in stages. He undressed while I was zoned out, staring at the ceiling, and is now holding himself over me in all his muscular, naked glory.

I scoot back to see him better, and he grins at me.

Tanned in the way only pale people who spend a lot of time outdoors can be—playing tennis and golf, I suppose, sunning himself on the deck of his dad’s yacht, swimming in private coves—he’s made of gold and silver, a living statue of a man, all rolling muscles and fantastical proportions.

Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, tight abs, narrow hips—then thick thighs and long legs, but my gaze glances off them, snagged by his cock, stiff and flushed, thick and long, pointing up.

Metal is sticking out of the head—metal barbells. He’s pierced.

“Okay?” he asks, and something passes through his eyes, an expression I haven’t seen before. A flash of vulnerability and nervousness.

Is he seriously asking me if I think him good enough? Or maybe big enough? Is he nervous because of the piercing?

“You’re beautiful,” I say in all honesty, and his cocky grin returns.

“You’re the beautiful one,” he says. “I’m just cocky.”

Very cocky, I decide, glancing at his big cock again. Never has the word described a man better. I lick my lips, a surge of confidence shocking me. “Are you going to use that, or what?”

“That?” He looks down, his grin widening. “Are you referring to my dick?”

I shrug, and can’t help smiling. “Guess so.”

“I’m sure gonna fucking use it. I follow through on all my promises.” He pauses, fumbles on the night stand and lifts a condom. He pulls it on.

“Turn over, Doll,” he murmurs, “and let me show you what
that
can do.” I squeal when he grabs my hips and rolls me over, on my belly. “And one last thing: you like roses, right?”