by Michele Hauf
No hand at her back right now. He was all business tonight. And maybe still a bit miffed at her act in the perfume lab earlier. Had she really thought she'd like him to stand beside her? Who then would catch her when she fell?
She glanced around, seeing a blur of dancing bodies. Her gaze landed on the man in the leather and chains. Jess had thought he smelled good? It was worth a sniff.
She pushed her way to the bar and stood next to him and had to look up to see his face. The smell of leather overwhelmed. And something rugged—maybe motor oil—wafted off him. It wasn’t a bad smell. And while he wasn’t Italian, she felt sure this one would also offend her bodyguard’s assessment of which men were best for her.
When he turned to smile at her, his bright white teeth lured her like Snow White to the apple.
“Hey there pretty thing,” he said. A Southern accent? Novel. “Have I seen you before?”
“Probably,” she said. “If you read Page Six.”
“Don’t know what page six is. Never get farther than a page or two in any book I try to read.”
Really? Bad choice.
“You want to go for a ride on my bike?”
Did she? She didn’t know the guy. And he could be illiterate. Yet the overwhelming maleness of him standing over her, feeling like a bird beside him, seduced. What would one ride hurt? And wouldn’t that make for an interesting headline, she hitching a leg up to straddle a motorcycle? The wild child really should have a biker fetish.
It was a dangerous proposition. And she couldn't think of a single reason not to test it out. Especially when it could agitate her protector. Jealousy test?
“Sure,” she said and took his hand when he held it out. “Where’s your bike?”
“Down the block. My name’s Butch.”
Of course, it was.
“Becca. Just a short ride. I’m not even sure I should in this dress—”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, breaching the intimacy so quickly she shivered. “You won’t be wearing the dress for long.” He winked at her and tugged her through the crowd.
Okay, bad idea. But even as Becca wriggled to free herself from his vise grip, she also followed.
She glanced over her shoulder as they hastened down the back hall toward the exit.
As expected, Hawk was not far behind.
Whatever she thought she was doing, she wasn’t thinking smart. Hawk tried to gain on Becca and the biker thug, but the crowd was thick and—you’d think he could push through a bunch of dancers, but when they were all bouncing one way or another, it was like a pinball being batted about under the glass.
Finally, he escaped the sweltering crush. The long, dark exit hall was clear. She’d gone outside with the thug. The paparazzi should slow their departure. And he relied on Becca preening for a photo opp.
Hawk paused before grabbing the back door handle. Was he doing the right thing? What would she do if he tried to stop her from riding off with the guy? She couldn’t know the biker. Hawk had seen her chat with him for all of three or four minutes before they’d taken off, hand in hand. And where was the testing kiss?
Maybe she did know him? No, he wasn’t her type. Not a glint of gold or Armani in sight. He’d worn a chain from hip to vest, for Christ’s sake. Hawk knew guys like that. They did not haunt the preppy clubs looking to dance or flash their glo-sticks to the beat. He’d come for something easy and sweet.
Probably didn’t even realize she was a celebrity. Or that she had a bodyguard. Who should be on her ass right now.
Hawk charged out the back door and put up his hand to block a flurry of camera flashes. The photogs realized he wasn’t a celebrity and backed off. Scanning over the heads of the paparazzi—most of whom he knew by name—he couldn’t find Miss Wylde.
How had she gotten out of his sight so quickly?
A stream of photographers dashing across the street led him toward an alley. Hawk raced across the lane and bypassed the paparazzi.
“Not doing your job tonight, Hawk?” he heard one of them call out.
“The wild child has a leather fetish,” another muttered.
Hawk wanted to turn, grab the jerk by the collar, and coldcock him. But if he took the time to do that, his charge would be gone. Already he heard a motorcycle engine rev. Not cool.
Turning the corner, he ran up to the woman in the sexy red dress and bow-to-me high heels. Hawk grabbed her arm, physically pulling her off the back of the motorcycle. “Not with him,” he said.
“Hawk, what the hell?” She slapped at him and struggled to get free.
The guy stayed on the bike, wisely, but gave the engine another testing rev.
“You’re not going home with him,” Hawk said.
“Who said I was going home with anyone?” She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t lose his footing. “Back off, Hawk. I don’t need you toddling behind me.”
“Becca, listen to me.” He gripped her wrist and pulled her closer, well aware the photogs were having a field day. Flashes chittered like a swarm of insects. “He’s not safe.”
“Good,” she said, her eyes defying him. “Maybe I don’t want safe.”
He pulled her closer and spoke near her ear so their conversation couldn’t be replayed later on TMZ. “Don’t do this. Trust me.”
“Trust you?”
“You are looking for something he can’t give you.”
“What the hell does that mean?” She pulled away from him and started to march back to the motorcycle.
Hawk wasn’t willing to risk not obeying his intuition. The biker could be a great guy. But all signs pointed to hell no; this dude is big trouble.
Knowing the move would embarrass the hell out of her, but seeing no other option, Hawk grabbed Miss Wylde and tossed her over his shoulder. Turning toward a storm of camera flashes, he pulled out his cell phone and texted the limo.
Oh yeah, this was going to make Page Six, for sure. And Becca beating at his back was only going to make it all the more social media worthy. The tabloids would chatter about this one for weeks. Twitter would explode. And, of course, it would be all his fault. She might never speak to him again.
He’d rather have the silent treatment than know that he’d let her ride off with a man who had the potential to hurt her. And it wasn't the physical hurt he feared so much as the emotional wounds such an encounter could leave her nursing.
“You had no right!” Becca argued from the back seat of the limo as they zoomed through Manhattan toward her penthouse. “You carried me out of there like…like…”
“Like a petulant child,” Hawk said, turning around on the front seat to address her face-to-face. He’d ignored her rants until now. But he’d had enough. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it that way, but you would have gone with him.”
“For a ride! Just a ride!”
“A ride that could have ended disastrously. I didn’t trust him.”
“Asshole.”
He tilted his best stone-faced sneer at her, knowing how much she hated being unable to see his eyes through his dark glasses. Becca slammed her arms over her chest and didn’t say another word. When they arrived at her building she didn’t wait for him to open the door, instead pushing it open and running inside on her own. He followed her into the elevator and it started upward.
“It’s is probably on TMZ right now,” she said sharply. “And look at Twitter!” She shoved her phone in his face, but he didn’t bother to read the scrolling tweets. “I can’t believe you!”
“More publicity for the wild child. Who would have thought?”
“I don’t want this kind of publicity!" She shoved at his chest, her anger seeking an outlet. “You know I’m smarter than that. I carefully choose the men I am photographed with.”
“Not always. You didn’t know that man, Becca. You talked to him for less than five minutes.”
“A girl can learn a lot about a guy in that time.”
“You didn't kiss him.”
&nbs
p; “Yeah, so?”
“You never leave with a guy unless you kiss him first.”
The elevator doors opened and she fled. “Go home!” she yelled at him. “I don’t want to look at you!”
He raced up beside her and slammed his back against her front door, preventing her from punching in the digital code. “You know, sometimes, I think you need a good spanking.”
Becca stepped back from him, her mouth dropping open. A spanking? Who was he? Her father? Someone who thought he could tell her what to do? Clinton Hawk was her employee. A man whom she paid to protect her.
He may have thought he’d been protecting her tonight, but she would have been fine. Maybe. Sure, she hadn't known a thing about the biker dude, but he had looked safe. Friendly. Although he had said something about her not wearing the dress for long.
Cripes. Hawk was right. But she’d never admit it. Not with him standing there all protective and sexy and admonishing. Yes, sexy when he was riled. And if even a part of him was jealous to have seen her climbing on the back of that motorcycle…
Please, let him be jealous.
Calmly putting her palms up in defeat, Becca gestured for him to move aside. He did so, and she punched in the digital code. The door opened and she inhaled deeply. There was only one thing to do now. One question that needed an answer. “You really think I need a spanking?”
“Yes.”
Sexy bastard. Two could play at this game.
Becca slid her tongue along her upper lip, then said firmly, “I dare you.”
6
Becca wandered into the penthouse. It was dark, but moonlight beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the living room wall and overlooked Park Avenue. She knew Hawk was behind her. The wild child could be such a tease. But this was no game. She meant business.
She bent to set her matryoshka clutch on the coffee table and, while doing so, wiggled her ass. Suddenly, she was airborne.
Wide, strong hands gripped her waist and pulled her, stomach down, onto his lap. Her palms hit the mohair carpet as she was bent over his legs.
“Hawk? What are you—?”
The first smack of his hand across her ass startled her so thoroughly, she growled and squirmed, trying to get away. How dare he?
Oh, right, she had dared him.
When the second, not-so-gentle but not-too-stinging slap met her behind, she sucked in a gasp. Something in her body shifted. She clutched the soft velvet nap of the sofa and settled onto Hawk’s lap, her stomach over his legs. Her thighs squeezed together, because…
The third slap was lighter but it landed at the junction of her ass and thighs and she felt it glance over her pussy. And her panties—thank goodness, she was wearing some—grew moist from the sudden rush of desire that warmed her from ears to toes.
“Hawk,” she managed on a breath. No gasp. This time it was a wanting moan.
His hand smoothed over her ass, not threateningly, but rather as if to soothe. Her skirt had hiked up so his fingertips brushed her bare thighs. He was so close to touching her wetness that she wanted to spread her legs and lift her hips. Would he do it again? She wasn’t into spanking. Maybe? Well, she’d never tried it. Until now. And, oh, did it push all her erotic buttons.
“You did dare me,” he said on a deep hush that she had never heard from him before. As if he were holding something back or wanted to keep things secret between them without the whisper.
Yes, she had dared him. And now that he was finished?
Becca pushed up and twisted to sit on his lap. She brushed the hair from her face. Her breaths heaved her chest up and down. The dress neckline had slid to expose the high curve of her breast. She clenched her thighs together. Every part of her hummed with a weird and exciting energy.
“I should—”
She should not let him finish that thought.
Bracketing Hawk’s face with her hands, she kissed him. Using the desperate energy that had coiled in her core from the electric excitement of the spanking, she followed on its wake, a slave to her desires. While she did so, she turned, straddling him and bending her knees to land them on the sofa. She pushed Hawk back and down to lay on the gray jacquard cushions.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she said between quick kisses all over his mouth. “I shouldn’t admit this, but… Hawk, I liked it.”
His hand clutched her ass and squeezed it. Not sore. He hadn’t done more than give her a few taps. The last two had been just the thing to fire her up. But his hold on her made her feel like he'd claimed her and wasn't about to release her.
“You’re pushing us, Hawk.”
“You asked for it, princess.”
“Yeah? Can you answer the challenge? Will you give me everything I ask for?”
“I…” He levered up onto an elbow and slid a hand under her jaw, stopping the kiss to peer into her eyes. “I thought I did everything for you already? What do you want from me, Becca?”
She pushed his coat from his shoulders. “I want this off you. The gun, as well.”
“Becca, we—”
She kissed him again, making sure he knew she meant business. She didn’t have plans to strip him naked and have sex with him. Still too fast for her. But she wasn’t going to let this make-out session end so quickly as the previous ones had. Time to reveal some muscle and touch it and lick it until his flavor became like a perfume she'd never forget.
“Take it off,” she insisted, sitting up and pulling on one of his coat sleeves. “Because we’re going to make out. I know you want to. And that last spanking…” She slid her hand down her mons, curling her fingers up under her skirt, and closed her eyes. “Mmm… I'm so wet right now.”
The man swallowed audibly. He quickly shrugged off his coat and tossed it to the floor. She tapped the leather holster strap, and he hesitated, “I never take it off when I’m working for you.”
“You’re not working now, Hawk. At least, I hope you don’t expect to get paid for this.”
“Right.” He slid his hand over the strap, his fingers playing across what looked like a buckle.
“You love your gun that much?” she defied.
He shook his head. But she sensed his reluctance as the holster strap was released, and he slid the whole thing off, including the heavy gun, and set it aside on the pink resin coffee table.
She pushed up his tee-shirt that clung possessively to his hard pecs and pressed her mouth to his chest. Hot flesh tensed and tickled into goosebumps under her mouth. And then, just as quickly, smoothed under a lash of her tongue.
Hawk gasped as he gripped at her loosely braided hair. She tongued his skin and marveled over the small patch of dark hair between his nipples. Not excessive, just enough to tease with her fingers. With a satisfied smile, she glanced up at him as she dragged her tongue over a tight bud.
“Becca,” he said on a deep groan.
The sound of his want coiled in her belly and arrowed all the good vibrations lower where she ached for his touch. Pushing up onto her hands, leaning over him, her hips not touching his, but so close, she really wanted to grind against him, to work at the ache he'd started.
“You called me Becca,” she said. “You called me Becca earlier when we were arguing. And the other day after you kissed me. You've never done that. It's always Miss Wylde.”
He exhaled and cast his gaze aside, seeming to about that one.
She grabbed his chin and forced his attention back to her. Now was no time for deep thoughts. “I like it. Miss Wylde is for the chick who walks in front of you all day. The sweet and sour princess. Becca is right here, right now.”
He nodded and pulled her down for a kiss. A long, deep kiss that settled her on top of him. Her stomach and breasts melded against his flexing abs. She was thankful she didn't wear a bra under the dress, the tease of the thin silk fabric rocketed with every glide of body against body.
His erection fit along her thigh. Becca almost slid a hand down to touch it through his jeans, to
squeeze it, but she cautioned herself. Mustn't rush to the climax. And after that? A quick goodbye. That was what she did with the other men. The ones she didn’t care about.
She didn’t care about Hawk. Maybe? No. But he was different. She didn’t want to fuck this up. Because one wrong move could shatter the relationship they’d developed over this last year. A working relationship, sure. But to introduce kissing—hell, spanking—to such a commitment was a risk.
She liked to play with risk.
So, instead, she pushed her hand through his hair and wished she’d the bravery to at least pull off her dress. She wanted to feel his heat, skin against skin. To know him in a new way.
“You’re wearing that perfume,” he said as he kissed along her jaw and up toward her earlobe. “Sweet and sour.”
“Testing it for a few days.”
She met his roaming hand with her own and twined her fingers within his, twisting her head to kiss them. And then he let her go, and his hand landed on her breast as he stroked her hard nipple through the thin dress. A pinch caused her to moan into the next kiss. And a rock of her hips only managed to tease at the sweet, aching spot high at the junction of her legs that she desperately wanted him to stroke.
The man lying beneath her, kissing her, touching her, excited her in ways that were new and unique. He didn’t have a big bank account. He didn’t own a Maserati. He probably had no clue what stocks were trading low and which ones to sell high. He was earthy and grounded and just…there. Always.
He was her safety.
“I think about doing this a lot.” He glided up his other hand and now both massaged her breasts and tweaked the nipples through the fabric. “You are so incredible, Becca.”
While she usually basked in any and all praise, it somehow felt weird coming from Hawk. “I’m not. I’m the wild child, remember? Spoiled-rotten rich kid. Nothing incredible about that. Heck, I’m the idiot who tries to make her bodyguard jealous by wandering off with strange bikers.”