by Michele Hauf
“Not bad,” the woman said. “He follow you around when all the photographers run after you?”
“Yes. And he keeps them in their place.”
“He’s a keeper.”
“I’m standing right here, and I can hear you both,” Hawk provided as he plopped a spoonful of corn onto the lady’s tray.
The woman laughed, and he was glad to see the levity in her gaunt face.
The line petered out after a few hours, and Estella handed Hawk a dishrag. “Would you mind washing off the tables?”
“Of course not.”
“He is a keeper,” he heard Estella whisper to Becca as he strolled out into the dining area.
After the lunch line had closed and Becca, Hawk, and the other volunteers had feasted on the remainders of lunch—because they didn’t want to throw out anything—he helped her with her coat, and they said their goodbyes.
Walking down the alleyway, she slipped her hand into his, and he didn’t tug out of her grasp. She took that as a good sign. Much as she’d vacillated over approaching him in the park and exposing what he’d thought to be his secret following of her, it hadn’t been such a stupid idea. And then to bring him here? The day had been more fulfilling than usual with him standing by her side. He’d chatted with everyone and had even flirted with a few of the women, age notwithstanding. What a sweetie.
“You want to know what I think?” Hawk asked as they approached the street across from the church.
“I do.”
“I think today was the best date I’ve ever had.”
“Ever?”
“Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”
Nothing more needed to be said. They skipped across the church courtyard. Instead of taking the back route back to her building, they entered by the front—not holding hands; they were aware of the paparazzi. Once in the elevator, Becca got a text.
“Unknown,” she said. Hawk leaned in to read next to her. “He’s asking for a million dollars cash. Seriously?”
“Asshole.”
“It’s got to be Jackson. Maybe you should confront him?”
“That’s not how it works. If I confront him without proof he could destroy evidence that later could have be useful in proving his guilt.”
“Hawk, a million dollars. He must have pictures. No one would bluff for that much.”
“I agree. I spoke to Mink last night. He said he could mirror your texts, but he needs access to your cell phone. He can do it remotely. Wants to install some kind of proprietary app he designed. I trust him. I talked to an officer at the NYPD, as well. He wants me to contact him next time you get a text. Okay?”
“I’m in. This just got too serious.”
18
Hawk woke to sunshine lasering into his eyelids and burning his retinas. He blinked and blocked the brightness with his hand. Who slept with the curtains—right. There were no curtains. He was in Becca’s bed, and she had a weird thing about light. She loved it. All the time.
It wasn’t right to be woken so rudely. But he probably shouldn’t complain. The comfy bed and soft sheets had given him an excellent night of sleep. If not the few orgasms.
Becca wandered into the bedroom, toweling off her freshly shampooed hair. A thick white towel wrapped her torso and her skin still wafted lemon-scented steam from the shower.
Hawk yawned and rubbed his eyes. “You know the wild child keeps you from shining as brightly as you can.”
She looked at his reflection in the mirror above the dresser where she sorted through the ephemera of pink, sparkly, and all things girlie. She opened a compact and inspected the contents. “I shine very bright. I think the wild child makes me even more so.”
“She’s not you, Becca.”
“Yeah?” She patted her cheek with pink powder. “Then who am I?”
“You are Rebecca Wylde.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled up his jeans. “Heiress, philanthropist, party girl, and superwoman.”
“Do I get a cape with that?” Her reflection winked at him.
“You hide behind the wild child. It keeps you from using that cape to fly.”
“Aren’t you the philosophical one this morning?”
“The wild child doesn’t have to feel. She doesn’t have to commit. She doesn’t have to love.”
“Who said anything about love?” She tossed the compact onto the dresser and shuffled about for another beauty accoutrement. “I don’t do love.”
“But you can. I saw you exude love yesterday at the food kitchen. That was you, Becca. You enjoy helping others and giving. It’s love to you.”
She tapped the air with a big pink brush. “I can agree with that. Volunteering at the soup kitchen makes me feel good. And I like to make others feel good by contributing to their charities. There’s nothing wrong with that. Is there?”
Hawk walked over to stand behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I know what it’s like growing up without parents.”
“So you’ve said. But I do still have my father.”
“Who is never around and shows his love with ridiculous gifts you don't want.”
She shrugged and looked aside.
“The wild child dances away the want and need.”
“Now you’re reaching, Hawk.”
“I love you, Becca.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his in the mirror.
Yeah, he’d done it. Gone there. Opened his heart. Let it out. Spoke his truth.
“You don’t have to love me back. I just wanted you to know.” He bent to kiss her cheek then lingered, inhaling the lemony scent of her wet hair. “It’s the first time I’ve told a woman that. And I know the feeling is real. I’m going to brew us some coffee.”
“Okay,” she murmured as he left her to think about what he’d said.
Walking away, and swiftly, was the only option, because he’d surprised himself with that confession. Love?
Yes, love.
The coffee in her mug was black as hell. Hawk knew her well. Becca settled onto the stool before the kitchen counter and watched him pour cream in his cup. Then a spoon of sugar. Stir. And then…wait for it. Oh yeah, just a touch more cream.
“I want to go to Ecuador someday and visit a coffee plantation,” she said over her brew. “I’d like to have them develop a special blend just for me.”
“Then you could market it.”
“Yes, but only if I was assured that the workers were paid a fair wage. And no child labor. It’s important to check that stuff out.”
“It is.”
And much easier to discuss hot drinks instead of letting her mind wander to his confession to loving her not minutes earlier in her bedroom. Many men had confessed as much, and after much less time spent getting to know her. After a one-night stand? Whatever, buddy. After a few years of friendship and then a surprise kiss at a nightclub? That’s not the kind of love she wanted.
And she did know what kind of love she wanted. A deep, respectful love that felt like, well…family. And safety. And passion.
Hawk gave her all of that. But she wasn’t sure what to do with it now that he’d laid it out there so boldly and blatantly.
He kissed her on the forehead and grabbed his coat and holster from the kitchen table. “Don’t think about it too much, princess.” He wandered toward the door. “I want to check in with Mink. You should check your phone. He should have installed the app by now. And you’ve your JUSTGIVE meeting this morning. I’ll be down in the lobby in forty-five minutes to escort you.”
“Great.” She watched his sexy strides toward the door. The jeans fit snug and hugged his tight ass. And swagger was the perfect word for that easy posture and swing of shoulder. The man was unaware of his appeal, she felt sure. “Thanks for the coffee!”
He blew her a kiss before closing the door and leaving her alone in the penthouse. A really quiet apartment. That felt chilly the moment Hawk left. And should he open the door and step back inside, Becca’s spine would straighten,
she’d smile, and feel right with the world once again.
“Am I falling in love?” she wondered to her blurry reflection in the jet-black coffee. “Nah. I’m just high on pheromones and good sex.”
Because even if she did think she was in love with Hawk, how could a girl like her ever be worthy of a man like him?
Sunder’s latest video was black and white and featured a dizzying strobe effect that gave Becca a headache. She’d come to the club to see and be seen while the band debuted the video, but now that she’d been snapped, flashed, and tweeted, she was ready to call it a night.
She spied Hawk at the end of the bar, nursing a cup of mint tea. Suddenly, the most exciting thing in the world was holing up at her penthouse in the man’s arms. As opposed to being seen and talked about.
And she was more than good with that.
Striding around the edge of the dance floor and avoiding the swing of dancers’ flailing arms, she felt her phone buzz against her hip and pulled it out of her lip-shaped purse. Another text. From her extortionist. He was ready to give her the drop-off location.
Becca swore. Hawk’s friend had indeed put an app on her phone, but it wasn’t something she’d been able to access. She knew it was there, though. Recording everything. Good.
She rushed over to Hawk’s side and showed him the message. He nodded, not speaking because of the loud music, and then took out his phone and texted Mink. She tilted her head onto his shoulder as they waited, watching the screen for a reply.
A flash from somewhere nearby barely roused interest in either of them. She didn’t care if photographers snapped a shot of her with her head on Hawk’s shoulder. And if he cared, well then, he wasn’t as invested in this relationship as a man who’d confessed love should be.
“Mink’s got a trace on the text,” he said. He put the phone to his ear and spoke to Mink, then he said to Becca, “He’s close. Message him back and tell him you’ll meet him.”
With shaky fingers, Becca texted Jackson. Well, they suspected it was him, but she still wasn’t positive. She wouldn’t know until she saw him. But her heart told her the truth. What a fool she had been.
“You okay?”
She lifted her head at the soft whisper right next to her ear and nodded. “I am with you by my side.”
“We’re going to have to rearrange our usual exit formation. You’re staying behind me when we walk out. Agreed?”
“Of course. Whatever you think is best.”
He led her to the back door without incident. For once Becca kept her head down and her smile absent. She didn’t want to start a conversation or catch a quick selfie this time. She just wanted this to be over.
Hawk pulled open the back door and the flash of cameras formed a constellation that burst like a supernova. Shutters clicked and photographers begged, commanded, and tempted.
He scanned the crowd from behind his dark sunglasses. Becca had told him she intended to pause a few minutes and pose before getting into the limo. She was wearing a new Amy Klein or Eve Laurence, or one of those designers that he would never remember correctly. And it would deflect her anxiety, which she desperately needed right now.
That was fine. But he wasn’t letting her walk out in front of him until he’d thoroughly assessed of the area. The photographers stood four people thick on both sides of the aisle leading to the limo. A red carpet had even been laid down here, behind the club. Swanky, but usual for things like the video debut.
The flashes and cameras clicked like some kind of semi-automatic weapon spitting out ammo. Hawk was glad he didn’t have PTSD. Not that kind, anyway. Casting his gaze beyond the crowd, he eyed down the sidewalk, and then looked down the street. Security had blocked off this back section so there were no gawkers or tourists. But who was that man standing across the way at the corner of the underground drive? He was tall, thin and—
It was him. Jackson. Why wasn’t he at the drop-off location he’d given Becca? Maybe the texter hadn’t been Jackson? It was a possibility. She hadn’t received confirmation from him regarding who he was. A camera hung around the man’s neck but his hands were in his pockets. Observing. Was he watching to ensure that she left for the drop-off?
Hawk glanced at Becca, who was posing with a hand on her hip. She looked stunning in the hot pink sheath dress that glittered with crystals. She was doing what she did best.
But he needed to do what he did best.
“In the car,” he instructed her. “No arguments, please,” he said so only she could hear.
She nodded, complying, which surprised him. But then it did not. She took this threat as seriously as she should. She thanked the photogs and waved as she ducked into the back of the limo. Hawk closed the door. He knew his next move would cause a sensation, but if he didn’t move now, the moment might never present itself again.
Slipping around behind the throng of photographers, he walked quickly, crossing the street. When Jackson saw him, he twisted at the waist and dashed down the alleyway between two brick buildings.
Hawk took chase.
Becca had seen Hawk rush across the street and her eyes had been drawn to his target. Was that Jackson? Why was he here? She hoped Hawk caught him. And then…
He can’t, she thought. What would he do to him? He was armed.
“Drive up the street slowly and pull over on the other side near where Hawk went,” she said to the driver. “Be cool about it.”
“Will do, Miss Wylde.” The limo crept forward. Thankfully, the crew of photogs was now snapping Justin Timberlake’s pic. “Right here?” the driver asked, slowing to a stop.
She opened the door and dashed out, even as he protested that Hawk wouldn’t want her running down the street by herself. She wasn’t alone. If she found Hawk she’d have him to protect her. And no one had seen her sneaky dash from the limo. She hoped.
It wasn’t easy running in Manolos, but she managed. As Becca passed a street-level vent that misted her ankles with cool steam, she thanked her all-night dance skills for her stability on five-inch stilettos.
She didn’t have to go far. The end of a brick building opened to a loading zone. Becca swung around the corner and saw Hawk holding his gun aimed at Jackson.
“Hawk, no!” She daren’t rush up on him. Jackson looked as if he were ready to pee his pants. Hands held up in surrender, he spied her, and she could see in his eyes that he wanted her sympathy. “Not this way.”
“He’s blackmailing you, Becca.”
“Becca?” Jackson blurted out. “Pretty intimate for a bodyguard, eh?” He clammed up when Hawk asserted his stance.
“Don’t kill him,” she said on a gasp, not sure if she believed that he was capable of such a thing or just that she was so scared. She’d never seen Hawk go so cold and predatory. And he did not relent his aim. “I’m calling the cops,” she said, taking out her cell phone from her pocket. She dialed 911. “Let them take care of it.”
“This man is threatening you,” Hawk insisted. “I won’t let him get away with it.”
Down the alleyway, she heard shouts. The paparazzi must have discovered her quick exit and the fact that her bodyguard had disappeared first.
“They’re coming,” she pleaded with Hawk. “You can’t let them see you like this. Us. Stand down, Hawk.”
Slowly, she watched his finger slide out from the trigger guard and, suddenly splaying his free hand up near the weapon, he followed by pointing the gun skyward and stepping back.
“Asshole,” Jackson muttered.
“You’re the asshole,” Becca said. The paparazzi were just around the corner. “We know it’s you!”
“There she is!”
A wave of photographers rolled around the corner with cameras poised and questions bulleting them. Hawk moved quickly, stepping before Becca and spreading out his arms protectively. “Nothing to see here, folks. Just a little detour on the way home.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Becca saw Jackson slip away. She wished that Hawk could ha
ve at least detained him and handed him over to the police. Sirens sounded in the distance.
“Get me out of here,” she whispered toward Hawk.
“What’s going on, Hawk?” one of the photogs asked as he started to walk forward, one arm stretched back and along her side as she followed him closely. “You two really are seeing one another! The bodyguard is dating the heiress!”
Rapid camera clicks assaulted Becca’s senses as she was aware of Hawk gripping her by the arm and using his other arm as a sort of battering ram to push their way through the throng and out to the street where the limo waited. She tripped and he caught her across the back with one arm, crushing her possessively against his chest for a moment that she wanted to freeze. Their eyes met. In them, she saw how much he loved her and needed to keep her safe.
And in that moment, she was sure that she loved him as well.
Every camera flashed, capturing a perfect picture of the handsome bodyguard holding the hapless heiress protectively to his chest. Like some kind of romance cover pose. It was telling.
And by morning, all of New York would be abuzz about the sensational affair.
19
Page Six featured the intimate shot of bodyguard Clinton Hawk holding his client, billionaire heiress Rebecca Wylde before a waiting limo. His arm wrapped around her back, he clutched her against his body, while her head rested on his shoulder, looking away from the paparazzi that vied to capture the private moment to pad their bank accounts.
Hawk tossed the paper to the coffee table and pushed his fingers over his scalp as he let out a sigh to empty out his soul. Becca stood over him. She’d handed him the tabloid without a word and held his cup of coffee, waiting for him to take it. As if they were just another celebrity couple who caffeinated in the mornings while they perused the media reports about them and chuckled nonchalantly as they dismissed it all.