by Michele Hauf
“Becca,” he muttered.
“Don’t say it, Hawk.” She sat next to him, then took his hand and clasped it. “Don’t go there.”
“But you just—”
“I showed it to you to let you see it so you could move on. Take your coffee.”
He did, but he wasn’t interested in the creamy brew.
“I think it’s a beautiful picture.”
He smirked. “If I recall correctly, the last time Page Six featured us together you yelled at me for being incompetent.”
“That was different.”
“What about allowing such a pose to be recorded last night was competent?”
“Hawk, you bastard, would you just let me have that moment for what it was and not try to spoil it? Look at this photo. Remember how I told you I never felt more alone when surrounded by the paparazzi? And then you grab me and pull me in so protectively.”
He shrugged, not understanding where she was going with this.
“Hawk, in that moment it was just you and me. No cameras. No shouts for me to smile or spill my wildest secrets. I felt safe in your arms.”
He’d never thought about it that way. It had been a moment. A weird one but a moment, all the same. Because while he had been focused on protecting Becca, when he had crushed her against him and dipped his head to sniff her lemon hair and feel the softness against his skin, they had been alone.
He set the coffee mug on the table and turned to take her hands in his. With the words ‘I’m sorry’ on his tongue, he cautioned his need to always make amends, to try and make things right with her. Because really? This strange new wrong was actually their right. Could he accept that?
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I’m thinking I’m not sorry for that moment. And whatever media frenzy that comes of it, we’ll have to handle it.”
She leaned in and touched her forehead to his. She blinked and smiled. “You’re changing, Hawk. What’s up with that?”
“And you’re not? You should have yelled at me for that photo. Does that mean we aren’t going to do the yelling anymore?”
“Don’t get carried away. I love fighting with you.”
He quirked a brow, her eyes still but a breath away from his.
“You’re the only one feisty enough to stand up to me. You think I like all the yes-men in my life? Yes, Miss Wylde. Right away, Miss Wylde. Whatever you say, Miss Wylde.”
“I want to fuck you, Miss Wylde.”
Her smile beamed.
Becca pulled on her robe. She had an appointment at three this afternoon. It wasn’t even noon. She’d get dressed in a bit.
Hawk lay on her bed, his head propped up by three pillows, stretched long and lean across the sheets, completely unabashed by his nakedness. His muscles pulsed with every movement. His abs were like the proverbial washboard. He had those awesome angled cuts that veed toward his groin. Man, did she love that section of a man’s anatomy. The muscle arrowed her attention toward another favorite part.
“Your dick is awesome,” she said without a hint of tease as she sat on the bed beside him.
He pumped his hips a couple of times. “I’ve noticed you do like it.”
She bent to kiss the crown of it, and it bobbed in response. Then she leaned across his chest and propped an elbow on the bed. She didn’t want to get distracted because there was something that bothered her.
“What is it?” he asked. “I know that look. It’s like you dropped one of your shopping bags, and you haven’t a clue what might have been in it. But at the same time you think whoever finds it will get the thrill of discovering it.”
“I do enjoy accidental charity once in a while.”
“I’m pretty sure you do it on purpose.”
She shrugged. Yeah, so, it was kind of fun to drop a bag of something she had purchased that she didn’t really need. And then to imagine a person finding it?
“Hawk, I have a serious question for you. About last night.”
He pushed up a bit with his elbows and gave her his full focus.
She spread a palm over his chest and tapped her fingers absently. “When I found you with your gun aimed at Jackson, you were going to pull the trigger, right?”
“I…” He exhaled. “Not to kill.”
“Hawk?”
“I don’t take lives without warrant, Becca. And I only did it a few times when I was in the service. As for that bastard last night, I just wanted to scare him.”
“Well, you did scare the shit out of him.”
“Yeah, but will it be enough to get him out of your hair? I don’t want this to escalate any more than it already has. I should have at least put a bullet in his shin.”
“Hawk, what is it with you and that gun? You always have it on. Even on Sundays, because I saw flashes of it under your coat the morning we stood in the soup kitchen. You don’t need it on your day off.”
“I was following you, so I did need it.”
“Hawk.”
He pushed his hands back over his head and blew out a breath. “You really want to do this now?”
She nodded.
“Hand me my pants.”
He pulled up his jeans, left them unbuttoned because his erection was slowly softening, then he leaned over her while she still sat on the bed, and started right in.
“I do need that gun, Becca. It goes back to when I was a kid, and I watched a robber shoot both my parents. As he lay there on the floor, dying, my dad’s hand was five inches from the safe that he had just opened. Inside was his gun. He was so close to protecting his family from a needless tragedy. And I witnessed it. I heard my mother’s gasps for breath, Becca. Her eyes—when she died, they were fixed on me.”
“Oh, Hawk.”
He caught her hand as she moved to caress his cheek. “I was sorted through foster homes after that. I escaped into the Army when I turned eighteen. It was the best-case scenario for me. I got some semblance of family, and I got to hold a gun and shoot it. At people.”
He took both her hands and held them on his lap. “I killed men while on duty in Iraq. I wanted to continue that after I was discharged. I tried to join the NYPD but the psychological test deemed me a loose cannon. So, they suggested I try security work.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Hawk. It must have been—I can’t imagine what it must have been like to witness such a thing when you were ten years old.”
“I was hiding behind the couch. The robber didn’t know I was there. He wore a mask. I wasn’t able to identify him. Becca, I just want revenge for my parents. And pulling the trigger…” He winced. “It does something for me. It’s like I was there, holding my dad’s gun before the robber was able to take those two shots.”
“I get that. But, Hawk, you said you’ve killed in the service. Wasn’t that enough? What constitutes revenge in your heart? You wouldn’t have shot Jackson just to feel vengeance again. Would you?”
“I don’t know.” He dropped her hands. “I don’t know what will make things better in my heart. I’ve been working my ass off, saving money because I want to buy a boat. I thought maybe I could do that for my father’s memory. But I don’t know if that will cure the need for revenge I can’t seem to shake.”
“What if I bought you a boat?”
He delivered her a cutting glare.
“Hawk, you know it would be like the average person laying down cash for a bicycle if I bought a boat. I can afford it. Let me do that for you.”
“Absolutely not. I thought you cared about me?”
“I do. I love you.”
He lifted his chin. “If you really do, you’ll apologize for offering the boat.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I want you to have it. Maybe it’ll be the thing to lift the revenge from your heart.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But you just implied—“
“I’m not your charity case.” He bent to grab his shirt and marched out of the bedroom.
&n
bsp; Becca raced after him, her silk robe frilling out in her wake. “Hawk, wait!”
The front door slammed, and she grabbed the knob and rushed down the hallway to overtake his long strides. She slammed her back against the stairway door, blocking his escape.
“No,” she said. “I love you, Hawk. And we’re going to discuss this and hash it out. Like it or not. We’re two alike. We can do this together. I don’t care what the tabloids say. It’s the truth. And I want you in my life. As more than the man who stands behind me. As the man who stands beside me.”
“Becca.” He bowed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. She felt his body begin to tremble as he leaned into her.
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him there in the hallway, the bridge between her world and his. And she didn’t intend to ever let him go. Even when he was haunted by what he’d witnessed as a child. He needed someone to hold him and get him through that darkness. She might never be able to erase the memory, but at the very least, she could be there for him.
“I love you,” she said with more surety than she’d ever known. “Let me love you.”
20
Hawk didn’t reply to Becca’s text. She wanted to know if he’d arranged the limo. Her meeting was in forty-five minutes, and the drive could take thirty in the rush-hour traffic.
Tapping the toe of her kitten heels, she checked the clock on her phone again. What was up? He never ignored her texts. Even if they were fighting. And they were not. She’d told him she loved him last night. After he’d exposed a dark part of himself. The poor guy was living with the terrible memory of his parents’ deaths.
And the revenge he’d sought by joining the Army and shooting at the enemy hadn’t seemed to quell that ache. She knew he could have never shot at Jackson. But yet, a part of him perhaps had.
The guy needed to talk to someone. Therapy, maybe. Some way to work out his angst and grief and anger. She wasn’t sure she could do that for him and would never step into a role a professional should assume. But she could do one thing for Clinton Hawk.
Be there for him.
She opened the door and headed down the hallway to the stairs. Once down on Hawk’s floor, she was startled at what she found. A pair of policemen were leading Hawk out of his apartment. In handcuffs.
“What’s going on?” She rushed after the trio as they led her bodyguard toward the elevator bay. “Hawk?”
“Jackson reported me for assault,” he said to her.
“But you didn’t touch him. He didn’t touch the guy,” she said to the officers.
“According to the evidence,” one of the officers said, “he did. The photographer’s face was bruised, and he had a couple of broken ribs.”
Becca gaped. Then she met Hawk’s gaze. The man nodded his head, confirming what she knew. He had not touched the man. Which could only mean Jackson was trying to frame Hawk. But why?
“Don’t leave your place,” Hawk said to her as the elevator doors opened. “He’s up to something. You should send police protection to Miss Wylde, here,” he said to the officers. “She could be in danger. Talk to Officer Brandt. I’ve been keeping him apprised of the situation.”
“Hawk!” The elevator doors closed, leaving Becca stunned and alone.
She swung a look down the hallway toward Hawk’s open door. She rushed over and pulled it closed, then scrambled to the stairway and made her way back to her apartment. Did he think Jackson might come after her? Had he gotten Hawk out of the way to do just that?
“But he’s blackmailing me,” she muttered, trying to work things out. He had no reason to step foot near her. And it would be best if he stayed far away, she decided, if he wanted to keep to the shadows. So far, they had no physical proof that he was threatening her, beyond the texts. Could she take her phone to the police station and show them? Would that prove Hawk’s innocence? Had Jackson gone and somehow gotten himself beaten up?
Or had Hawk gone after him in private?
“No.” He wouldn’t do that. The man only wanted to protect her. He wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.
Maybe.
How well did she really know the man who couldn’t exist without a gun holstered at his side?
Three hours later, Hawk raced down the alleyway behind Becca’s building. The woman walking ahead didn’t hear him coming, so when he got to her side and grabbed her by the arm, she screamed.
He clutched both her upper arms, and turned her around. “It’s me, Becca. What the hell? Where are you going?”
“You scared the crap out of me.” She swung a look over her shoulder and around them. No paparazzi had heard her scream and come to investigate. Yet. “How’d you get out of jail?”
“I made bail.”
“You—how? You don’t have any extra cash. Oh, my God, Hawk, no. You did not.”
He winced and dropped her arms. It had to be done. If he would have sat in jail one moment longer he’d never have gotten that phone call from Mink and have the information he had now.
“You used the money you’ve been saving for the boat?” she guessed. “No. You can’t do that. That was your dream.”
“I can save more. That’s not what’s important right now. What is, is that you are wearing some kind of disguise and slinking about—“
“I’m not slinking! I was walking.”
“Looked kind of slinky to me.” He lifted a brow at her pout. Princess Sweet and Sour could turn on the innocence when she wanted to. But he wasn’t falling for it. “That black wig never works,” he noted. She’d worn it a few times out to clubs but was always immediately recognized. “And the overcoat is really overdoing it.”
“Fine.” She tugged off the wig and handed it to him.
Hawk wasn’t sure what to do with the silky thing, so he opened her coat and shoved it into the big inner pocket at her hip. “Where were you headed, Madame Spy?”
“I was going to talk to Jackson.”
“I thought I told you to stay home and keep your head down? The last person I want you going near is that idiot.”
“That idiot managed to get you arrested, and I wasn’t going to let that stand. He can’t get away with that, Hawk. Not with blackmailing me, either. This has to end!”
“It has ended. Or it will today. I promise you.”
“You can’t make such a promise. I was reading online about using texts as admissible evidence and—“
If he didn’t stop her rant right now, they’d never get anywhere. Hawk pulled Becca in and kissed her. It was a punishing kiss that he enjoyed delivering. Rough, deep, and oh, but she tasted like the blackest of black coffee. He loved it. When he pulled back, she punched him in the chest. Not hard, but enough to make him wince.
“Why do you always think you can shut me up with a kiss?”
“It works, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but maybe I have something important to say. You can’t kiss me whenever you don’t want to listen to me.”
“Fair enough.” Hawk reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded brown envelope. When Becca made a grab for it, he flicked it away and out of her reach. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to say?”
She eyed the envelope. Shook her head.
“All right then. Let me tell you what just happened at the NYPD. I posted bail then immediately called Mink. His line was busy because he was calling me. We finally connected, and he had the motherlode.” Hawk waggled the evidence, but still didn’t lower it so Becca could reach it.
Now was probably not the moment for a tease, so he relented and dropped his hand, but still clutched the envelope.
“Mink managed to hack into Jackson’s phone and his home computer. He injected it with a virus.”
“Injected it?”
“That’s the term Mink used. I know. Tech heads, eh? But what that virus did was wipe Mink’s hard drive and his phone of all data. Including photos.”
“Really?” Becca’s eyes gleamed. But then she pouted. “He could have
printed them up.”
“I know that. That’s why I talked to Mink on speakerphone with officer Brandt listening in. A patrol was sent to Jackson’s apartment. He was arrested for suspicion of blackmail and false accusation of assault, and his place was searched. The guy lives pretty sparely. Didn’t take them long to tear the place apart.”
“Hawk, this is—did they find anything during the search?”
He handed Becca the envelope and she took it. They both knew what was inside. “I didn’t open it. It’s still sealed. Officer Brandt said he pulled it out of a dresser drawer while searching the apartment.”
The name Becca was written in tiny black ink on one side of the envelope. “This is evidence,” she said, shock lifting her gaze to his.
“If you want to charge Jackson, yes. If you want it all to quietly go away, then you can make that happen as well. It’s your choice now. Hand that envelope back over to the NYPD and let them charge Jackson, or burn it. Jackson will serve a few months for the false charge against me, and then he’s a free man.”
Becca tapped the envelope against her lower lip. “I have to think about this.”
He suspected as much. Himself? It wasn’t a choice he’d want to make. But it wasn’t his decision. If what was in the envelope was nude photos of Becca lying on Jackson’s bed while she slept, unaware he was snapping pics of her, then they would be submitted as evidence. No telling whether they’d eventually make it to the press or social media through some nefarious means or a dirty cop. It was her reputation on the line.
On the other hand, if she didn’t press charges against Jackson he would be free to harass her amongst the paparazzi hordes once again.
Tough decision.
“Didn’t you have a meeting this morning?” he asked suddenly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to escort you. If you missed something important…”
“It was just a silly breakfast with a stylist I’m considering for next month’s Met Gala. I can reschedule.” She tugged the black wig out of her coat pocket and replaced it with the folded envelope. Tossing the wig aside to the street, it landed against the brick wall. “Since you were proven innocent, shouldn’t your bail be refunded to you?”