Steele Resolve: A Hawke Family Story

by Gwyn McNamee

  He glances up with a grin. “Yeah, Steele, right?”

  Thank God Derek and I have never let our history get in the way of us being friends and being able to discuss shit like this. It can be so awkward with someone you’ve been intimate with, but we’ve remained close even though things fizzled out sexually between us.

  At the time I told Derek about my night with Steele, I had no idea who he was or what a clusterfuck it would create.

  I sigh and wait for him to look back up at me again. “Well, that’s just it. He wasn’t who he said he was.”

  His light eyebrows dip down low, and his eyes narrow on me. “What do you mean?”

  I run my hand through my damp hair, then lean forward so no one else in the locker room can hear me. “It was Luca Abello.”

  He recoils. “Holy shit, man, as in the Dom Abello Abellos?”

  I nod and shift on the hard bench. “Yeah, his son.”

  “I didn’t even know he had one.”

  “I knew he existed—vaguely. But he left New Orleans like twenty years ago, and no one has seen or heard from him since, so I had no reason to think about it or suspect anything.”

  There’s no way anyone could have anticipated his reappearance, especially like that.

  Derek nods and reaches for his gym bag in the locker behind him. “How did you find out?”

  I give a mirthless laugh. “After he got done stalking Storm, he came into the club for a meeting with the Hawkes and saw me there.”

  He jerks back to face me. “Do you think it was intentional? Like a setup? Did he know who you were when he approached you that night?”

  Isn’t that the ultimate question?

  It’s certainly the one that’s been rattling around in my head since he set foot in the club and I realized what a horrible mistake I had made.

  I shrug and reach down to untie my laces. “I don’t know. I can’t help but think so. But I honestly don’t remember what, if anything, he asked me about them or what information he may have tried to glean.”

  Derek pulls off his dirty shirt and tosses it into his bag. “What are you gonna do? Have you told the Hawkes?”

  The man sitting across from me knows what the Hawkes mean to me. They’re the closest thing I have to family anymore. He knows what they did for me, how they took me into their fold and treated me like one of their own from day one and put their trust in me. Derek knows everything. So, he understands what this means—for them and for me.

  I could lose them forever.

  I pull on a clean shirt and shake my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t told them. I just found out a couple days ago. I have no idea what to do.” So much has happened since the last time I saw Derek at our last game. “Things have been all over the place there. The same day he had the meeting, Storm’s house was burned down by this psycho chick.”

  His eyes widen. “Damn. That family sure goes through a lot of shit, don’t they?”

  There’s a fucking understatement if I’ve ever heard one.

  The Hawkes have suffered more than any one family should ever have to.

  I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, they kinda do.”

  “But you’re gonna tell them, right?” He pulls on a clean shirt and raises an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.

  Tell them what?

  About the way he kissed me. About the way he touched me. About the way he fucked me…

  My chest tightens at the same time my skin heats and my heart races with the memories.

  “I have to.” I just need to figure out how.

  3

  This might’ve been a bad idea. Actually, bad isn’t even the right word. Horrific. But now that I’m standing outside Steele’s hotel room door, turning around and going home without confronting him doesn’t seem like an option.

  I need to know if what happened between us was a setup. If it was all some sinister plan to get information he could use on the Hawkes. Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it to me.

  It felt real.

  Real attraction.

  Real sex.

  But he may just be a really fucking good actor. Or I may just have been so desperate that I wasn’t paying attention to the signs that should’ve told me something was very wrong with the situation.

  Either way, it’s my fault for not seeing through the act.

  My heart thunders against my ribs as I raise my hand and rap on the door. It opens almost immediately, and Steele—no, Luca—leans against the door with a sly grin on his face in perfectly tailored black slacks and a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone.

  “I was wondering how long you were going to stand out here, debating whether to knock or not.”

  Fucker.

  Of course, he knew I was here. Just one more situation where he has all the facts and I have zero.

  I scowl at him. “We need to talk.”

  He nods slowly, and his onyx eyes trail up and down my body, undressing me just the way his hands once did. “We do. Come in.” He motions backward into the room and holds open the door.

  I brush past him, my shoulder making contact with his chest. That same jolt of electricity zips through me that did the night we met. His room is unchanged except the liquor bottles are a lot emptier than they were when I was here last.

  He nods toward them. “You want a drink?”

  I could probably use one, but maybe I shouldn’t. It’s essential to keep my wits about me when in the same room with this man. His scent permeates the air, and my cock hardens at the memory of being enfolded in him. Adding liquor to the mix would only make things worse.

  Shit.

  I scrub my hands over my face as he pours something into two glasses and turns back to me. He hands one to me and holds up his glass to clink it.

  He can’t be serious.

  He raises a dark eyebrow. “Now, are you going to be rude?”

  I scowl and clink my glass against his before I take a swig of the mystery booze, against my better judgment. The deep, smoky flavor of burnt peat hits my palate.

  Jesus, he really does have good taste in alcohol.

  I look over his shoulder at the bar and spot the 25-year Laphroaig. He just poured me a hundred dollar shot like it was nothing.

  Christ, this guy has more money than sense.

  “So, what is it you want to discuss, Byron.”

  “I think you know, Steele, or should I call you Luca?”

  He grins and drops into the seat across from me. “You can call me whatever you want. They’re both my name.”

  “How is Steele your name?”

  One corner of his mouth tips up as he stares into his drink. “I’ve never told anyone this story, and people have been asking for years, but for you…”

  I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks, I feel so special.”

  He chuckles. “Right after we moved from New Orleans to New Jersey, I got into a fight on the playground. The other boy kicked me in the nuts, and I barely flinched.”

  I cringe and reach down to adjust my balls just thinking about it. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

  A shot like that would have most men—or young boys even—doubled-over on the ground and possibly vomiting.

  He shrugs and takes a sip. “I don’t know. His foot landed slightly off to the side. It hurt, but it wasn’t as excruciating or overwhelming as everybody makes it out to be. I guess I was just lucky. Anyway, someone said I had balls of steel, and it kind of stuck. I added an e to the end of it because I thought it was cooler and would look more like a name that way when I was a kid.”

  I laugh and drop my head back. “Well, you definitely have balls of steel. The way you waltzed into town pretending to be somebody else then showed up at the club like that.”

  “I wasn’t pretending to be somebody else.”

  Sure. Right.

  And I’m a fucking virgin.

  “Was it a setup?” I return my gaze to his because the only way to even hope of getting a read on Luca Abello i
s to be eye to eye with the man. “Did you know who I was when you walked into that bar?”

  He takes a sip of his drink, but his eyes remain locked with mine over the rim of the glass. “What do you think?”

  I would love to believe that what happened between us was genuine. Even if both of us only intended for it to be one night, I still don’t want to think he only did it to gain information. I also don’t want to admit to him how much it hurts to think that it was a setup. “Honestly, I don’t know. All I do know is, I don’t trust you.”

  “Who does these days?” He says it so casually, I almost feel sorry for him.

  This is a man without friends. A man who likely doesn’t have anyone he can truly trust in this world. I can’t imagine what that would be like at this age. Mom and Dad may have deserted me when I came out, but I’ll always have the Hawkes and everyone at the club who have become more of a family to me than my blood ever was.

  In Luca’s business, he doesn’t have the benefit of being able to trust people the way I can.

  I take a sip of Scotch and let the warm burn down my throat distract me from watching the way his muscles bunch and flex under his crisp shirt every time he moves his arm to take a sip or to shift his position.

  Christ, I am in so much trouble with this guy.

  Reason doesn’t exist in the same world as Luca Abello.

  He sighs and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Byron.”

  “I want you to tell me the truth. Is that really asking too much?”

  It’s asking more than he could possibly know. When I heard something outside the door and looked out the peephole, my heart began racing. I held my breath, waiting for him to knock.

  I wanted him here, more than I care to admit. More than I care to examine now with him sitting here in front of me.

  Those types of internal explorations only lead to disastrous truths.

  I’m not one to respond physically to someone the way I do this man. Thudding heart, sweaty palms, cock half-hard the moment I saw Byron in the hallway.

  It’s a completely unexpected reaction. A dangerous one. For both of us.

  He was a fling. A one-night stand.

  The same thing I’ve done dozens of times with dozens of men over the last decade. Yet, the desire to see him again and the reaction when he actually showed up have me questioning my sanity.

  I must be insane to even be considering this.

  There’s no room in my life for a relationship. There’s no place for feelings or needing someone. It’s not an option. Yet here I am, feelings things. Needing things. For him. From him.

  Telling him about the Steele name and what I’m about to confess now are more than I’ve opened up to anyone in two decades. It’s something I’ve never ever considered before—sharing my deepest, darkest truths and desires. Exposing myself so completely to another human being. It’s contradictory to everything I’ve ever seen or been told to do.

  Abellos cut themselves off. Build walls around themselves to prevent any potential weaknesses from penetrating. My crew in Jersey was the same. It’s a way of life I long-ago accepted as an unfortunate truth. And being gay only made it more essential.

  Yet, here I am, about to open my fucking mouth again because I don’t want Byron to agonize over this.

  I take another drink and lean back in the chair to watch him. He deserves the truth, whether I want to accept that or not. He’s suffering, and the truth may put him at ease, at least a tiny bit.

  “I had no idea who you were when I walked into that bar. I had been following Storm to make sure she was okay and to try to get a feel for how the Hawkes might react to my return, but I hadn’t come into the club or seen you. At least, not up close. It was completely random that we happened to end up in the same bar, and I’m being one-hundred percent honest about that.”

  He narrows his eyes and studies me. The corner of his mouth droops slightly into a frown. I want to kiss that scowl right off his lips. Remove that distress and replace it with gasps and cries of pleasure. But he wouldn’t accept that from me right now. The downturn of his lips says everything.

  He doesn’t believe me, and why should he? I’m the son of a mobster. I’m a mobster myself. I can’t be trusted. I shouldn’t be trusted. Even I wouldn’t trust me if the positions were reversed.

  The man who has occupied my fantasies for the last several weeks rakes a hand through his dark hair. He takes another sip of his drink and then sets it on the small table to his left. “When did you realize who I was?”

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips. “I think it was when I was just about to stick my dick into you.”

  Byron growls, and I fight the pull of another smile. Seeing him rattled is a fucking aphrodisiac that seeps into my veins.

  “You mentioned you needed to work the next day, and I asked you where. You said The Hawkeye Club.”

  Those words almost gave me pause that night.

  Almost.

  I was too far gone and too damn determined to get inside Byron to stop just because of the complication it would create.

  He freezes at my reference to what we did—no doubt having the same memories race through his head that have been haunting me since that night—and covers his face with his hands. “Do you have any idea the kind of position you put me in?”

  The laughter bubbles up uncontrolled, and I tilt my head to the side, picturing everything we did together. “Shit. I’m pretty sure I had you in half a dozen positions.”

  Maybe more…

  Byron snarls at me and shoves up to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. His jaw tics, and his nostrils flare. “You think this is funny? Those people are my family. My friends. And you’re their goddamn enemy. This is not a fucking joke. My life is not a joke.”

  I set down my drink and hold up my hands as I rise. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. I don’t think you’re a joke. I don’t think this is a joke. I just couldn’t help picturing how you looked that night.”

  How damn good you looked and tasted and felt…

  Just as good as he looks right now. So fucking hot in his anger and frustration. It fuels his passion—passion I’d rather have focused on me in a totally different way.

  I close the distance between us quickly and take his face in my hand before he can move away. He tries to pull back, but I hold him in place, forcing him to look me in the eye. “You’ve been thinking about it, too. Don’t lie to me and say you haven’t.” I press my lips to his, not giving him any room for question about what I want.

  Him. This. Now.

  He stiffens for a second as he no doubt contemplates giving into his baser needs over what his head might be telling him. The internal struggle only takes a second before he sags against me and wraps his arms around my waist to drag me against him fully and return the kiss.

  His hardening cock presses against me, and mine twitches. He may not want to admit he needs this, but his body and lips don’t lie.

  Fuck yes.

  4

  I want to tell Luca no. I want to tell him to get his hands and mouth off me. I want to tell him this is wrong and we can’t. I want to tell him I hate him because I should. I want to tell him all those things.

  But I don’t.

  Because I can’t.

  I’m fucking putty in this man’s hands. The heady scent that’s all Luca—a mix of leather and Scotch—engulfs me. I return the kiss with the same fervent need he has. He presses his body against me—all hard and lean and desperate. My cock strains between us, and one of his hands slinks down and cups my crotch. He squeezes harshly and growls against my lips.

  “This. This is what I want.” His words aren’t a request. They’re a demand.

  And I’m not going to tell him no. This is what I want, too. No matter how much I tried to deny it. No matter how much I’ve fought it since I found out who he was.

  When it comes right down to the heart of
it, he is what I want. I haven’t needed anyone or anything as much in my entire life as I need this man right now. Even as I thought about him since learning the truth, there was something else mixed with the anger. Something far more powerful that’s now overflowing between us. Unadulterated desire.

  Everything else can wait. Everything else can be ignored.

  My frantic hands tug at the buttons of his shirt. They finally cooperate, and I shove the crisp material off his shoulders, exposing his chiseled, tanned chest and arms. He releases his hold on me long enough to let his shirt fall to the floor. Then his hands slide my jacket off and pull at the hem of my T-shirt, and he tugs it up and over my head. His lips meet mine again, hungry for the same thing.

  I unbutton my jeans and jerk the zipper down as he unbuckles his belt. Every movement of his hands has me craving his touch. This is happening at breakneck speed, but it feels more like slow-motion, like the world has frozen around us.

  He wraps his arms around me and walks me backward until my knees hit the bed. I tumble onto the mattress, and he comes with me and presses his hard body against mine.

  The weight of him on top of me heats my skin as memories of our night together come roaring back. He growls in my ear and nips along my neck and collarbone.

  Stop. Stop.

  It’s what I should be saying, but I don’t.

  I can’t.

  Not when his tongue flicks across my nipple, and then he sucks it into his mouth.

  “Oh, fuck.” The words tumble from my lips in a gasp.

  Yes. Yes. Yes. Who ever thought making bad decisions could feel so fucking good?

  His hands work to shove my pants to my knees, letting my cock spring free while he continues his sensuous assault on my pecs. A large, rough hand wraps around the base of my dick.

  Sweet fuck.

  I almost come on the spot. I bite my cheek, groan, and shift my hips up into his grip. He moans against my flesh and strokes my shaft with a tight hand. His thumb brushes across the head, spreading the bead of pre-cum over it.

  “Jesus fuck.”

  He hums in response and continues to torture my nipples when all I want is his hot mouth wrapped around the place his hand now controls.