“Last two nights proved that wrong, Hawk, Ginger’s unpredictable and you know it.”
“Right, but any of that shit goes down, it gets communicated through me, not Gwen.”
“She gets desperate,” Lawson started, “and by the way, Ginger Kidd passed desperate about a week ago, she’s gonna make extreme choices. Gwendolyn is in that line of fire. You and your boys are good, Hawk, but you can’t cover her twenty-four, seven and keep your other shit in line.”
“Let me worry about that,” Hawk returned.
“She needs to know what to do,” Lawson replied.
“Yeah, and I’ll tell her,” Hawk shot back.
Another macho man, death match stare down ensued but luckily before it could advance to hand-to-hand combat, Lawson broke the stare down and looked at me.
“You have my card,” he said and I nodded because I did have his card, I just didn’t know what happened to it. He nodded back and finished, “I’ll let myself out.”
Then he leaned into me, right in front of Hawk, bent and kissed the hinge of my jaw, his lips causing goose bumps to rise on my skin.
Oh boy.
He lifted his head, looked in my eyes and whispered, “Stay safe, you need anything, even if it’s just to talk, call me.”
I nodded.
His gaze sliced through Hawk then he walked out of the kitchen and into the living room.
I watched while practicing deep breathing. Then, slowly, I turned to Hawk to see he hadn’t moved. He was still standing there with his hands to his hips, the Nordstrom’s bag hanging from his fingers, his eyes on me with a look in them that could only be described as un… hap… pee.
Uh-oh.
Chapter Twelve
The Us You Wanted Us to Be
I stared at Hawk and Hawk stared at me. When his unhappy look didn’t shift, I decided to speak.
“Hey,” I said.
He kept staring at me. Then he moved to the table lifting the Nordstrom’s bag and pulling out a familiar box with the words “Jimmy Choo” on the top. It wasn’t familiar because I owned a box like that, just that I’d seen them the multiple times I’d tried on a pair of Jimmy Choos. He dumped the bag on the table and then put the box on the table. Then he sent it sliding down the table toward me.
As it was shoes, and Jimmy Choo shoes, reflexively I moved fast, my hand carrying my clutch darting out to catch it before something tragic happened, like a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes falling to the floor.
With my hand resting on the box, I looked at Hawk, my heart beating fast.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He dipped his head to the box and growled, “Open it.”
Hmm. Still unhappy.
I dropped my clutch and wrap to the table, picked up the box and opened it.
Then my heart seized.
In it was a pair of silver, watersnake, platform sandals – slim slingback strap, peep toe, four and a half inch spiked heel. Elegant. Gorgeous. Scary expensive.
The shoes Tracy had been hiding in the shoe storeroom at Nordstrom’s for me for the last six weeks. Shoes I wanted so badly I could taste it. Shoes I told myself I would save to afford. Shoes I was never going to buy because I could never afford them, even with Tracy’s discount.
But my mission was to own a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes before I died. Some women had career goals. Some women wanted to be good mothers. Some women wanted to do their bit to save the world. My life goal was owning really beautiful, really expensive shoes.
My eyes lifted to Hawk.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“Those the shoes you wanted?” Hawk asked.
I blinked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You got ‘em.”
It took some effort but I succeeded in not hyperventilating.
“You bought them for me?” I asked as it hit me. Security system. Panic buttons. Window repair. Shoes that cost over seven hundred dollars.
What was going on?
“You wanted them,” he answered like it was as simple as that.
I felt my head get light. “How? Why?”
“Babe, you gonna put them on or what?”
“How? Why?” I repeated.
He sighed. “Your friend said you had them on hold. I know where your friend works. I sent my girl to find them. She found your girl, your girl got ‘em off hold, I bought ‘em, now they’re here.”
He stopped speaking so I prompted, “That’s the how, what’s the why?”
“Gwen, you wanted them.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“That’s it,” he confirmed.
“I also want my own personal tropical island paradise,” I told him. “Are you going to get that for me too?”
The unhappy look shifted from his face and his mouth twitched. “That might take awhile.”
I stared at him and my belly felt squishy, my heart felt like it had grown a couple sizes and was threatening to burst out of my chest and something tingly was happening in my throat.
Then I forced out, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything,” he returned. “Just put on the fuckin’ shoes so we can go eat. I’m hungry.”
“Okay,” I whispered, pulled out a chair, sat, unstrapped my strappy, black sandals and slid on my new, silver, watersnake, kickass Jimmy Choo platforms.
Just like when I tried them on at Nordstrom’s. Utter perfection.
I sat with one calf outstretched, staring at my foot and thinking I might have just found heaven on earth, shoe-style, when Hawk spoke.
“You gonna sit there and stare at those shoes for the next decade or you gonna get your ass in my car?”
My head tipped back and my feet were encased in Jimmy Choo shoes so Hawk being annoying deflected right off me.
“I’m going to stare at them for a decade,” I replied, smiling at him.
His eyes got that heated and intense look, my heart swelled even further and he said, “Babe, quit fuckin’ around and let’s go.”
I was still smiling when I stood, grabbed my purse and clutch off the table and walked to him on my new Jimmy Choos while Hawk watched.
Then I stopped close to him, put the hand that was clutching my wrap to his chest and I leaned in.
“Thanks, Hawk,” I whispered because I didn’t know what else to say. Those words were far from enough but I had to say something. And not because he bought me a beautiful pair of shoes that I wanted but because he heard Tracy mention it in passing and he sent his girl out to get them for me. And because I had a break-in and in two days my window was fixed and I had a security system installed. And he was sticking around to protect me and, because he was, likely due to his, Dad’s and Dog’s efforts, the fire that started in my parents’ living room didn’t engulf the house and my laptop had been saved.
And since “thanks” wasn’t enough, I leaned in, lifted up and touched my mouth to his.
The second I did this, his head slanted and his arms closed around me, tight, yanking me deep into his body as his tongue invaded my mouth and my touch of lips turned into a full-blown, super-hot, leading-to-sex-on-my-battered-farm-table kiss.
My clutch and wrap had fallen to the floor because both my arms were around his neck, my body was plastered to his, one of his arms was tight around my back, the other hand had slid in my dress and down and was cupping the cheek of my ass, skin to skin (I was wearing a thong, which was a smart move on my part not only to avoid panty lines but because his warm, strong hand cupping my ass felt freaking great) when I heard my father clear his throat.
My body jerked, Hawk’s head came up and turned to the door as his hand slid out of my dress and up to the small of my back but his arms didn’t move even as my hands went to his shoulders and I pressed.
Slowly, my head turned and I saw my Dad walk in, a small smile playing at his lips, his eyes to the floor.
Oh my God. My father just saw me in a clinch with Hawk. A clinch that included Ha
wk’s hand in my dress cupping my ass.
Kill me. Someone. Kill me.
“Meredith forgot the bottle opener,” Dad mumbled as he walked to the utensils drawer.
“We might be late,” Hawk replied, still not letting me go, “or not home at all.”
Oh my God.
My eyes flew to his face and got squinty but he missed this because he was looking over my shoulder at Dad.
“Right,” Dad muttered, turning back to the door as Hawk let me go then stepped back and bent to retrieve my bag and wrap. “Have a good time,” Dad called as he walked out of the kitchen.
“Later, Dad,” I called back, my voice sounding strangled.
Then Hawk’s hands were on me, he turned me so my back was to him and I felt my wrap settle on my shoulders.
Then he turned me to face him and handed me my clutch.
“Did that just happen?” I whispered.
“Yep,” Hawk replied, grabbed my hand and tugged me to the door.
“My Dad just saw us making out with your hand on my ass,” I added detail, just to confirm.
Hawk opened the door and pulled me through, repeating, “Yep.”
“Well, at least I got my Jimmy Choos before I died. Now you can take me to the nearest railway crossing and I’ll throw myself in front of a train.”
Hawk kept his hand firm in mine as he led me down the steps of the back stoop and toward the gate of my backyard and he did this while chuckling.
“I’m not finding this funny,” I told him as he lifted the latch on the gate, pulled it open and tugged me through.
“Babe, you’ve been married, he knows you aren’t a virgin.”
“Uh… yeah but –”
“And he knows what type of guy I am because he’s the same type of guy so he pretty much knows I’m not gonna have a hot piece like his daughter and not kiss her with my hand on her ass, not to mention do other things to her.”
“You can quit talking now,” I told him.
He beeped the locks on the Camaro, opened the door and ignored me. “You think he waited until he put his band on her finger to get your stepmom in his bed, babe, you’re very wrong.”
He shoved me in the car while I put my hands over my ears and chanted, “La la la,” over and over again.
Even though I was chanting, I could still hear him chuckling.
Hawk slammed the door and I buckled in thinking, time to move on.
Hawk got in beside me, fired up the Camaro and we purred from the curb.
Nice.
Hawk drove and he did this silently and he did this for awhile so I filled the conversational void.
“The security system is done.”
“I know.”
“Smoke taught us how to use it,” I went on.
Silence, then, “Smoke?”
“Your Numero Dos.”
“My Numero Dos?”
I turned to look at him. “Yeah. The Hispanic guy that supervised the work.”
Another beat of silence then Hawk burst out laughing.
“What’s funny?” I asked into his laughter.
“Smoke,” he said through his laughter.
“Uh… yeah. Smoke. That’s how he introduced himself.”
He stopped laughing but was still grinning when he stated, “Babe, he was fuckin’ with you. His name isn’t Smoke. It’s Jorge.”
I stared at him. Then I said, “He’s not known as Smoke?”
“Nope.”
“That’s not, like, his street name or something?”
A brief chuckle then, “No.”
“Why would he tell me his name was Smoke?” I asked.
“Because he’s like that and because you’d believe him and because you believed him, he probably found that hilarious.”
I crossed my arms on my chest. “Well, you have another guy named Fang. You’re called Hawk. Why wouldn’t I believe a name like Smoke?”
“Fang is definitely a Fang and Hawk is who I am.”
Fang was, unfortunately for him, definitely a Fang.
“No,” I stated, turning my head to look at him again, “you’re Cabe Delgado.”
“I used to be Cabe Delgado, Gwen, but shit happens in life and that man is still in me but now I’m not that man.”
Interesting.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“You still addin’ to your list of pros and cons?” he asked back.
“Yes,” I replied.
“The pros win out, Sweet Pea, and uncertainty becomes certainty, then I’ll tell you what that means.”
Now I wanted to know what that meant.
I decided my best bet for the moment was to pass on that.
So I looked back out the windscreen and changed the subject. “You have a girl?”
Something weird and tense filled the car and it was coming from Hawk when he asked back, “I have a girl?”
“The girl who got me my shoes,” I explained, freakishly scared to look at him due to the strange tenseness.
Then the tenseness evaporated, poof! like it was never there when he answered easily, “Yeah, I have a girl.”
Um… weird!
I hesitantly pressed forward. “What kind of girl?”
Hawk unhesitantly shared, “A secretary, receptionist kind of girl.”
Interesting.
“What’s her name?”
“Elvira.”
I turned to look at him again. “Elvira?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she mistress of the darkness?”
“She gets in a bad mood, definitely.”
Hmm.
“Does she have bad moods often?” I asked.
“She works with thirteen guys who naturally produce high levels of testosterone and feed on extreme situations, which means she has to have attitude and a woman with attitude comes with bad moods so, yeah, she has bad moods often.”
There was a lot there so I broke it down.
“You have thirteen guys?”
“Yep.”
“Like, you employ thirteen guys?”
“Thirteen guys and a girl, yeah.”
Hmm.
“And these guys produce high levels of testosterone and feed on extreme situations?” I went on.
“Yep.”
Oh boy.
“What kind of extreme situations?” I asked but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
His hand came out and wrapped around my thigh before he said in a gentle voice, “Babe, trust me, with my work, ignorance is bliss, yeah?”
Oh boy. I was right. I didn’t want to know.
Time to switch subjects.
I looked back out the windscreen. “So, attitude comes with bad moods?”
“Definitely.”
“You think I have attitude.”
“Definitely.”
“Are you saying I have bad moods?”
His hand at my thigh gave me a squeeze as he said an amused, “Babe.”
Hmm!
He went on, “Though, discovered today I can alleviate Elvira’s bad mood by sending her to Nordstrom’s to buy a pair of shoes that cost as much as a used car and I can make you kiss me for the first time by givin’ ‘em to you.”
I turned to look at him. “I’ve kissed you.”
“No, you’ve kissed me back. I kiss you.”
This was true.
“Plan on more shoes in the future, Sweet Pea,” he muttered and my belly got squishy again, my heart swelled again and that tingly feeling in my throat came back.
Therefore, I announced, “This is freaking me out.”
He glanced at me then looked back at the road. “What?”
“You, being sweet. Generous and sweet. Generous, forthcoming about your life… ish, and sweet. It’s freaking me out.”
“Why?” he asked.
“This isn’t us,” I answered.
“This is the us you wanted us to be, Gwen,” he returned.
“I’m not sure about that,” I lied.
Oh shit. We were back on this.
“I told you I was making stuff up,” I lied again. “Meredith is romantic. She fainted when she met Dad because she knew he was the man of her dreams, with one look, she knew. She loves me. She wants that for me, she always has so I gave it to her.”
His hand left my thigh so he could shift as he stated quietly, “Gwen, baby, you meant every word you said.”
“Did not,” I returned.
He stopped the car and I saw we were parked outside Tamayo on Larimer Square in lower downtown Denver, otherwise known as LoDo. Tamayo had brilliant Mexican food. Tamayo had unusual, delicious cocktails and guacamole that proved there was a God. Tamayo had a gorgeous mural behind the bar and a sun terrace. Tamayo was awesome.
My eyes went to him as I felt Hawk turn to me.
“Don’t,” he ordered softly.
“Don’t what?” I asked.
His hand lifted, fingers curling around the back of my neck and he pulled me to him. “Don’t pollute what came out of your mouth last night.”
Suddenly I realized this was important to him, not a little, a lot and not a lot but a whole lot and I didn’t know what to do with that but something about it scared the freaking shit out of me.
“Hawk –” I whispered and his hand slid from my neck to my jaw but his thumb moved up to press against my lips.
“Don’t,” he repeated.
“Okay,” I whispered against his thumb.
He dropped his hand and unbuckled my belt then he folded out of the car. He was at my door before I could rest one Jimmy Choo clad foot to the pavement. He took my hand, pulled me out of the car, kept hold of my hand and Hawk, me and my Jimmy Choos walked into Tamayo.
Chapter Thirteen
Totally Missed Out
I woke up and heard Hawk’s murmur from what seemed like far away.
He was on the phone.
I opened my eyes.
I was in Hawk’s bed.
I tucked my hands under my cheek and closed my eyes and the night before came sliding into my brain.
All of it. And there was lots.
First up, Tamayo had cocktails called Tamayopolitans. Pineapple infused tequila, cranberry and guava. Delicious. Refreshing. Dangerous.
Mystery Man Page 14