Darkness Bound

7

Hawk felt a sudden rush of pity for this sweet, overworked waitress, past her prime and ignored by the men here because of it. She was lovely in her own way, maternal and a little old-fashioned, not flashy and brittle-hard like most of the women in the bar. If he didn’t have a job to do, he’d take her to bed and give her something to remember.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a stack of bills. Her eyes widened as he pressed it into her hand.

“No, please, that’s too much—”

“It’s not even a drop in the ocean of what you’re worth, beautiful, but it’s all the cash I have on me.” He stood, leaned in, and brushed his lips across her cheek. Cupping the back of her neck in one hand, he said into her ear, “You’re sexy as hell, and don’t ever let any jerk tell you otherwise.” He pulled back and stared down into her wide eyes. Her mouth fell open. He said, “Do you understand me?”

Speechless, she nodded. “Say it.”

She said faintly, “I understand.”

His brows lifted. Face flaming, she added, “Sir.”

He nodded, said, “Good girl,” and left her standing in shock at the bar, a wad of cash in one hand, the other braced for support on the stool he’d just deserted.

Jack watched him approach with equal parts dread and fascination.

She’d never seen anyone so primal. So magnetic. Like some elemental force, his presence dimmed everything around him as if he drew all the life and color from the room and absorbed it, appearing more vivid, more real and substantial in contrast. He wasn’t pretty, over-groomed and polished like so many of the men she knew in New York who had massages and mani-pedis and three-hundred-dollar haircuts. He was masculine in the best sense of the word, rugged and beautiful in his raw, unapologetic maleness.

This stranger named Hawk was, simply, devastating.

Unfortunately, he knew it.

He made his way through the crowded, smoky bar, seemingly oblivious to the craned necks, stares, and whispers that followed in his wake. He moved like wind over water, with a grace and lightness that was startling in one so large, and gave the impression he might at any moment shirk the bounds of gravity altogether and float above the floor. Even the men were affected by him, puffing out their chests and raising their chins, posing and strutting like peacocks, trying to compete.

As if a single one could. The instant she thought it, their eyes met. Another of his slow, lazy smiles lit his face.

To her horror, a flood of heat and moisture throbbed between her legs.

The urge to run away became almost overwhelming, but she steeled herself against it, because there was no way she was going to allow him—or her own traitorous body—to intimidate her.

He slid into the booth, taking a seat across from her, and stretched his long legs out and crossed them at the ankle, resting them on her side. This effectively blocked her exit. They stared at one another for a long moment in silence, sizing each other up.

As the band shifted into another song, Jack asked without an ounce of warmth, “You following me?”

Hawk’s lazy smile deepened. “I was here first, remember? Maybe you’re following me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”

He leaned across the table, clasped his big hands together on the scarred wood tabletop, stared deep into her eyes, and murmured, “Tell that to your wet panties.”

Jack had never wanted to hit someone so much in her entire life. The urge was violent and total, and she had to curl her hands into fists in her lap to keep them from clawing his eyes out.

Because he was right. Goddammit, he was right.

Blood rushed to her face. She sat there, counting to ten, staring back at him in silence while a storm of withering heat exploded inside her body. Somehow she knew he sensed it. His gaze dropped to the pulse fluttering wildly in her neck, and when he looked back into her eyes, his own were hot and dark.

Danger! her mind screamed.

Oh, hell, YES! was her body’s awful reply.

The surly waiter arrived with her food.

“Veggie burger, no cheese.” He removed the plate on the table and replaced it with the one in his hand, then stalked away again, exuding contempt.

Feeling as if she’d just been flattened by a truck, Jack sagged against the unyielding booth, taking comfort in its rigidity. She wished her self-control would take note and follow suit.

Staring at her plate, she started another count of ten.

Hawk leaned back, mercifully releasing her from his s*x-appeal tractor beam.

“Problem with your food?” he asked, his tone solicitous.

This was a much safer course of conversation, but she still avoided his gaze, afraid of what he might find in her eyes. “Not anymore.”

There was a pause as he waited for more, silently watching her as she picked up the burger and began to eat.

“Are you always this charming, or am I just getting special treatment because I saved your life and you’re too much of a feminist to admit it?”

Jack swallowed. The food slid down her throat in a solid lump. “Try not to break your arm patting yourself on the back about that, Ace. Wasn’t the first time I’ve dodged a few bullets. Won’t be the last.”

She felt him looking her over, felt his gaze on her face, her hair, her hands, a gaze so heavy it was almost touch. A rush of adrenaline made her heart pound. She marveled that she’d been in mortal danger in countless war zones all over the world, yet just sitting there in a booth with this man, not even speaking or looking at him, she felt a thrill unlike anything she’d ever known.