Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1) (9 page)

That’s precisely why my heart is currently in the pit of my stomach and I can’t seem to stop my hands from shaking as I prepare dinner and clean up my condo before she arrives.

You’re an idiot for not telling her. You know she couldn’t have known without you telling her and still, you said NOTHING.

I stop stirring the sauce on the stove and drop my face into my hands for the thousandth time since I met her. Not telling her the moment we met, or at the very least at dinner, was probably the most gigantic mistake I could ever make.

Waiting to tell her is like waiting for a nuclear bomb to go off. When she finds out, there’s a strong chance she will storm out of here just like she did my office that fateful day.

“Fuck!” I run my hands back through my hair and curse myself again and again for being such a selfish, fucking idiot.

When my mother and sisters were harassing me endlessly about the reason for my mental state this week, I somehow managed to avoid revealing anything about Danika to them. It’s not that I have anything to hide, there’s just no reason to get their hopes up that I might have some sort of a relationship with her.

That would truly be a miracle once she knows, and I’m not sure I believe in those.

Eventually, after my repeated refusal to discuss what was going on, my family was, thankfully, more than happy to turn their attentions to Stone, which is how it should have been in the first place, considering he was the one graduating.

As the baby of the family, Stone has always managed to get away with just about everything and coast through life by the skin of his teeth. Despite being my only brother, he and I have always been the least close of any of the siblings. I would blame it on the age gap, but frankly, Stone and I are just two completely different people.

He’s a genius—an honest to God, MENSA member, genius—yet he always manages to make the stupidest fucking decisions. The fact he was able to graduate law school, let alone college, is something I would never have believed possible. His complete inability to control his own behavior or make adult choices has me worrying about him even now, but he has a great job lined up at a prestigious firm, so I guess I can hope he finally came to his senses and is using his God-given gifts in a productive manner. I guess only time will tell.

Spending time with him always makes it so much more evident what missing out on having our father around really did to him. He was only five when Dad died and, despite my best efforts to step into the role of father-figure, I could just never do enough. He chose to look to other, less savory, individuals for role-models, which certainly did nothing to help him develop a good pattern of behavior.

Stone is exhausting, even more so than Skye. Fuck, my entire family is exhausting. After the long week with them and then a late night flight, I’m worn out, physically and emotionally. Maybe seeing Danika tonight was a bad idea; maybe I should reschedule.

You’re just trying to put it off.

Shit.

It’s been a whole week since my dinner with her, but, even after as much time as we’ve spent texting and talking on the phone each night, it feels like an eternity has passed since I last saw her.

Not that I haven’t
seen
her…

The graphic pictures and videos we’ve exchanged almost every night have only heightened my desire for her. It’s the thought of potentially seeing the real thing tonight, however remote that possibility, that’s preventing me from calling her to cancel.

Unsurprisingly, my cock is winning out in this internal struggle even as my head is screaming that things are about to go up in flames.

I look at Princess, my Yorkie, lying in her bed near the couch. She tilts her head and examines me before slumping back down. Apparently, my absence wasn’t felt too strongly. She got to spend the week with Gabe, who is probably her favorite person in the world, so I’m sure she didn’t give a rat’s ass where I was.

She did her usual jumping and bouncing last night when I got home, but this morning, she was back to her usual semi-interested mode, preferring to sleep and be completely aloof. I was never much of a dog person. My parents always refused to let us have one growing up because they said none of us were responsible enough to take care of it and they would end up doing it. Probably a valid point, but now that I have one, I can’t imagine living in this place without her.

Being alone as much as I am is probably not very healthy, and it only adds to the anxiety I feel about having Danika here, in my space.

I thought getting back to my normal routine today might help, but my trip to the gym and my usual Saturday morning basketball game did nothing to ease the tension or apprehension about Danika’s arrival tonight. All it did was physically exhaust me. After a quick trip to the grocery store, I came home and started all the prep for tonight’s dinner.

If it even gets that far.

Cooking usually relaxes me, probably because I spent so much time doing it with my mom growing up, but not today. Today, I found myself forgetting what ingredients I already put into things and had to taste them a hundred times to make sure they were right.

Even now, with everything ready in the kitchen, my body is quivering with tension.

Calm down!

Taking a deep breath, I look around my place, making sure nothing is out of order. Everything looks perfect, but because of my need to be exceedingly organized, it rarely does to me. The book on the far left of the shelf next to the fireplace is sticking out a half inch farther than the rest of them in that row and I quickly shove it back in line. If I truly took the time to look, I’m sure I’d find a thousand little things like that to correct, but I need to change and prepare for Danika’s arrival.

I need to make the best impression possible the moment she sees me, just in case she leaves in ten seconds flat like I’m anticipating.

Princess follows me down the hall to my bedroom and I close the door behind me. I told Danika to let herself in when she gets here and I don’t need her accidentally wandering down the hall and into my inner sanctum without me ready for it.

I’m just sliding on my shirt when I hear the doorbell. Princess scampers away from her bed and is stuck at the bedroom door, jumping and barking wildly.

“Shh, knock it off, Princess.”

She rang the bell despite my instructions.

Maybe she’s just as nervous as I am?

Doubtful. A woman like that doesn’t get nervous. I may keep her on her toes and embarrass her a bit, but nervous? Not Danika.

Now me, on the other hand, I’m practically shaking trying to button my shirt. The front door slams shut. I thank God for the extra minute to try to get my shit together before seeing her and watching everything I’ve accomplished with her in the last week vanish in a millisecond.

I check myself one final time in the closet mirror before heading to the bedroom door.

No matter what happens, just stay calm. You can’t control her reaction and trying to will only make things worse.

I scoop Princess up and turn her tiny face to meet mine. “You be nice to Danika.” She licks my face and I drop a kiss on her nose before returning her to the floor.

At least I’ll always have her.

The second I open the door, Princess takes off, sprinting down the hall at full speed to see our visitor, her nails clicking on the hardwood floors.

I follow her slowly, hoping to delay the inevitable despite my desire to see Danika. That scene from
The Green Mile
where John Coffey is walking down the hallway on his way to the electric chair flashes through my head.

This will probably be a death sentence for our budding relationship, but I just need to nut up and do it.

I hear her moving around in the living room, her heels making that damn clicking sound just like they did that day in my office. My throat is dry and I struggle to take a deep breath.

It’s out of my hands now.

Jesus, this is going to be harder than I thought.

I stand in the middle of his living room, in total awe of the sleek, modern design of the condo, or should I say, penthouse—thirty stories up in one of the most sought-after buildings in the city. I wonder how he managed to snag this place.

I guess the pussy business is very lucrative.

It’s absolutely stunning, and it’s clear that either he, or his decorator, has exquisite taste. A long, low, sleek, black leather couch sits directly in front of me, with two matching chairs all facing a low, stained black wood coffee table. A large fireplace dominates the wall, with enormous slate tiles reaching all the way up to the cathedral ceilings. The built-in bookshelves on either side are filled with books, not the usual chachkies.

He’s a minimalist, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. I hate to admit I’m jealous but compared to my tiny, second-floor studio apartment, this place is a Taj Mahal. He probably has an enormous king-sized bed with silk sheets while I’m on my queen with Egyptian cotton every night. The floors alone in this place probably cost twenty thousand dollars.

No one gets into journalism for the money, but seeing this place really makes me question my choice in profession. Not seriously, I love what I do too much to do anything else, but there’s that tiny voice in the back of my head telling me I could have done a thousand other things that made better money. Right now, my entire paycheck goes to my designer shoe fetish and to the essentials, like a roof over my head and food.

When I picture my closet, the
Sex in the City
episode where Carrie adds up the cost of her shoe closet only to determine she had forty thousand dollars’ worth hits a little too close to home.

I look down at my feet. My Sergio Rossi pumps look freaking fantastic but guilt creeps up my bare legs thinking about the half-paycheck that went to buy them. If Savage has a shoe fetish, it will all be worth it. Wrapping my legs around his waist and digging these heels into his back while he fucks me would certainly justify the thousand dollar price tag.

Cool it. You can’t jump on his cock the second he appears. That would look desperate. Maintain some dignity.

Glancing around the room, I’m drawn to the large windows occupying the entire left wall. I wander over to them and find a large patio with chaise lounges and a magnificent view of the Mississippi. The smell in the penthouse is mouthwatering—garlicy and sweet. I hope the wine I brought goes with whatever he made. The bottle in my hand has me picturing sitting out there with Savage and enjoying the warm evening air after dinner and a few glasses, and then partaking in other activities in full public view.

Naked skin against the night air is such a fucking turn on. The way it cools the sweat-slicked body…

I shudder and press my free hand against the glass to stabilize myself on my suddenly wobbly legs.

Damn. This isn’t helping.

Not that anything would. This past week has been seven days of foreplay and one giant clit tease. Who would have thought phone sex could be so fucking hot? I’ve always needed the real thing—skin-scratching, sweaty, hot, raunchy sex. But watching Savage touch himself on video? Holy shit…there are just no words.

Big, strong hands wrapped around hard flesh. It’s hotter than anything I could have imagined or found in any porn. I haven’t come that many times solo since…well…never.

And I need to do something about this because I can’t go on at work with my mind somewhere else—mainly on Savage’s dick. Somehow, I’ve managed to get my articles done, but I’ve gotten nowhere on my investigation into Mayor Dunne and his sketchy dealings. Paul has cold feet and no matter what I say, I haven’t been able to convince him to get me what I need on Abello.

Anyone else would have given up on this story a year ago, but not me. Sometimes my stubbornness hurts more than it helps. I just hope this won’t be one of those times. My skin crawls just thinking about Abello. That man is depraved. There’s just no other word for it. The sheer number of bodies desiccating out in the bayous—bodies that can be attributed to him—is staggering. The only reason he isn’t in prison for the rest of his life is the loyalty of his subjects—a loyalty that is making this investigation damn near impossible.