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Chapter Seven
Betty
I washour dishes from lunch at the sink, bubbling over with happiness. Hawk is outside on a call—he’s been on the phone nearly constantly since he questioned me—but he never strays too far from the house. I can see him from the window now, and he looks strong. Angry.
Mine.
I laugh out loud, twirling in my little flare-skirted sun dress. It’s the one I bought for my daydream of meeting Hawk on the French Riviera. In that daydream, I was enjoying coffee—no, espresso!—while sitting at a bistro table out on the boardwalk, and he walks up all tall, dark and dangerous, a man fresh from a mission. But now he’s come to claim me as the prize for a job well done.
I smooth my hands down my dress, swaying a little on my feet. I’ve spent the last five years imagining what it would be like to be in Hawk’s arms, to have him make love to me, but the reality is so much more amazing than what I expected. He’s harder, tougher—but his eyes watch me with a desire that even I can see, and his hands can be so gentle and then so strong without warning, covering me, holding me…pleasuring me…
Heat curls deliciously through my body, making me feel damp and ready for him again, and I shake my head. Does he have any idea what he does to me, simply by walking in the room? Will I ever be able to have the same effect on him?
That thought stops me. How many times have I wondered that exact question, as I dreamed up new and exciting adventures for us? How many times have I tilted my head perfectly to the right, batted my eyes, softened my lips, imagining I was seducing Hawk Majors? Whether he was a hired killer, an ex-special-forces operative, an undercover agent, or an elite bodyguard come to protect me from bad guys, in my daydreams I am always the one who sweeps him away, in the end…ideally right before we embark on some fabulous adventure in a far-off city.
Could I do that now? Or would he shut me down flat, like he did with the discussion of us traveling to Bali?
I look at the sparkling clean dishes, then dart my glance out the window. Hawk’s still on the phone, but he’ll have to come inside sometime, right? And then I’ll be here. Waiting for him. Ready to seduce him…somehow.
But how could I…?
And then I have it. With a giddy laugh, I race upstairs and into the second bedroom, where all my bags are in various states of unpacking. I dive through all the evidence of the very healthy fantasy life I have with one Hawk Majors, until I find the outfit I want. I can’t believe I even own it, and I’ve never worn it outside my own bedroom before. But for what I have in mind, it’s perfect.
I barely make it downstairs in time when I hear Hawk come through the front door, and then he’s at the kitchen door just as I strike the pose I’ve perfected over the past five years. “Betty, I—”
He blinks, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped to a low, hungry growl. “What in the fuck are you wearing?”
“Why, Mr. Majors! Bless my heart, you came,” I gush breathlessly in my best Southern accent, which isn’t very good at all. I shimmy my breasts and reach out my hands, grinning as he stares at me. “I simply can’t figure out how to conduct myself during the Mardi Gras parade. You’ll have to help me.”
“You’re going to a parade in that?” Hawk rumbles, and I look down at my costume. I’m dressed in a tight miniskirt that’s held together at one side with a row of easy-release clasps, four-inch-high heels, and a dozen strands of beads that are piled around my neck. I’m wearing nothing else, and I’ve carefully draped the beads so my painted nipples peek through them.
“Why, of course!” I beam at him. “It’s Mardi Gras, the wildest night of the year. I couldn’t go by myself, but now you’re here. I have to decide what I’ll demand of all those charmin’ young men in order to give up my beads to them.” I lift one of the strands with the largest beads, bringing it to my mouth. Just as in my imagination, Hawk’s gaze follows it as I dart out my tongue and slurp the bead into my mouth, worrying it with my teeth.
His hands flex into fists. “You’re not going anywhere in that outfit.”
My heart soars—this is exactly how I imagined it! I let the strand of beads drop and smile at him, widening my eyes. “Why, Mr. Majors, I’m one of the star attractions of the parade! It’s my solemn duty to give away all my beads…unless you’re willing to do whatever I ask of you for them? I don’t know, though.” I lift my hands to my own breasts, jutting them out through the necklaces. My nipples are glistening from the carefully applied body paint, and Hawk stares at them, transfixed. “It’s an awful lot of beads for one man to earn.”
“Betty,” Hawk growls, taking a step toward me. His voice is low and intense, and his eyes are flashing hot. Whatever it was he started to say when he entered the room, he’s completely forgotten. Now his attention is focused solely on me.
I don’t back up, but it’s only because I’m already leaning against the kitchen counter, bracing myself for his assault. I shiver as he steps closer, feeling once again like I’m being hunted by the sexiest of predators. When Hawk’s less than two feet away, he reaches out and picks up one strand of beads, grazing their smooth surfaces against my sensitized nipple, sliding them over the tip. “What is that stuff you have on you?” he rumbles.
“Edible—oh!” He doesn’t wait for more explanation, but leans forward and takes my breast in his mouth, sucking hard. The hand that’s not gripping the beads hauls me forward, and suddenly I’m pressed against his body, his cock grinding into me through my miniskirt. Hawk laves every last drop of edible paint from my breast, sucking and licking, and then takes my nipple in his teeth, rolling it around exactly the same way I did with the Mardi Gras bead. Need spasms between my legs, a rush of damp heat that makes me groan, and he finally releases my breast with a noisy pop.
He lifts his gaze to me. “So, does that get me one strand of beads?” he asks.
It takes me a second to catch my breath, then I nod. “One,” I gasp, and dip my head as he pulls it over my hair, then drapes it on the chair behind him.
He grins at me, wolfishly, but his gaze is tender, too. “This how you imagined it, honeybee?”
“It’s so much better,” I admit, still breathless. “I just—I just thought you’d kiss me to get the beads or maybe…um, what are you doing?”
Hawk’s hand has dropped to my stretchy skirt, and he hooks his fingers into the clasps that are keeping it together at the side.
“Seems to me if it’s Mardi Gras, you should be dressing the part completely,” he murmurs. “I’m happy to help you with that.”
Then one by one, he pops each of the clasps free on my skirt, until it falls to the floor, and I’m naked before him, wearing nothing but beads and high heels.
He stands back from me, grinning down. “Now this is what I call a party.”
