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I sit up with a panicked start, my eyes looking around the dark room and locking on curtains that look nothing like mine. The bed is far bigger than mine and much comfier.
“Where am I?” I whisper, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I look around for my phone. I see it on the nightstand and lean over to grab it to check the time. I cry out when I realize it’s half past eight, but my heart calms down a bit when I recall it’s Saturday, and I don’t have to go to classes or work. Even so, I can’t believe I slept this long. My pulse picks up again as I remember that I’m not at home.
I push back the covers and slide off the bed as I fight to remember what happened last night. I remember Sara taking me to an underground fighting club and then running into the bouncer from the bar.
Hawk!
Heat rises up my neck as the events of last night slowly filter into my sleepy head, and I fall back into the bed with a groan, burying my face in a pillow that smells oddly comforting.
Christ, did I seriously follow Hawk into his home, and then his bedroom, and call him Daddy as he . . . Oh, God!
This is insane.
I must’ve been out of my mind to do all the things I did last night. Hell, the man smacked my ass and tried to provoke me into attacking him, and what did I do? Melt into a puddle like a pathetic fool.
“You’re up,” a deep voice calls from the door, and I sit up, hair flying everywhere, so I have to push it back to see. My jaw drops to the floor when my eyes lock on the man dressed in gray sweatpants. Shit, sweatpants like that should be banned, if only to save pathetic fools like me from repeating mistakes.
Just staring at that perfect chest and the six-pack that dips into a vee is enough to tell me why I followed this man home and into his bedroom, where I proceeded to call him Daddy.
“Morning,” I whisper, clearing my throat and trying to hide my cheeks, which no doubt look like the ripest tomatoes.
“Did you sleep well?” Hawk asks, his eyes dropping to my body, and for a second, I think I am naked but breathe out a sigh when I realize he was gracious enough to dress me in a t-shirt before bed. “Kirsten?”
“Yeah? Oh, I slept well, better than I have in a while. Dandy. Just superb.”
Kill. Me. Now.
A smirk forms on his lips, but he doesn’t outright laugh at me. “Great, how about you get cleaned up, and we can have breakfast before talking about our next . . . lesson.”
“Right,” I whisper, slapping my heated cheeks.
“You’ll find a new toothbrush on the bathroom sink. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod but don’t breathe until the door closes softly behind him, giving me the much-needed space for a mental breakdown. The realization that I am well and truly fucked only settles in when I walk to the bathroom to find my neck littered with hickeys.
Good luck hiding those!
I ignore the little voice at the back of my head mocking me as I get cleaned up, and when I am done, I rummage through Hawk’s closet for a clean t-shirt. I figure the guy won’t mind if I borrow a shirt after everything that’s happened between us.
I find Hawk in the kitchen, and I can’t help but wonder if the man has something against shirts. His muscular back is a thing of beauty, but it’s not until I’m standing behind him that I notice the scars underneath the tattoos. I lift my hand and trace a finger over his back, sucking in a sharp breath when his muscles move under my fingers.
“What happened to your back?”
“Job Hazard.”
“It looks a little extreme,” I whisper, trailing a finger over the scar that runs over his shoulder blades and down his back. “I didn’t think they allowed knives, even in fight clubs.”
“They don’t,” he hums, focused on the bread he’s toasting. “Someone didn’t like that they lost to me, so they decided to sneak up on me after the fight when I had my guard down. I foolishly got drunk and made myself vulnerable. The man still ended up with the same knife stuck in his chest, so you could say we both lost.”
My hand pauses as he speaks the words like they’re nothing. I may not be a doctor, but I can even tell from the scar that the wound could have been fatal.
“I’m sorry,” I say for a lack of better words.
“Don’t be,” he says, turning around to look at me, and I am sucked into those dark stormy eyes. “I was young and proud. He is the only one that managed to hurt me this way in all of my thirty-four years. I haven’t let my guard down since that night.”
“Is that why you only drink one glass of whiskey at the bar?”
He smirks, grabbing my waist and pushing me back against the kitchen counter. “Have you been watching me?”
