Page 19 of Savage Guardian

And there was that sexy as fuck blush.

Placing the book front cover down beside her fork, she coughed and replied, “It is a good book, and the pie is delicious. I was just taking my time enjoying it. Usually, I’d just shovel it in, but I figured that a pie this good deserved to be savored.”

“You’re right, it does, but now I’m curious about what you were reading.”

Startled, her blush deepening, Fae moved to grab the book, probably to shove it in her giant tote bag, but Hawk got to it first, using his height to reach over her and snatch it.

“Wait—”

Flipping it over, Hawk stared at the naked chest of a muscular, tattooed man straddling a Harley.

Laughter burst from his chest.

“What is this shit?”

Before she could answer, he dropped into the booth seat across from her, grinning at her flustered state. Her lips were pursed, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were narrowed at him. She looked fucking adorable. Like a pissed little pixie.

“You can give it back now,” she drawled, lifting her chin in defiance. “And I read MC romances because they’re entertaining.”

“So the shirtless man on the cover does nothing for you?”

She grumbled something he couldn’t hear, picked up her fork, and shoved the last bit of pie into her mouth, wordlessly refusing to answer. She chewed angrily, probably picturing a very sensitive part of him grinding between her teeth.

He chuckled, leaning in to make her look at him. He lifted the book in silent offer and waited for her to meet his gaze.

“Come on,mo ghràdh, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I was just teasing. Though I do wonder how long you’ve had a thing for bikers.”

Huffing, she yoinked the book from his hand and stashed it in her bag, glaring at him the whole time.

“For your information,diog, I read all types of books. I just happened to have this in my suitcase when we got here. Despite what you may think about yourself in your cocky arrogance, you arenotthe reason I’m reading an MC romance.”

Snickering at her calling him a “dick”, he leaned back, noticing the flames of fight dancing in her warm hazel eyes. Damn. Feisty Fae was even better than Flustered Fae. One made him smile, but the other made him hard—and only one of those was acceptable.

Remembering what the fuck was up and down, Hawk figured it was time to change the subject.

“So, how is it that you know Gaelic?” he asked, leaning back to relax into the booth seat. Well, as relaxed as he could be with her sitting so close, and fuck if he knew why her closeness was bothering him. It was like an itch beneath the surface of his skin; the need to reach out and gently curl her wayward lock of strawberry hair behind her ear, to brush his fingertips along the silky softness of her cheek and jaw, to glide the roughness of his thumb over the plump velvet of her lips.

Fuuuuck.

What the hell was wrong with him? This wasFae. This sister and assistant to his client. The chick who seemed cool to hang with, but hedidn’twant to fuck. Of course, he didn’t want tofuckher. She looked nothing like the women he banged. Women like Carrie, Amelia, and all the other club bitches. This was Fae. Plain, frumpy, comfortable Fae.

What did it matter that she had ripe, perfect tits, begging for his large hands to cup and knead? What did it matter that her ass was shaped like a juicy peach and bounced when she walked? What did it matter that her body was curvy, soft, and made for hard fucking?

His cock jerked, hardening as images of Fae, naked, flushed in delicious pink all over, lying in his bed, filled his mind. She looked like she belonged there, her strawberry locks draped over his pillows, her thighs wide open, her rosy, swollen, creamy pussy just there, weeping for him, begging for his tongue to come and taste.

For the Hawk to swoop in and devour.

A full-body groan nearly escaped his lips, but he held it back.

No! He didn’t want Fae. It was her sister, his Aoibheal, that made him eager for his shift each day. It was Carrie who’s…uh…. Fuck. What was it about Carrie…?

Yeah, she was statuesque, had an impressive pair of tits, and a face made for a show on the Strip, but….

What do you mean ‘but’? What more is there? She’s Aoibheal, the one you’ve been ravenous about for the last twenty-one months! And she’s a fucking knock out. What more do you need?

His gaze landed on the woman across from him on the other side of the booth, and that same question rippled through his mind.

What was it aboutFaethat drew him in? No…she wasn’t a knockout like her sister. He didn’twanther—he couldn’t. He’d spent too long wondering what it would be like to finally have his Aoibheal in his life, in his arms, in his bed, for him to squander that chance on the sister.

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