Page 9 of Savage Guardian

Slapping her key card against the reader, she waited for the light to flash green, then pressed down the latch, pushing the soundless door open.

Sighing at the thought of bare feet and gooey cheese—not together, of course, Fae stopped dead even as the door behind her slowly hissed closed.

Fae blinked, held her breath, then blinked again, unsure of what her eyes were telling her.

Her sister was there, but she wasn’t alone. She was standing before a man that could only be described as blond bad boy sexy man mountain heaven.

Taller than her measly five-foot-six by several inches, with broad shoulders and thick biceps barely encased in a well-tailored navy suit coat. His stark white dress shirt hugged his ridged pecs and pulled taut over a narrow waist that no doubt was as tight and well-defined as his chest.

Holy shit, his was massive everywhere…but that wasn’t the best part.

Beard.

The man’s beard wasn’t long, but it had some length—at least enough to grab and hold on to in a silent demand for a kiss. His jaw was brushed with dark blonde hairs that highlighted its strength and ruggedness. High cheekbones, a straight nose with an understated point, and thick eyebrows over eyes she would kill to know the color of.

She’d have to get closer, though.

He was smiling at something Carrie said, though Fae had gone deaf at the sight of the man. The man with lips that were crudely beautiful—a full bottom lip beneath a thinner upper lip crowned by perfectly trimmed dark golden hair. Rugged. Edgy. She wouldn’t consider him a GQ model gorgeous, but the man still exuded masculine power, danger, and sexual mastery from every pore.

The sexy man mountain reached out a large, long-fingered hand to her sister, the bit of forearm revealed beneath the sleeve of his suit coat flexing with the movement.

And it wasn’t just the veiny yumminess that made her mouth water. Tattoos. Striking. Colorful. Sexy as hell. Lickable.

Yeah. Arm porn.

“…pleasure to meet you,mo ghràdh,” the man said, his voice a rumble of decadence and rolling thunder.

She gasped silently at the words, spoken in a language as familiar to her as her own name.

Aoibheal’s language.

Her body vibrating, her heart pounding, her chest tightening with unseen bands of anxious anticipation, she opened her mouth and spoke.

Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, Hawk stood at the door to room 607. His hands shaking, his pulse pounding, his thoughts twisting and writhing and screaming! She was so close. The woman he’d been obsessing over for almost two years was just right on the other side of the door.

Right there.

So close.

All he had to do was knock and he would finally see her. Meet her.

He could finally put a face to the name…to the voice that had haunted him and aroused him in equal measure.

“Fuck,” he spat, moaning. What the hell was wrong with him? If his brothers could see him standing there, acting like a pussy, they’d laugh his ass out of the club.

Closing his eyes, he took another breath—this one steadier—lifted his hand and knocked.

He couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door, so when the click of the automatic lock disengaging as the lever was pressed made his heart jump into his throat.

Hawk didn’t waste a moment meeting the gaze of the woman in the doorway.

After twenty-one months, his ravenous eyes finally knew what his heart had always known.

She was beautiful.

“Carrie?” That was the name on the paperwork Grimm had emailed him the night before. The file listed most everything there was to know about Carrie James, also known as Aoibheal. His Aoibheal. She was born and raised in Olsen, Ohio, only daughter of Jane and Winston James. Her father died when she was ten years old, and her mother remarried to Sean McCabe three years later. Currently, she was twenty-six, had worked several retail jobs up until three months ago, and was still living at home with her parents. And she had a stepsister. The file was thick with detailed information on everything from what she did at her jobs, what car she drove, the type of candy she ordered from Amazon, and even who she dated last—that information had made his blood boil at the thought of any man having what Hawk wanted for himself. But what the file hadn’t had was a picture. Apparently, she was very strict about showing her face before her debut concert in two weeks.

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you,mo ghràdh,” he murmured, his voice smooth and deep.

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