Page 5 of Hawk

A thick toffee-colored braid draped over her shoulder, drawing my eyes to voluptuous tits that had my cock turning hard.

Her features had a natural softness, but something sharp was behind her gaze. A spark. Confidence and warmth wrapped in curves that made my blood go hot.

What the fuck?

I swallowed hard and flipped to the next page. There were copies of the stolen images. I studied them with an almost clinical eye. They were tastefully done—soft lighting, silhouettes, implied nudity. I looked for commonalities among them, a possible clue as to why these particular photos were chosen.

Then I reached the last one, and I felt like someone had clocked me in the solar plexus.

It was her.

Holy fucking shit.

Her head was thrown back, facing away from the camera. But I didn’t need her face to be visible to recognize that body.

My cock hardened instantly, my libido reacting like it had been waiting for this exact moment to come alive again.

I hadn’t felt this in years. Not a flicker of interest. Not even a twitch. The guys assumed it was because I hadn’t gotten over my ex, but they couldn’t be more wrong. I’d realized years ago that she wasn’t meant for me.

I’d been young and dumb back when we got engaged. Hell, it hadn’t even been my idea. Our moms had basically planned the whole thing. If we hadn’t had the longest engagement in the history of my hometown, I probably would’ve been miserably married to her now.

My years-long dry spell wasn’t me pining for her. I just hadn’t been drawn enough to a woman to put any effort in. But Gemma made my mouth water and my cock throb painfully.

My hands curled into fists as I stared at the photo. She was draped across a vintage couch wrapped in a loose white silk robe that barely clung to her shoulders. The tie was cinched just enough to draw attention to her narrow waist and wide, round hips. One leg was bent, and the robe parted just enough to show miles of smooth skin all the way to the edge of her lace panties.

Holy hell.

Her tits strained against a matching bra, the robe slipping down just enough to expose more creamy skin. The cups of the lingerie were so low I could almost see the dark area around her nipples.

I flipped back to the first page and looked at the face that I knew, without a doubt, belonged to the body in that last picture.

And I lost my fucking mind.

“Who’s seen this?” I snarled.

Midnight blinked once, calm as ever. “Just Deviant and me,” he said, referring to our resident tech genius. “Though I doubt Deviant really looked at them when he pulled the portfolio together.”

“It better fucking stay that way.” My tone was low and dangerous. A warning.

I already wanted to crack his head open and scrub the image from his mind. The thought of anyone else seeing Gemma like that caused my possessive feelings to turn murderous. When I found the son of a bitch who’d stolen that photo, he was gonna wish he’d never been born.

Midnight’s expression tightened, and his voice was low and steady when he said, “I’m going to let you explain that before I fire your ass.”

I didn’t want to fill him in. At that moment, neither Midnight nor Deviant knew there were photos of Gemma in the file, and I wasn’t happy with the idea of pointing it out. But Midnight didn’t make idle threats.

“The last photo. It’s the photographer.” My jaw clenched hard as I forced myself to admit I was feeling territorial over a woman I’d never even fucking met. “I don’t want anyone else seeing her like that.”

Midnight’s brows lifted, and something flickered in his eyes. “Maybe you’re not?—”

“Mine,” I growled before I could stop myself.

Silence fell between us. I realized I was on my feet, knuckles white around the folder.

Finally, I cleared my throat and tried to level out my voice so I appeared calmer than I felt. “I’m taking this job.”

He studied me for a long beat. Something was working behind his dark eyes, and I prepared myself to face his wrath if he tried to hand Gemma over to someone else. It wasn’t gonna happen.

I had no idea why I was so determined to keep this case. Or why the fuck my body was on fire over a fucking picture. It made me feel like my mind and body weren’t my own. And that pissed me off. I was never,neverout of control.

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