Page 96 of Restless Hawke
I swallow thickly, then reach forward and take his drink, my fingers brushing over his, the contact lighting my whole body with that same fire I’ve been trying to forget. His eyes follow my hand as I drag it across the table toward me and then raise it to my lips and take a long sip from it.
The spicy, warm bourbon washes over my palate, and I swallow and raise a brow at him. “Bourbon?”
That same heat I just felt burns across his eyes like fire on water. “I’ve suddenly developed a taste for it.”
My pussy clenches at the memory of him pouring it on me and licking it off. The sweet burn and slow glide of his greedy tongue seeking out every last drop.
Fuck.
I press my thighs together, thankful the table conceals the move from the man who can so easily turn my body molten with a few words and a look.
“Where’d you go, Allegra? Because you don’t seem to have anything that you care about. No ethics or morals. No people in your life. My sources say you popped up at a few boarding schools in the States and Europe, but then you’ve kind of been living as a nomad, occasionally going back to your place in New York, but mostly moving from hotel to hotel. I assume chasing games.”
He watches me and waits for a response that I don’t offer.
There isn’t much Icansay.
“That about sums it up, doesn’t it?” His jaw hardens, his hands tensing on the table. “Are you even capable of caring about anyone else, Allegra? Is that the problem?”
The accusation raises my hackles. “Don’t pretend you care about me, Coen.”
He jerks forward so fast that I recoil slightly. That flame burning through his eyes has become a raging inferno that looks ready to consume anything in its path.
“You think I don’t care about you?”
The need to defend myself against the pain in his voice gets the better of me. “I think you want revenge for what I did to you…and it would be warranted?—”
“Goddamn it, Allegra.” He releases an annoyed sigh, spreading his palms flat on the table. “Of course, I do.Did.But if you think that hasn’t changed...”
He sits back with a huff, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
His eyes hold a wildness and slightly unhinged look that make him apppear downright feral.
I have never seen him this worked up before—at least, not when his head or cock wasn’t buried between my legs.
“What has you so on edge, Coen? And don’t say it’s just about me because it’s not.”
A muscle in his clenched jaw tics as he watches me. “There are things going on that I can’t tell you. And honestly, staying the fuck away from you right now would probably be inyourbest interest as well as my own. It would probably be safer for you.”
“Safer?”
“The Hawkes have enemies. Powerful ones. We always will.”
Which would explain why Coen has never brought another woman to Nana’s for Sunday dinner. Why he nevertrulyopens up to me about anything important.
He’s afraid.
If he lets someone in, that exposes them to whatever perceived danger he thinks is bad enough to keep everyone locked out from what really makes him who he is.
“So, that means you’ll be alone the rest of your life?”
His lips press into a firm line. “Everyoneat that table who you met has suffered for being a Hawke…or being with one.”
The mental gymnastics it takes to follow his logic makes my head start to pound. “So, you’re trying to protect me now even when you’re angry and making demands of me?”
“Maybe.”
“What if I don’t need protecting from you, Coen?” I shrug. “The only thing I seem to need protection from is myself.”
