3. Delia
CHAPTER 3
delia
F uck me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can't stop my stupid eyes from going over to the arrogant city boy at the service bar.
Well, boy may be the wrong term.
The man .
The fine as fuck, sexy as hell, mouthwatering, heart-stopping, arrogant man.
I marked him the moment he walked in. Clocked him when he got up to intervene when that little pissant grabbed my wrist—and it didn't escape my notice that he didn't just charge in, but held back when he realized I had it under control.
It's been an effort to keep my focus on my work. As it is, I've already messed up twice—both times when I made the mistake of going over to that end of the bar where he sat.
Those fucking eyes.
Light brown, the color of coffee with a splash of milk, shot through with streaks of green. Piercing, viciously intelligent. Arrogant. Confident. The kind of eyes that take ownership of everything they see. Eyes that I feel carving over my body, no matter where I am.
Zeke sidled up beside me, dunking pint glasses in the sink full of soapy water before shoving them into the washer. "You're off your game, boss lady." He grinned at me. "Have anything to do with the cheechako at the end of the bar?"
"Mind your own goddamn business, Zeke." I didn’t look at him as I counted the cash left on the bar by the departing customer. "I'm not off my game."
"You gave Al Bud Lite."
Al, a local who comes in every day at four-forty-five on the dot to get shitfaced on Coors Banquet, is extremely loyal to his preferred brew. Giving him a Bud Lite is the gravest of offenses. Only the fact that he's scared of me kept him in his seat with no more than a disgusted glare, his arms crossed in refusal to so much as sully his fingers by pushing the bottle away.
I sighed. "Sue me. I comped his next two."
"You poured four shots of Jameson instead of Crown Royal."
"Zeke." It was a warning.
He held up his hands, dripping sudsy water everywhere. "Just sayin'. Want me to handle the service end?"
Yes.
But no.
I kept getting drawn over there as if by some magnetic anomaly.
The anomaly was over six feet tall, with tanned skin, the aforementioned green-streaked tan eyes, and dark blond hair beneath a battered and well-loved red ballcap that was at odds with the clean, new, expensive clothing he wore. The anomaly had a jawline you could use as an anvil, shadowed by a thick, dark stubble of beard.
The anomaly had a presence I simply was unable to ignore.
"No. I’m good."
Zeke just shrugged. "Whatever you say, boss-lady. Good luck with the cheechako."
I filled a few more orders and then let magnetism have its way with me, drawing me back to the anomaly.
I leaned over the bar on my elbows, giving him a nice little downshirt angle, watching to see how he reacted. He met my eyes first, to make sure I was paying attention, and then he let his eyes slide down. You can’t fake his reaction—one of pure male appreciation. Unfiltered, unvarnished. A long, greedy look, and then he brought his eyes back up to mine.
Flicked the empty rocks glass with a fingertip. "Excellent scotch. Your uncle has great taste."
I nodded. "I know." I grabbed the bottle. "Another?"
A blinking moment of consideration. “Only if you'll drink it with me."
"I don't think so."
He clapped a fist over his heart. "You wound me."
"You'll live."
He shook his head. "My fragile ego cannot withstand this rejection. I'm doomed."
“Well, you’re certainly self-aware. At least you have that going for you.” I smirked because good, witty banter is like catnip for me.
He snorted. "You're merciless. My mother would approve."
I blinked at this and at the fact that I was momentarily without a comeback.
He gave me that grin again—the one that made me so irrationally angry I wanted to punch it in, and yet at the same time, it also made me want to climb on his face and ride that grin until he was begging for air.
"Cat got your tongue?" He knew damn well the effect it had on women, I'd wager.
"If I wanted your mother's approval, I'd try out for the rodeo."
He frowned, trying to work that one out. "I know that's an insult, I just can't work out what it is."
I bit my lip, but the laugh spluttered out of me anyway. "Yeah, that one sounded better in my head."
He snorted. "We'll have to work on our banter. What time do you get off?"
"Smooth. You haven't even asked my name yet." I glanced at the printer as it spat out the ticket, and then uncapped the correct beers and handed them to Stacey.
I crumpled the ticket and rolled it into a ball in my hands, trying like hell to keep my eyes off of his damned sexy mouth, and away from those wicked eyes that seemed to see my every little secret.
"You have a point," he conceded. "My apologies. Would you do me the honor of telling me your name?"
"Delia Badd," I said. "And you are?"
"My friends call me Hawk." He extended his hand to me, and I took it.
Instead of shaking my hand, however, he rose from his stool, bowed over my hand, and kissed the back of it like a medieval courtier.
The move should have been cheesy, lame, and cringey…at best.
Instead…it was fucking hot. I don't know why. Maybe it was those stupid eyes of his, the way they seemed to fuck me six ways to Sunday every time he looked at me. Maybe it was the strength in his hands, the scratch of callouses on his palms from lifting weights. Maybe it was the soft, warm, damp touch of his lips.
"Hawk?" I repeat, sounding as stupid and silly as I feel.
"That's what my friends call me."
"Bold of you to assume you have friends," I said, hoping to get my equilibrium back once I'm on the more familiar ground of insult-based humor.
He still had my hand in his, and his eyes were fixed on mine with laser focus. "What time are you done working, Delia Badd?"
"A quarter past never."
"Delia."
"Hawk?"
"What time?" It was a demand. His eyes blazed, roiling with confidence.
"I close."
"What time?" he repeated the question impatiently.
"Two-thirty," I whispered, the answer dragged out of me against my will.
"Back door or front?"
"Back."
His thumb grazed over the knuckle of my forefinger, and then he kissed where his thumb had just been. "See you at the back door at two-thirty, Delia Badd."
He swaggered away without a backward look, slipping his aviators on his face.
I watched him go, mainly because the man's ass was divine.
Even after he was gone, I was stuck in place, wondering what had just happened.
Zeke nudged me. "Earth to boss-lady."
I jolted, startled. "Jesus, Zeke."
"I called your name twice." He grinned at me. "Cheechako has your number, boss-lady."
"No, he doesn't. I didn't give him my number."
Zeke just laughed, which is when I realized he didn't mean literally.
Yeah, I don't know what just happened.
I'm not sure I like it, either.
Hours later, the house lights were on, the last few stragglers were tossing back the dregs of their drinks, and Zeke was restocking while I put up chairs and stools. It was a killer day. Zeke and I made mad tips, the bar sold a shit ton, and the servers all left happy, their aprons stuffed with cash.
Once the doors were locked, I left Zeke to do the rest of the closing work while I counted out the drawers and dealt with the credit card batches.
By 2:30, I was exhausted but pleased. Zeke and I were the last two out, as usual; he waited as I shut off the lights, did one last check to make sure things were clean and properly closed down, and then we exited to the alleyway where we parked.
Zeke's lifted Wrangler was behind my pimped-out, late 90s eggplant purple Ford Ranger. Zeke hesitated in his Wrangler, engine running and the door propped open by one foot. "You good, boss-lady?"
I nodded. "I'm good. Thanks. See ya."
He always waits to leave to make sure I'm good, the sweet boy. We've established a detente after the awkwardness that ensued when I originally hired him. He developed a major crush on me, which made things weird, and I told him either he got over the crush and acted like an adult because I would never date him, or he could find a new job. He chose door number one, and we’ve been cool ever since. I don't know if he's still harboring the crush, but if he does, he keeps it under wraps.
Zeke pulled away from the alley, giving his horn two short honks. I waved at his departing taillights, dawdling before leaving myself. I made a production of checking the time on my phone: 2:28 am. So, "Hawk" as his friends call him, wasn't late. I was early.
I unlocked my truck and started it, wishing for the first and probably only time in my life that I was a smoker so I’d have an excuse to hang around waiting.
Which was idiotic. I didn't even like the man. Sure, I was pathetically attracted to his arrogant ass…and his arrogant eyes, and his arrogant jawline. But he was a tourist. It'd be a fling for a night or two, and then he'd go back to wherever absurd specimens like him lived.
No point in getting attached.
I checked my phone again: 2:31. Fuck it. I'm tired and I want to go home.
I shoved my phone into my purse, tossed the purse onto the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel. Flicked on my headlights…
And screamed exactly like a scream queen from a black-and-white King Kong flick.
Why?
My headlights illuminated a tall, broad-shouldered male silhouette at the mouth of the alley, which hadn’t been there a split second earlier.
"Oh my god, fuck you," I gasped, one hand clapped to my chest. "You cannot sneak up on a girl like that in a dark alley at two-thirty in the fucking morning. You're lucky I don't carry a gun. This is Alaska, buddy, you're taking your life into your hands pulling a stunt like that."
Hawk swaggered toward me, hands loose at his sides, green flannel shirt straining around his biceps, lean hips swaying. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
"Then you should do something about that face," I quipped.
He just snorted, shaking his head. "You can't help yourself, can you?"
"No, I cannot. I operate exclusively on caffeine, inappropriate humor, and insults."
"And let me guess, you've long since run out of caffeine?" Hawk asked, now standing in the opening of my door.
"Oh, I ran out of caffeine at like nine this morning. I'm running on sheer stubbornness and psychotic rage at this point."
"Then maybe I should take a rain check," he said, smirking. "I wouldn't want to end up dead in the harbor."
"Passage," I corrected.
He frowned at me. "Pardon?"
"It's not a harbor or a bay, it's a passage. The Inside Passage, to be specific." I waved in the general direction of the water. "So. Why are you here?"
He frowned. "Here, as in Ketchikan? Or here, as in this alley at this particular moment?"
"Both?"
He shrugged. “I’m here on prospective business. Checking out a possible investment. As for here, this particular moment? I'm here because you're hot as fuck, and your attitude turns me on."
Hot as fuck.
Nice.
I mean, it was not the most romantic or swoon-worthy compliment I've ever received, but still, it felt nice.
"My attitude turns you on?" I gestured at the passenger seat. "You gonna stand in my door all night, or are you gonna get in and let me give you the locals-only tour of town?"
"Don't have to ask me twice," he said and circled to the passenger side.
I slid my purse toward me to make room as he sat down. "So. What's the prospective business?" I asked as I pulled out of the alley.
"I didn't show up in that alley at two-thirty in the morning to talk business."
"Oh no?"
"Nope."
"I'm not taking you back to my apartment if that's what you think is happening. Locals-only tour was not code for sex." I glanced at him, watching his reaction.
"Of course not. I wouldn't expect that until the third date at the soonest." There was no grin or laugh to indicate he was joking.
I frowned at him. "Are you for real? You really ascribe to the whole third-date-sex thing?"
He eyed me, considering. "Well, no. It's a situational decision. If a girl I'm interested in shows indications that she's down for it, I’ll make a move before the first date is half over. I've also waited over a month before making a move."
"Ooooooh, a whole month. Did you survive?" I grinned at him because I was joking. Mostly.
Sort of.
"When was the last time you waited a month before having sex with a guy you're dating?" he asked. “Truthfully."
"Wait, we're not lying to each other?" I shook my head. "Weird. I thought we were."
"Why would I be lying to you?"
I rolled my eyes. “’ My friends call me Hawk,’” I mumbled in a deep voice, mocking him. "Right. No one calls you Hawk."
He blinked at me and then pulled his phone out. Hit a speed dial and put it on speaker.
It rang six times before someone answered. "Jesus Christ, asshole, don't you ever fucking sleep?" The voice was male, sleepy, and irritated.
"What's your nickname for me?" he asked.
"Hawk."
"Thanks. Sorry, buddy. Go back to sleep."
"Yeah, fuck you too, ass-clown."
Hawk hung up, shoved his phone back into his back pocket, and shrugged at me. "I don't lie. I may not always tell the whole truth, but I never lie."
"Never?"
"Never. Not an actual falsehood."
"Just lies by omission."
"Correct."
"So what lies by omission are you telling me?" I asked.
He eyed me. "My real name, my business in Alaska, and my intentions where you're concerned."
I blinked at him, shocked. "Wow, you…you told the truth." I snickered. "About what you're lying to me about."
“Not lying, just not giving you all the information…yet."
"So you will? At some point?"
"At some point, yes."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that I now know you’re not telling me things."
"There's a lot you're not telling me. No one ever tells anyone the full truth all the time. We all lie by omission all the fucking time. It's part of the human condition." He shrugged. "We're just not always honest about that with ourselves or each other. I am."
I thought about this.
The Passage rippled in the late spring moonlight, a field of black and silver. Hawk's eyes took in the view. Flicked to me. Back to the view.
"Sure is pretty out here." He rolled his window down, letting in the cool night air.
"You think this is pretty?" I glanced at him. "You down for a bit of a drive?"
"I showed up in your alley at two-thirty in the morning, Delia. What do you think?" His eyes held mine, sparking with interest, attraction, and secrets.
I headed north, taking him to one of my favorite turnouts a good fifteen or twenty minutes out of town. It's a place I go to a lot, actually, usually alone, to think. Occasionally, I'll bring a boy there to make out, but usually, it's a solitary spot.
Today, I'm not sure which one it'll be. Depends on how Hawk plays his cards, I guess.
I pawed blindly through my purse, found my watermelon lip gloss and applied it, hoping it came across casual rather than communicating some sort of intent. Which was there, but I didn’t want him to know that.
Or maybe I did.
Fuck, I'm confused.
I felt his eyes on my lips as I rolled them in and then popped them with a kissing noise. I gave him a look. "Chapped lips. Don’t get any ideas, buddy."
He snorted and shook his head. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
I kept quiet, testing his comfortability with silence; he passed the test easily, letting the silence hang, seeming content to take in the view. Which, occasionally, included me.
We reached my favorite turnout, a short length of dirt road that dead-ended at the Passage. I did a three-point turn so my tailgate faced the water and shut off the engine and headlights. I snagged my hoodie from the bench seat and then shrugged into it as I let down the tailgate and hopped up onto it.
Hawk followed me, settling his ass down next to me—close enough that our arms brushed. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—spicy, smooth, rich, and intoxicating. A very, very expensive scent.
We sat together in companionable silence for a while, taking in the expansive view of the passage, the moon full and round above us, the stars glittering in countless millions. Wind sighed through the pines around us, and an owl hooted somewhere.
"This is an amazing spot," Hawk said after a while. "Appreciate you sharing it with me."
"Tell me something true," I said.
"Something true? Regarding what?" He eyed me, curious.
I shrugged. "Anything, as long as it is one hundred percent the full truth."
He was silent for a long time, thinking about his answer. "I have never, in my whole life, been as attracted to someone as I am to you."
My heart flipped, and my stomach did somersaults. "Not what I meant."
“You meant like secrets?"
I shrugged. "Sure."
He snorted. "You want one of my secrets, you're gonna have to give up one of your own."
"Fine. Deal." I held out my hand, and he shook it, yet again holding on too long, his thumb gently grazing over my knuckles.
I yanked my hand free. "Don't be weird."
He just shook his head, returning his gaze to the water. "I have a lot of secrets."
"I get that impression," I said. "You don't have to tell me a sensitive one."
"My very first business opportunity was a complete mistake." He chuckled. "I was a kid. Eighteen, just out of high school, with a head full of dreams and a heart full of ambition, and not much sense or experience to back it up. I started talking to this older guy in the locker room at my fitness club, mentioned an idea I had for a business, and the older guy said he'd invest. What makes it a lie is that all I had at that exact moment was the idea. And this guy literally wrote me a check right there on the spot and made me write him a promissory note that I'd pay him back with five percent interest within one year."
"But you made it sound like you had the whole idea more fleshed out than you did?" I surmise.
"Hell no. I flat-out lied. Told him I was weeks from taking the business live, I just need a bit more capital to get me over the hump. To this day, I don't know if he believed me or if he was just…I don't know. Paying it forward or something."
"So what did you do?" I asked.
He grinned at me. "Spent the next year working twenty hours a day to make the idea I'd lied about a reality."
"And? Did you succeed?"
"Of course I did. I never fail."
I stared at him. "Never? You never fail?"
"Nope."
"You always win, always succeed— always ."
He smirked at me, a cocky tilt of his lips. "Always."
“You always get what you want."
"Always."
“And no one ever tells you no?"
"Rarely. Not never. My secretary tells me no all the time. It’s why I hired her."
"So you'd have someone who tells you no?"
"Correct."
I laughed. "Does it work?"
He snorted, nodding. “Yes, it does. I get a hell of a lot more done."
"What kinds of things does she tell you no about?" I ask.
“Oh, all sorts of things. Usually, my impulses."
"Such as?"
He blinked at me. "Such as my predilection for fucking my personal assistants."
A cackle burst out of me. "Wow, okay. Now we're getting somewhere."
"I don't do that anymore. I tasked Harriet with hiring PAs who I won't fuck."
"So…gay men and ugly women?"
He shook his head. "I don't fuck men, Delia. That was weirdly specific."
"But you will fuck an ugly woman?"
He frowned. "I feel attacked."
“Have you?" I pressed.
“Have I what? Had sex with an ugly woman?"
"Yes."
He looked away. "Ugly is rather subjective."
"To a degree. Some people are, objectively, just ugly."
"I don't like the direction of this conversation, Delia."
I cackled. “You have!"
"I neither confirm nor deny the allegation. I do not disclose any information regarding past sexual partners.” He said it so smoothly that it almost sounded like a prepared statement, one he'd given before.
I shoved him playfully, and it was roughly akin to shoving a brick wall. "I'm kidding."
He arched an eyebrow at me. "No, you weren't."
"Oh, come on, Hawk. I was playing."
He didn't grin or laugh with me. "Delia, I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't have sex with someone I wasn't attracted to."
"You're very serious, Mr. Hawk." I gave him an exaggerated grumpy face. "I was joking around. Relax. Jesus."
"Your turn," he said. "A secret."
"Just to prove a point, I'll tell you something salacious about me." I wiggled my eyebrows at him.
"Okay."
"The longest I've dated someone before sleeping with them was three weeks and two days. And he was on a business trip for half of that. We…um… video-called each other while he was gone, if you know what I mean. But I didn’t actually hook up with him for three weeks after we first went out."
"So my month beats your three weeks, especially since you only had a week and a half of face-to-face interaction." he grinned at me. "My month was weekly dates, in person."
"Why did you wait so long?" I asked. "I'm genuinely curious."
"Because she wasn’t that type of girl. It was an ill-fated attempt to do things…differently." He shook his head, snorting.
A cold wind blew, and I pulled my hood up. "So, it didn't go well, is what you're saying."
"Not at all."
I waited, but he didn't elaborate. "Oh, come on. You can't leave me hanging like that. What happened?"
"She had much different expectations than I thought I'd communicated. We dated for a month. I took it slow. Didn't pressure her. Didn’t even try anything, not even a kiss, until the third date. When she finally gave me indications that she was ready for more, I let her set the pace."
"What indications did she give, incidentally?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing much. Just, you know, shoving her hand down my pants."
“Oh," I said, laughing. "I guess that's a pretty clear sign."
"I thought so." He sighed. "We slept together, and it was…not bad. But she clearly wasn't very experienced. Which was fine. But I think a lot of her expectations for how sex should go was based on some serious misinformation."
I snickered. "Oh boy. That sounds interesting."
"It certainly was. She thought we were supposed to switch positions every thirty seconds. I'm not sure if her one previous partner taught her that or if she watched too much porn or what, but it was fucking annoying."
"Annoying fucking, you mean," I said, laughing. "So…then what?"
"Then…she told me she loved me. And confessed that she'd lied about being on birth control."
I stared at him. "No!"
"Good thing I didn't take her at her word and insisted on using protection anyway."
"You think she was trying to trap you?"
He nodded. "Oh, for sure. Maybe not trap, but she was certainly delusional."
"And that was when you swore to only go for the easy girls who put out on the first date?"
"Exactly," he said, without any hint of a joke in his tone or expression.
I frowned his way. "I can't tell if you're joking or not."
"I'm not."
I made a show of shifting away from him. "Well, if you think that's happening here, please, allow me to disabuse you of that misapprehension."
His green-streaked eyes bored into mine. "I never thought that, Delia."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come off it. I know I give off 'easy' vibes."
"You do not." He said it with a straight face, I'll give him that.
"I do too. I've been told that to my face." I cupped my boobs. "It's these. Men seem to think big boobs on a more slender frame is some sort of indication of hypersexuality. Or something. I don't know."
"Bullshit. The men who said that were just insecure assholes who thought you owed them sex simply because they're a man and you're a woman." He shook his head. “Men like that ought to be castrated."
I stared at him for a moment. "You really believe that?"
"Do you really believe you give off easy girl vibes simply because of the size of your chest?"
"I didn't say I believed it, just that I've been told that.”
"But yet, you’ve gone out of your way to make sure I know you’re not going to sleep with me tonight, even though I’ve given you precisely zero reason to think I think that’s gonna happen.”
"Why, I do believe you're calling me out, sir," I said, feeling pissed off and embarrassed. "How am I supposed to know you're not hoping I’m gonna fuck you right here in this truck bed?"
He leaned close, face inches from mine, his cologne making my head swim; his scent, his heat, his proximity—shit, his mere presence left me dizzy and aroused and disoriented. "Because if I thought that was a possibility—if that was my intention in any capacity—you'd be naked right now, riding my cock and screaming my name."
An image flashed through my mind—me, naked, riding his cock, and screaming his name. I saw it, damn near felt it. And fuck, but it felt real, for a split second. His hands would be powerful and rough, digging into my hips. Or, more likely, grabbing my big, bouncing tits.
My core went slick and wet as the unwanted image slashed through me, making me squirm on the tailgate as arousal seeped out of me.
Goddammit.
"Bold of you to assume you can make me scream your name," I whispered, the foolish, stupid, ill-advised words tumbling out of me, because I am, in fact, a complete and total dumbass.
Don't poke the bear, Delia.
"Do not challenge me, Delia Badd," Hawk whispered, his voice hot against my ear. "You're one wrong move from finding out exactly how hard I can make you come."
My core clenched, my nipples turned to diamonds, and my lungs froze solid, even as my skin burned. I've never been affected like this—by anyone, ever.
It honestly terrifies me.
His nose slid against the side of my neck, his words hot whispers against my skin. "You're about to combust, aren't you?"
"No,” I lied.
"Yeah, you are." He leaned against me, his hard body too close, too hot, too solid. He rested a hand on my knee, and my thighs pressed together involuntarily. "One touch, and you'd come apart. Wouldn't you?"
"You wish," I whispered. “And wouldn't you like to know?"
"Both are true. But that doesn’t make what I said any less true." He nuzzled behind my ear, and I shivered, gasping. "You're about to come and I haven't so much as touched you."
"Am not."
He laughed. "Don’t be petulant just because I can read you like a book." His hand on my knee slid higher, and I pressed my thighs together even tighter. "See? The way you're closing up tells me how turned on you are. You just don't want to be."
"Cocky bastard, aren't you?" I whispered.
"Absolutely I am. But I'm not wrong. Am I?" He nipped my earlobe. "We're not going to lie to each other, are we, Delia? I don’t promise to always tell you everything, but I do promise I'll never lie to you. Can you do the same?"
"Yes. No."
"Which is it?"
"I don't know." My voice was breathy, vapid, and stupid.
What the hell kind of sorcery was he using on me?
His hand inched higher up my thigh, callouses scraping over denim. He was mere inches from my core, and I was shaking all over, core pulsing, nipples aching. I couldn't pull in a full breath. Couldn't think straight.
I had to get away. I couldn't take this any longer. I wasn't about to let this man know how affected I truly was.
I pushed off the tailgate, and my shaky legs nearly gave out—I caught myself before I went sprawling, lurching like a newborn colt before regaining my balance. Embarrassment burned on my face as I stormed away from the truck and him.
I went down to the water's edge, letting the cool wind carve across my face, cooling the burn, settling my nerves.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
What the actual hell was that ?
I scraped my hand through my hair. Now that the irrational arousal was gone, anger welled up in its place. I stormed back to my truck, jerked open the driver's door, and got in, gunning the engine. "You want a ride back to town, better get in now or I'll leave your ass here."
He hopped down, shut my tailgate, and slid in beside me. I barked my tires on the gravel, fishtailed onto the tarmac, and headed back for town.
"Delia," Hawk started.
I held up a hand. "Nope. Not a word."
He lapsed into silence, and I resolutely refused to look at him.
For at least a whole minute.
When I did finally sneak a glance at him, the bastard was smirking. Which only pissed me off further.
"You think you're funny, don't you?" I snap.
“No, I think you’re funny." He eyed me, the smirk fading. "What are you so pissed off about?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
He rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself."
In my experience, when you give a man the ‘never mind, whatever, nothing’ brush-off, they can't leave it alone. They have to know.
Hawk seemed immune. Which only bothered me more.
“Really?" I asked. "You're just gonna leave it like that?"
“You said never mind. I'm taking you at face value."
Well, if it isn't me, hoisted by my own petard.
"You're obnoxious," I snapped.
"I know."
"And cocky."
"Very much so. Although, I prefer to think I'm merely confident. Because I'm only cocky when I know I can back it up." He gave me that damned smirk yet again.
The conflicting, competing desires to punch the smirk off his face and ride it until I screamed was renewed with increased fury.
And he seemed to damn well know it, the bastard.
I don't speak to him the rest of the way back to town. He pointed out his truck, the only vehicle parked in the bar's lot—a black pickup with muddy tires, a lift, bullbar with a winch and KC lights, and windows tinted to the very edge of legality.
It doesn't fit him at all, for a reason I couldn't explain—it's a perfectly reasonable truck for a man like him to drive in a place like this.
He opened his door but didn’t get out. "I had a good time, Delia. Thank you."
I snorted. "You enjoyed the tense ride back, did you?"
He grabbed my hand, the one resting on the console between the seats, and kissed the back of it again, sending a thrill shivering through me. "Yes, in fact, I did. Because I know exactly why you were pissed off at me."
"And why, pray tell, is that?" I demanded.
He flipped my hand over so my palm faced up and nuzzled my palm, kissed my wrist, my forearm—soft, delicate, damp, warm, nuzzling little kisses that sent heat blasting and billowing through my body, centering at my core, making my sex weep with incoherent, undeniable arousal.
"Because you're turned on and you don't want to be." His voice is low, and rough, and close. "I affect you, and you hate that."
"You do not," I hissed.
"We said we wouldn't lie."
"You said that, not me." Oops. I just admitted to lying.
His lips brushed my ear. "So you're saying your panties aren't soaked right now?"
Fuck.
I gulped. "Nope."
"You're a shitty liar," he murmured. "See ya ’round, Delia Badd."
And with that, he just fucking left.
The cocky asshole got into his big stupid truck, started the big, stupid, noisy engine, and drove his stupid, sexy, obnoxious ass away from me.
It left me so turned on that I didn’t know which way was up, with absolutely drenched panties and a terrible attitude.
This was a very serious problem.