Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JACK
“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
~ Fitzwilliam Darcy
I couldn’t say for sure the moment I fell for Hawk Sunday.
It might have been the first time he hummed along while I sang in the kitchen long after the diner had closed or one of the times I saw his head thrown back in the sunshine, cheeks rosy from a hike, burning with life like a candle flame.
It might have happened in the middle of an afternoon he’d spent sprawled on the rug in my mom’s living room, holding a very serious conversation with her about worsted-weight yarn while Peony chewed the hem of his pants and he pretended not to notice, or the time I’d teased him about reading too much Jane Austen and he’d retaliated in true smart-ass, book-nerd fashion by answering me only in Pride and Prejudice quotes for an entire day.
Or… maybe it had grown so gradually that there was no way to say exactly when it happened, like slipping from wakefulness into a really beautiful dream.
I could tell you the moment I realized I’d fallen, though.
It was the first time I heard my name on Hawk Sunday’s lips as he came. While he was still gasping through his orgasm, the thought popped into my head: I am utterly and completely his. That’s it. Forever. So what the fuck am I doing?
That moment of enlightenment—me, covered in spunk and shaking from the most intense orgasm of my life, him breathing heavily in his tent just inches away—did not feel at all like the sweet, sappy, blossoming-flower transformation I’d always imagined love was for the few people lucky enough to find it.
This was more like an earthquake—sudden and terrifying and inescapable, tearing down all the pretty walls I’d built to protect myself in one fell swoop.
And in the aftermath, as I lay awake, staring at the darkness and listening to the relentless rain, picking my way through the rubble in my brain felt a bit like an archaeological expedition—probably a lot like the ones where historians took a second look at some pottery shards depicting Achilles and Patroclus, and said, “I can’t believe anyone thought they were just friends. ”
Once I let myself look, my true feelings for Hawk were as obvious as gravity.
They showed in the way I never wanted to be apart from him.
The way I wanted to hear every single thing he had to say.
They were there in the way his smile brightened my day and the way the idea of him being with anyone else—whether it was Simon or some random app hookup—made me lose all capacity for logic.
It was even there in the way I hadn’t dated anyone, even my usual fun-and-sex dating, in months and claimed it was because the men I hooked up with didn’t “fit” in my life.
Of course they didn’t. I already had Hawk.
I’d avoided relationships my whole life after watching my mom’s heart break when we lost my dad, and every friend who’d ever been through a shit breakup or a devastating divorce had just cemented the fact in my mind: relationships were complicated, and got fucked up, and ended in disaster and heartbreak, always.
But somehow… I’d found myself smack in the middle of one anyway. And with every scared, hurtful word that fell out of my mouth, I was the one making it complicated. I was the one fucking it up. I was the one breaking my own heart… and Hawk’s… in some misguided attempt to protect us.
Hadn’t I told Hawk just the other day, during our last disastrous discussion about the Aerie Resort, that he couldn’t keep things the way they were indefinitely because he was scared something bad could happen?
Maybe it was time I took my own damn advice.
After I cleaned myself off, I waited for Hawk to say something, but he remained silent as his breathing evened out.
I couldn’t blame him. He’d put himself out there twice, and I’d shot him down. No wonder he didn’t have anything to say to me. No wonder he wanted his privacy.
By the time I got up the nerve to flip on the lantern and open the tent to talk to him, he was snoring lightly with only his messy curls poking out of the top of his sleeping bag.
I sat there for a few minutes, looking at Hawk’s face relaxed in sleep. He was so sexy, so beautiful, so mind-blowingly mine my breath froze in my lungs from the shock of it.
“I want you,” I breathed, feeling my chest loosen just from admitting the words out loud, even though he wasn’t awake to hear them. “More than anything.”
How could I have him without disappointing him? I wasn’t Fitzwilliam Darcy with ten thousand pounds a year and a giant fancy estate. I was a multi-thousandaire on a good month, struggling to save for retirement while making payroll.
I was no broody Prince Charming, capable of sitting around all day making dreamy eyes at Hawk from across a crowded room. I was a chronic workaholic and serial overthinker.
And I wasn’t some noble guy with a brain full of heartfelt, sentimental words and grand gestures. I was… apple grilled cheese, snarky comments, and sweaty hikes.
I didn’t know if that—me—was enough.
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his curls.
“Love you,” I breathed into the woodsy scent of him. “So much.”
Without giving myself a chance to overthink it for once, I hauled my sleeping bag into the tent, zipped the door closed, and turned off the lantern before moving close to Hawk. We’d spent many nights sharing each other’s warmth like this in his tent, and I wasn’t about to stop now.
Especially when I had important things to say to him first thing in the morning.
I woke to the sound of a muffled gasp and felt my lips turn up instinctively when I remembered who I was sleeping next to… and why. My stomach was full of knots, but my heart was full of hope.
“Hey,” I said, rolling over. Hawk’s brown eyes were huge in the dim light coming through the cave opening and kept winging from me to the tent door and back, like he was trying to figure out how he felt about seeing me lying next to him. “Can we… talk?”
Hawk’s eyes widened even more, wary now. “Talk?” he repeated, voice rough with sleep.
I reached out to push a rogue curl off his forehead with the tip of my finger.
His skin was sleep-warm and soft. So touchable I wasn’t sure how I’d gone this long without putting my hands on him.
I let my finger trail down the side of his face, tracing the arch of his eyebrow and the curve of his cheekbone.
Hawk’s whole body froze, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn it all,” he said mournfully.
I traced the curve of his jaw over the roughness of his beard. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. “Another fucking dream,” he muttered to himself. “I should have known. But this one feels so lifelike.” He opened his eyes and shot me a glare. “FYI, the real you has a lot to answer for, Jack Wyatt. I’m losing my mind, and it’s your fault.”
The idea that he’d been dreaming of me the way I’d been dreaming of him warmed me. I tapped his nose ring gently. “This isn’t a dream, Bird.”
He swallowed. “That’s exactly what you say in the dreams. And then I wake up, and poof.”
My heart twisted a little with the pleasure-pain of his admission. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He looked momentarily confused, like even in his dreams, he couldn’t imagine me saying that.
“For… barging into my tent uninvited?”
“No.” I moved a little closer to him and ran my fingers through his hair.
“Maybe I should be, but I’m not even a little bit sorry for that.
I’m sorry because I said no when you made me an incredible offer of yourself.
And I’d like…” The air around us seemed more difficult to gather into my lungs properly.
“I’d very much like to change my answer. ”
Time slowed down, and he stared at me, uncomprehending. “But you said… You insisted…”
“I know,” I agreed. I tried to reassure him with my own expression that I meant what I was saying, but I could tell he doubted me. Hell, I still had plenty of my own doubts. But he needed to know before another day went by… “I want you,” I breathed. “Very much.”
“You? Want to have sex?” he blurted, finally understanding what I was saying. “With me?”
“Yes, you, Bird. Always you. Only you.” I let out the breath that had been sluggishly filling my lungs. “I don’t just want to have sex with you. I… I care about you. I’d like… I’d like more than sex with you.”
Hawk pushed himself to a sitting position and flung the sleeping bag open. His warm skin pebbled in the cooler air. “If this is a dream, I’m going to be so mad at you when I wake up.”
I propped myself on my elbow and reached for the front of his shirt, fisting the cotton in my hand and pulling him toward me.
When our lips met, I let out a cross between a whimper and a groan.
He was so soft, so pliant against my mouth.
The warm, sleepy smell of him surrounded me, and his beard growth scratched at my chin.
He tumbled on top of me with a surprised gasp, and I used it to my advantage, pulling him even tighter with an arm around him while holding his face with my other as we fell back together.
We kissed like neither of us had ever done it before, frantically… hungrily… awkwardly.
It was the hottest kiss I’d ever experienced. Hawk made noises that went straight to my dick. He wiggled on top of me, and if we hadn’t been separated by my damned sleeping bag, I might have even enjoyed the press of his own cock against my leg.
We made out like preteens, kissing and kissing like it was the only move we knew. I couldn’t get enough of his taste, his sweetness, his desire. He made me feel wanted and alive. Sexy and free.
When I moved my hands up under the back of his shirt, I felt the goose bumps still on his skin. “Baby, you’re freezing. Get back in your sleeping bag.”
He shook his head. “Can’t have sex in my sleeping bag.”