Chapter 20 Daniela
DANIELA
Jordan just doesn’t seem the type.
Then again… Most of the men from my past are dead.
Or are they?
One thing I know for sure is that someone is watching me. And they mean me harm. That grenade could have killed not only me but any number of people within a certain radius of me. This person doesn’t care who he hurts to get what he’s after.
If I didn’t know he were dead, I’d suspect my father.
“I should get you home,” Hawk says.
“No. If you want to stay, I’ll stay with you.”
“I’ve had enough,” he says. “There’s nothing I can do for my brother. I wish there were.”
“You know what,” I say. “Since we’re here anyway, why don’t we go see how your father’s doing?”
Hawk doesn’t say anything for a moment.
Until—
“My mother’s probably up there.”
“So?”
Hawk’s jaw clenches.
Something’s going on with him. With him and his mother, and with him and his father.
“Do you want to talk about anything?” I ask.
“No, it’s just… Last I heard, my father is still aphasic and kind of pathetic. Nothing has changed.”
“Don’t you think you should see him though? Since you’re here anyway? I’m sure he’d appreciate a visit, even if it’s brief.”
Again he doesn’t respond right away.
I don’t know anything about Austin Bellamy except that he’s a billion-dollar rancher and heir to a steel fortune.
Surely he’s not as bad as my father was.
Then again, from Hawk’s reaction, I’m beginning to wonder.
“All right,” Hawk relents. “Let’s go see the old man.”
“If anything, we can relieve your mom,” I say. “She can come back here and stay with Eagle.”
He stares at the ceiling. “Trust me, nothing will keep my mother from her baby.”
We head to the elevators and go down to the fourth floor, where Hawk’s father is.
When we get to his room, we have to show our IDs to the security guard at the door.
Hawk scowls. “This is ridiculous. Falcon and the attorneys don’t have a guard at Eagle’s room. Maybe they should.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I say nothing as we enter Mr. Bellamy’s room. Star isn’t there.
“See?” Hawk says. “She’s probably on her way back to Eagle’s room now.”
Hawk takes my hand, leading me in.
“Hey, Dad.”
Mr. Bellamy’s eyes widen.
“This is Daniela,” he says. “A very good friend of mine.”
Mr. Bellamy’s lips twitch. “Hawk on the fence,” he says.
“Yes, Hawk,” he says. “It’s me, Dad.”
Mr. Bellamy nods. “Hawk.”
Good. His father knows who he is.
No amnesia. Only the aphasia. I guess Hawk already knows that.
“Dad, how are you feeling?”
“Dr. Fence.”
“Dr. Fence? Is that the name of your doctor?”
He shakes his head. “Doctor. Fence. Hawk. Falcon.”
“Do you want me to get a doctor?” Hawk asks.
Mr. Bellamy shakes his head, this time more vehemently. “Doctor. Falcon. Doctor.”
“Do you want me to get Falcon?”
More head shaking. “Doctor. Doctor.”
The machines begin to go crazy, beeping.
A nurse—the one we met before, named Grace—hurries in. “Why is he so agitated?” she asks Hawk.
“I don’t know,” Hawk says. “He kept insisting he didn’t want to see the doctor, but he kept saying doctor over and over again.”
“I need to check his vitals,” Grace says sharply. “You two need to leave. Now.”
I grab Hawk’s hand.
“Grace, what is wrong with my father?”
“Now,” she says, her jaw clenched.
“Come on,” I say, leading him out of his room.
“I need to go back and see Eagle,” he says.
“Your mom is with Eagle,” I say. “You know as well as I do there’s nothing you can do for him. He knows how much you love him, Hawk.”
“No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know.”
“He does.” I squeeze his hand.
“Let’s go home. Take me to your place. I’ll cook you a nice dinner and we can cuddle on the couch with a movie.”
* * *
Back at Hawk’s place, I prepare a quick dinner of Ajiaco soup and arepas.
The scent of simmering chicken, corn, and guascas fills the kitchen. Steam curls up from the pot, fogging the window above the sink, where the last streaks of daylight fade. I slice the avocados while the soup thickens. Hawk moves quietly in the background, opening a bottle of red wine.
The arepas sizzle on the griddle, the golden edges crisping, the faint crackle blending with the low hum of the refrigerator. I ladle the soup into deep bowls and top each with a swirl of cream and a sprinkle of fresh cilantro. When we finally sit, my knees brush Hawk’s under the surface.
Hawk takes his first bite. “This tastes like home,” he says.
His home or mine?
He must mean his, since as far as I know he’s never been to Colombia. But his mother is of Mexican descent, so he’s used to ethnic home cooking.
Or… Maybe he means that my cooking feels like home cooking. Like I’m his wife, fixing him a meal after he’s worked a long day on the ranch.
It’s been a weird day, but the thought warms me head to toe.
For a moment, we eat in silence, the kind that’s comfortable, the kind that says more than any conversation could.
Hawk has second helpings, which pleases me. He hasn’t been hungry. Hell, I haven’t either. But there’s something about comfort food. Kind of like the macaroni and cheese he made for me—his comfort food. This is my comfort food.
When the bowls are scraped clean and the last buttery crumbs of arepa are gone, Hawk leans back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.
“That was exactly what I needed,” he says. “You’re going to be an amazing chef.”
I gather the dishes. “You’re just saying that because you got fed.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He stands and helps me clear the table.
He stacks the bowls and sets them in the sink while I rinse them. His arm brushes mine when he reaches for the sponge, and neither of us moves away.
When the dishes are done, he tosses the towel onto the counter. “All right. We’ve eaten. Now what? Do we pretend we’re normal and watch a movie like regular people?”
“Why not?” I say. “I think we’ve earned some normal.”
Hawk gestures toward the leather couch in his large recreation room. “Pick your poison.”
I settle in with the remote, curling one leg under me.
The couch is deep and broken in, the kind you can sink into and forget the outside world exists.
Hawk drops down beside me, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other resting casually on his thigh—but close enough that if I shifted an inch, his hand would graze my shoulder.
I scroll through the streaming menu. “Romantic comedy?” I tease, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
He groans. “Don’t do that to me.”
“Fine. Action? Mystery? Horror?”
“Something with a plot,” he says, leaning closer to see the options.
“Fair enough.” I keep scrolling “What about a classic? Indiana Jones? Die Hard?”
He raises a brow. “Die Hard’s a Christmas movie.”
“Is not.”
“It is,” he persists.
I snort. “Die Hard,” I say, “and I’ll let you have your way with me.”
He grins, rakes his gaze over me. “Deal.”
I click play, and as the opening credits roll, Hawk shifts just slightly, his thigh brushing mine. The warmth of him seeps through my jeans, his scent—soap, leather, and something darker—settling around me like a blanket.
By the time the first chase scene explodes across the screen, my head has tipped toward him.
Not enough to be obvious, but enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
And for tonight, for this moment, I let myself believe we really are just two regular people winding down after dinner—no shadows, no danger, no pasts pressing at the edges.
Just us.
I snuggle up to him, and he leans down, tips my chin, and kisses my lips.
A soft moan escapes me, and I tangle my fingers in his soft hair. He deepens the kiss, cradling my jaw. The taste of him, of the wine from dinner, sends a thrill of desire through me.
Slowly, he pulls away, the lack of his warmth making me whimper just slightly. “Dani,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. His eyes are filled with a raw emotion that takes my breath away.
I want to tell him how much this means to me, how much he means to me. But speaking those words out loud feels too real, too daunting.
“Shh,” he whispers, pressing his finger to my lips. “You don’t need to say anything.”
We fall into a gentle kiss then.
But it doesn’t stay gentle for long.
The kiss grows deeper, more desperate, each movement filled with urgency. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer, his warmth seeping into my very core.
“Hawk,” I gasp, pulling away just slightly to catch my breath.
He responds with a soft growl and digs his fingers into my hips.
“Dani,” he breathes, capturing my lips again in a fiery kiss.
For a moment, we lose ourselves in each other, the world around us fading away as we give in to the passion.
I pull away again, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. I look up into Hawk’s eyes and see a depth of emotion that leaves me breathless. “Hawk,” I whisper. “I want this. I want you.”
“I want you too, Dani.”
Without another word, he bends down and captures my lips in another searing kiss. This time, there’s no urgency, no desperation. Just us. Just this. We lose ourselves in each other, the world around us fading into insignificance.
Clothes.
Too many clothes.
I pull back from the kiss. Pull my T-shirt over my head.
We’re still dirty from the waterpark. Tired from the hospital visit.
But I don’t care.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Hawk breathes.
“So are you. Those eyes…” I unsnap my bra. Let it drop to the floor next to the couch.
“Your tits…” He reaches up to cup one, thumbs my nipple.
“Take me,” I say. “Take me hard and fast here on the couch. Please.”
His response is a groan.
Without another word, he pushes me back onto the couch, his large frame hovering over mine. His hands are everywhere, exploring my body as if he can’t get enough. He kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin and causing me to shiver.
He slides a hand down to unbutton my jeans, pulling them down my hips along with my underwear. I gasp as his fingers meet my bare skin. His touch is electrifying.
He kisses his way down my stomach, finally settling between my legs.
“Hawk…” I curl my fingers into his hair as he slides his tongue over my sensitive flesh.
His only response is a groan, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through me.
He lifts his head to meet my gaze, his eyes dark with desire.
Then, in one swift motion, he unzips his jeans and frees himself. His hardness presses against my inner thigh, causing me to gasp. He positions himself at my entrance, his gaze never leaving mine.
He enters me slowly, the sensation making me gasp. It’s a delicious kind of pain, one that has me arching my back and moaning his name.
I dig my fingers into his shoulders. He responds with a groan, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate.
I feel my climax building, a pressure deep within me that threatens to burst. I moan, my hips bucking against his. “I’m close.”
“So am I, baby.” He increases his pace, driving into me with a force that has me teetering on the edge.
“Let go, Dani,” he urges. “Come for me.”
His command pushes me over the edge. I spiral into oblivion. My body convulses, pleasure crashing through me like a tsunami. I cry out his name, clutch at his back as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over me.
Hawk grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic as he finds his own release. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
We stay like that for a while, bodies entwined, hearts pounding in unison. The room smells of sex and sweat, a stark contrast to the lingering scent of our dinner.
“Hawk,” I murmur.
He opens his eyes, the usually stark blue softened with post-coital bliss.
“Dani.” He presses a soft kiss to my lips.
A few more timeless moments pass, until—
“I could use a shower,” Hawk says, chuckling.
“God, me too.”
“Then let’s go.” He scoops me up, both of us still naked, and carries me over his shoulder out of the recreation room, down a hallway to his bedroom.