Chapter Eight
Dominic
“She’s a lingerie model.”
I glance over at Cassian, who’s holding up his phone. A stunning blonde is smiling at me from the screen, hair perfectly styled around a heart-shaped face, her eyes sparkling as she laughs at the camera.
Nothing. Not even a twitch of lust. Yes, she’s gorgeous. But all I can think is that her hair isn’t the color of dark chocolate. Her eyes aren’t blue and icy one minute, then warm and soft the next.
“No.”
Cassian shakes his head. “I don’t understand you at all.”
I turn back to the wall of glass and stare out over New York City. From the fortieth floor of the Aliz Hotel, I can see the Empire State Building, the skyscrapers of Midtown. The city is lit up in all its glory as autumn darkness creeps in.
I raise my glass and take a long drink. We used to come here with John. Mostly while I was in college, although I dropped by between deployments, too. This was the last place I saw him before he passed.
Pain lances through me. John was one of four people in my life who have earned my trust and respect.
He took in Aiden, Cassian and me, made us a true family and opened doors I never would have imagined possible.
He never asked for anything in return. I told him thank you here and there but always held back.
I had the chance to open up, and I failed.
Four months after that last drink, John passed away from a heart attack while I was on an operation in South America. Fifty-four years old. He should have had years, decades left.
Instead, I lost yet another person I had slowly allowed myself to care for.
Shrugging off the guilt, I glance around the bar, let my eyes linger on a few attractive women seated at the bar. Two smile back, one even turning in my direction, inviting me to come over.
I haven’t been out since I left Venice. The thought of going on a date, of talking to another woman, kissing her, taking her to bed… I can’t do it.
Why? I ask myself for the hundredth time since I landed back in New York.
Why does she matter? It was one night. I made a stupid choice, although I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Not when it was the best sex I’ve ever had.
Not when Sophaya matched me for every move, her eagerness and passion driving me to the brink of my control.
Not when I pulled her close in the night and savored the feel of her in my arms. It was sexy, yes, but there had been something quietly satisfying about just lying with her.
I’ve never spent the night with another woman. After achieving physical release, I’d leave their apartment or penthouse or whatever hotel room we’d rented and go back to my own place. Another degree of separation that kept things casual.
But waking up throughout the night with Sophaya in my arms left me with a contentment I’d never experienced before. A contentment that took me to incredible highs before dropping me into a deep, dark pit, one seething with guilt and anger and regret as I walked out of Her Highness’s suite.
I will never make the same mistake again, I promise myself as I take another drink. I let down my guard that night, enough for Sophaya to creep in, and now I’m still struggling almost two months later.
It doesn’t help that I hurt her in those final moments. I knew the moment I’d labeled our night together as a mistake that I’d screwed up. No, I shouldn’t have slept with her. But I’d taken out my frustration over my own poor choices and the possibility of gossip on her.
And for what? Other than a handful of articles, the story about us dining together had died within seventy-two hours of my return.
There were minor mentions of a man being arrested for harassing her.
But the majority of the news coverage had been on the success of her European tour.
No nasty jokes about Hawke Security, no clients calling to cancel their contracts.
I’d hurt her for nothing.
“Aiden’s here.”
I glance over my shoulder as Aiden walks in, striding past the low-slung velvet sofas and clusters of people with smug confidence. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”
My eyes flick to his mussed hair. “You have lipstick on your collar.”
Aiden tries to glance down. Cassian laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “Can’t believe you fell for that.”
Aiden shrugs and smiles. A real smile. Ever since he finally admitted he was in love with his secretary, Seraphina, he’s been happier.
Relaxed. When compromising photos of Aiden and Seraphina hit the news over the summer, I’d been more surprised by Seraphina moonlighting as a fire dancer than the picture of her and Aiden nearly kissing.
They’d been working together for years, and we’d always sensed there was something between them.
Something I’d observed firsthand when I saw them together at the masquerade in Venice.
Even though the engagement had been a ruse to help Aiden secure a deal, they’d finally admitted they were both crazy about each other.
Now they were planning a spring wedding.
I never pictured Aiden being in love. But it looks good on him. Still have zero interest in trying it out for myself, but I won’t deny he seems happy.
I look back over the city. To each their own.
Even though I can’t get Sophaya out of my head, I don’t want anything beyond what we shared.
My relationships with my brothers and my company give me everything I need.
My bond with them has been forged over time, tested again and again by the worst New York City had to throw at us.
And Hawke Security is mine to control, mine to craft and mold into what I want.
Investing myself in anything else is a risk not worth taking. One night of intimacy brought me to the edge of control. I came dangerously close to letting Sophaya matter. Once I cross that threshold, the strength I’ve built up over the years will crumble.
Not even Sophaya de Marivela is worth that risk.
Aiden flags down a passing waitress and orders a cocktail. Cassian slides his phone over to Aiden.
“He’s saying no to her.”
“Why don’t you go out with her?” I ask.
Cassian looks back at me. A frown passes over his face. For the first time I notice a hint of darkness beneath his eyes, a slight strain I’ve never noticed before. “I’d love to. But this acquisition is demanding more of my time than I expected.”
“The shipping company out of Ireland?” Aiden asks.
“Yes.” Cassian shoves his phone in his pocket and picks up his drink. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Aiden and I glance at each other. Aiden shrugs.
Normally I don’t press my brothers on the personal details of their lives. We’d die for each other, kill for each other. But talking about our feelings? Not so much.
Except not that long ago, Cassian and I confronted Aiden about him and Seraphina breaking off their engagement. The conversation led Aiden to realize how much he truly loved her.
Before I can say anything, Cassian swings his head around and grins at me. “Are you saying no to Miss Lingerie because there’s someone else?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen.
And freeze.
Text message from Her Royal Highness.
I’d forgotten I’d saved her in my contacts under her title. My finger hovers over the button. What could she possibly be texting about after nearly two months?
“Dom?”
My head snaps up. Aiden and Cassian are both watching me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“A former client. I didn’t expect to hear from them again.”
I look back down. Force myself to tap the screen and open the message.
Mr. Hawke, I’m in New York and need to speak with you on a professional matter. Would you be free for a consultation at the Carlyle at eight o’clock tonight?
One of the most elegant and discreet hotels in all of New York City. My body stirs even though I know there’s no way in hell she’s trying to arrange an assignation. Not after the way we parted.
So what does she want?
Part of me wants to delete the message and forget I ever saw it. But I can’t do that. I was harsh to her when we parted. Cruel. That’s not who my grandmother raised me to be in the three short years I had with her. It’s not the kind of man John Hawke was.
I can do eight thirty.
I hit “Send” before I can second-guess myself. Her reply is almost instant, a simple Okay.
I slide my phone back into my pocket. “So,” I ask as I grab a menu, “what are you ordering?”
Both my brothers look like they want to press me.
But instead, they grab their own menus and start debating the merits of steak au poivre over sesame crusted tuna tataki.
I join in, finally ordering wagyu beef sliders.
One of my favorite meals to indulge in whenever we meet up here.
I hardly taste any of it. The seconds drag on as I barely refrain from looking at my watch every two minutes.
At a quarter to eight, I bid my brothers good night, ignoring their questioning looks as I take the elevator down and walk out onto 40th Street.
A quick jog to Times Square gets me to a subway station.
Twenty minutes later, I walk out onto 72nd Street and its old-world glamour, from prewar luxury apartments with ornate stonework to tree-lined sidewalks and doormen standing guard, brass buttons gleaming in the dim light.
The kind of world Sophaya was raised in while I scrounged on the streets and stole to survive.
I walk through the gold revolving door of the Carlyle. After checking in at the front desk, I’m issued a private key card that grants me access to the twenty-sixth floor where the hotel’s most expensive rooms are located, including the Presidential Suite.
I step off the elevator into a private, secure hallway. The door to Sophaya’s suite gleams under the golden lights, polished mahogany with a brass name plate.
My chest tightens. I raise my hand and knock. Footsteps sound on the other side of the door a moment before it swings open.
I didn’t expect Sophaya to answer it herself. Nor did I anticipate her looking so damned beautiful.
It’s like the memories of her are faded, a pale comparison to the woman in front of me.
Her dark hair is pulled into a high bun.
Wisps of hair frame her face. Her eyes look impossibly blue, the color even more enhanced by the periwinkle dress she’s wearing.
Voluminous sleeves stop at her elbows, and a billowing skirt flares out from her waist.
A simple, elegant dress. There’s nothing sexy about it. But my cock doesn’t care. Thankfully she’s looking at my face and not below my waist.
Something flashes in her eyes. Sadness, maybe, or a hint of vulnerability? But it’s gone before I can place it, replaced with that royal iciness she displayed for most of our time together. “Hello, Mr. Hawke.”
Two months ago I was buried to the hilt inside her. But if she wants to play things like this, fine.
I incline my head to her. “Your Highness.”
She steps back and gestures for me to enter.
I glance over my shoulder as she turns to close the door and bite back a groan.
The back of the dress stops just beneath her shoulder blades, the material covering her shoulders joined by thin straps tied into a bow below her neck.
I remember the feel of her back, the delicate curve, the seductive heat of her skin.
Maybe Cassian was right. Maybe I do just need to go out with someone. Not even take them to bed, but just enjoy another woman’s company over drinks or dinner. Think about someone other than Princess Sophaya de Marivela for a few hours.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you,” I reply as I follow her into the sitting area.
Earth-toned furniture is arranged around a glass coffee table.
Violet-colored hydrangeas spill out of a vase.
Behind the dove-gray sofa are floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of Central Park and Billionaires’ Row in the distance where Aiden and Seraphina live.
Sophaya stands off to the side, her fingers threaded together. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, her shoulders tense.
Unease pricks the back of my neck. “You said this was about a professional matter?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. “Yes.”
“Is it something in Siravelle?” Fear strikes, shocking and quick. “Another stalker?”
She shakes her head. “No, nothing like that.” She squeezes her hands together, then lets go. One hand drifts to her stomach.
Just like that, it hits me. I know what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth.
“I’m pregnant.”