Chapter 15
Fifteen
Emma
The idea came to me while the cinnamon rolls were still cooling.
Which probably meant it was a terrible idea.
But the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.
Hawk had told me very clearly not to feed his men.
Not asked.
Not suggested.
Told.
Which was exactly why I was about to do it again.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the icing slowly melt into the warm rolls. The mixer Hawk had bought me sat proudly beside the stove, gleaming under the kitchen lights like it knew exactly how spoiled it was.
The entire kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar.
Warm. Comforting.
Dangerous.
“You’re a bad influence,” I muttered to the empty room.
Still, I grabbed a tray.
The rolls were perfect—soft, golden, and dripping with icing that ran down the sides like they belonged in a bakery display. I arranged them neatly and stepped back to admire them.
Not bad.
The guys sitting outside my house all day probably hadn’t had anything homemade in weeks.
That was my justification.
Mostly.
The real reason?
I wanted to see what Hawk would do when he found out.
The thought alone made my lips curve into a slow smile.
Ten minutes later I stepped outside onto the front porch with the tray balanced carefully in my good hand.
The late afternoon sun stretched across the quiet street, warm and lazy.
Two houses down, the motorcycle sat exactly where I expected it to be.
The biker leaning against it straightened immediately when he saw me walking toward him.
His shoulders tightened.
That alone made me grin.
“Hi,” I called.
He blinked.
“Uh… hey.”
I stopped in front of him and lifted the tray slightly.
“Cinnamon rolls.”
He stared at them like they might explode.
“Emma…”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Doing what?” I asked innocently.
“Talking to us.”
I laughed.
“Wow. Hawk really runs a tight dictatorship.”
The biker rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down the street like he expected Hawk to magically appear around the corner.
“Emma, seriously.”
“What?” I repeated.
He pointed at the tray.
“Prez told you not to feed us.”
I tilted my head.
“And you always listen to him?”
His answer was immediate.
“Yes.”
“Boring.”
Before he could protest again, I stepped closer and set the tray directly on the seat of his motorcycle.
“There,” I said sweetly. “Problem solved.”
The biker stared down at the tray like it had personally betrayed him.
“You’re trying to get us killed.”
I leaned casually against the motorcycle beside him.
His entire body went rigid.
“Oh relax,” I said. “I’m just standing here.”
“Emma.”
“What?”
“You can’t lean on the bikes.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re—”
He stopped himself.
I raised an eyebrow.
“They’re what?”
He sighed.
“They’re the club’s.”
“Oh,” I said.
Then I smiled.
“So they belong to Hawk.”
He didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
I studied him openly.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark beard. Tattoos creeping out from under his sleeves.
“So,” I said thoughtfully, “are all bikers this attractive, or is that just the ones Hawk sends to babysit me?”
His eyes widened.
“You’re flirting with me.”
I laughed.
“Flirting?”
“Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re leaning on my bike.”
“So?”
“You just called me attractive.”
“Well,” I shrugged, “you are.”
He groaned quietly.
“Emma… Prez is gonna lose his damn mind.”
That only made my smile widen.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“How interesting.”
He grabbed one of the cinnamon rolls and stared at it.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
He sighed and took a bite.
Then immediately closed his eyes.
“…Jesus.”
“Good?” I asked sweetly.
He opened one eye.
“Damn good.”
“See?” I said. “Worth the risk.”
His radio crackled softly.
Another biker’s voice came through.
“You eating those?”
He sighed.
“Yeah.”
“Emma bring them?”
He looked at me.
I waved at the radio.
“Hi.”
The other voice groaned loudly.
“Oh hell no.”
I laughed.
“You guys are dramatic.”
Back inside the house, I set the empty tray on the counter and washed the icing from my fingers.
My phone rang before I even reached the sink.
Not buzzed.
Rang.
I froze.
My heart did a weird little flip.
Hawk.
I knew it before I even looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
But it had to be him.
I picked up.
“Hello?”
Silence filled the line for a second.
Then his voice came through low and rough.
“Emma.”
The sound of my name in his voice sent a little spark through my chest.
“Oh,” I said lightly. “Look who finally remembered I exist.”
A quiet exhale came through the phone.
“You flirting with my men now?”
I leaned against the counter.
“Maybe.”
A pause.
Then:
“Stop.”
I smiled.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Not really.”
His voice dropped lower.
“Because I said so.”
I rolled my eyes.
“That’s not a reason.”
Silence stretched across the line.
Then he spoke again.
“You leaning on their bikes too?”
I grinned.
“Maybe.”
Another pause.
“You testing me on purpose?”
“Maybe.”
I could almost hear his jaw tightening through the phone.
“Emma.”
“Yes, Hawk?”
“You keep pushing me like this…”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“You’re not going to like what happens.”
My stomach fluttered.
I leaned my hip against the counter and crossed my arms.
“You jealous?”
The silence that followed was thick.
Heavy.
Then his voice came back rougher than before.
“You’re mine.”
The words hit like a spark in gasoline.
Heat rushed straight through me.
I swallowed it down and forced a smile into my voice.
“In your dreams.”
Then I hung up.
The phone went silent in my hand.
For a second I just stood there in the quiet kitchen, staring at the dark screen.
My heart was beating a little faster than it should have been.
But a slow smile spread across my face anyway.
Because if the sound of his voice was anything to go by…
Hawk was absolutely furious.
And somehow…
That made it even more fun.