Kristen Ashley - Mystery Man

“Twice,” Hawk reminded me.

“Okay, twice,” I amended.

“Yeah,” Hawk agreed.

“So, I don’t get it. I barely know him. Why would he send Dog out to keep an eye on me?”

Hawk stared at me again then he repeated, “Babe, seriously?”

I threw up my hands and straightened in the bed, crossing my legs under me. “Yes, Hawk, seriously. What is up with that?”

His eyes narrowed before he asked, “Do you remember our conversation last night?”

Uh-oh.

“Which one?” I asked hesitantly.

“The one where I told you I clocked you before I even walked into the restaurant where you were sittin’, entertaining every man in the room.”

“I wasn’t entertaining every man in the room!” I snapped.

“Babe, you were.”

“Was not.”

“You were.”

I leaned in a bit. “Was not.”

“Sweet Pea, you were flippin’ your hair, fidgeting on your stool, suckin’ straws but just your laugh is enough to make a man’s dick get hard.”

Another con. Sort of. I mean, all that stuff I was doing for him and I was certainly glad to know, after all this time, he noticed but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

And it was nice he liked my laugh.

Moving on.

“And this has to do with Tack…?” I prompted.

“Are you not seein’ the pattern here?”

“Uh… no.”

“Were you not in your yard yesterday with Lawson, Tack and me?”

Uh-oh.

“I was there,” I snapped.

“And were not in your livin’ room when your boy Troy showed?”

Hmm. I was seeing his point.

“That doesn’t count, I’ve known Troy –”

Hawk cut me off. “Counts for him.”

He was probably right.

Hawk continued. “Counts for me.”

I crossed my arms on my chest. “Can you get to the point?”

“The point is, you’re the kind of woman whose furnace breaks down, she calls you, you haul your ass over to her house to fix it, even if you’re in the middle of a game.”

Oh shit. That had happened. It was right in the middle of a Broncos game when I called Troy.

God, I hated it that Hawk knew everything about me.

Another con!

“And you’re also the kind of woman who a man sees curled in a protective ball, he’s moved to do what he can to make certain that doesn’t happen again.”

I felt my eyes get squinty. “Is that why you’re here?”

He shook his head. “I’m here ‘cause when you come, you come hard, you don’t hold back but you do hold on and you do it tight. I’m here because when you call me baby in this bed, I feel it in my dick. And I’m here because you don’t hesitate throwing attitude when every other woman I know doesn’t have the guts to say boo to me. Seein’ you scared and wantin’ to do something about it was just an extra reason that made me want to be here.”

I had no response to that so I didn’t make one.

Instead, I said, “And Tack?”

“The attitude, babe, you threw a hissy fit in Ride and not a lotta women surrounded by members of the Chaos MC would rant about her sister and Barbies and a fuckin’ TV show.”

My eyes got squintier. “How do you know this shit?”

“I got eyes on Ride, Sweet Pea, I watched the whole show and you leak that to Tack I will not be happy.”

This surprised me. “You have eyes on Ride?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you have eyes on Ride?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

This was true. Not only did I not need to know, I didn’t want to know.

“Okay, you made your point,” I told him. “Can we get on to the good news?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “The good news is, the fire was contained to the living room. My brother works for the DFD; he’s been to the scene this morning and reports your laptop is all right.”

He had a brother? He had a mother who was a nut who named him a somewhat unusual but definitely cool name and a brother who was a firefighter?

I was finding it difficult to process all this information coming at me – a year and a half and nothing but nocturnal visits and multiple orgasms and now all of this.

“You have a brother?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Do you have any other siblings?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“What? A sister? Brother? Two? Twelve?” I pressed.

“Another brother,” he answered.

Good God. There were three Italian, Cuban, Puerto Rican male Delgados roaming the earth. How did I not know this? As a woman, I should have instinctually felt their presence.

“Where are you?” I continued my interrogation.

“What?” he asked.

“In the lineup, where are you? Firstborn, middle, last?”

“First.”

Shit, no wonder he was bossy. The firstborn of three boys.

“Babe, did you hear what I said about your laptop?” Hawk called.

I blinked and looked at him.

Then I asked, “What are their names? Falcon and Eagle?”

His dimples popped out then he shared, “My name is Falcon.”

“Your name is Hawk.”

“No, babe, my middle name. Falcone.”

I blinked again. “Your middle name is Falcone?”

“I told you my mother was a nut.”

“What is that? Italian?”

“Yep.”

“So what are your brother’s names?”

“Von and Jury.”

Jeez. His mother was a nut.

“Did your Dad have no input into the naming of his children?”

The dimples deepened. “He strapped her with three boys, Sweet Pea, she wanted girls. She married my Dad, three boys from his seed, she knew she was in for a lifetime of fights, blood, drunkenness, puke and pregnancy scares. That’s what she got. Layin’ that shit on her, he wasn’t gonna fight her on names.”

He needed to stop. He was freaking me out. This was TMI. Major TMI.

“TMI,” I muttered, staring at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Too much information, Hawk.”

“Babe, we’re all in our thirties. Von is married. We grew up, learned control and to be smart. The drunkenness, puke and pregnancy scares are history.”

He’d left out the fights and blood.

Then something came to me. “You don’t use protection with me.”

“I did the first few times.”

This was true, he did.

“But –”

“Rifled through your shit, saw your birth control pills. Put you on radar, saw you shared that body with no one but me, decided it was unnecessary.”

My eyes got squinty again. “You rifled through my shit?”

“Gwen, baby, clue in. I was makin’ you mine. When I make a woman mine, I do my homework.”

I stared at him, uncertain what this meant and deciding for sanity’s sake not to ask.

Then I mumbled, “I need a homemade donut,” because I did. I needed three. Then I needed to get my ass to the mall. I felt another little black dress coming on.

I was interrupted in my plan of attack on the mall when Hawk plucked me out of bed, twisted me, I landed on my back and was pressed into the mattress by his weight.

“See you’re gettin’ stressy,” he muttered, his eyes scanning my face, his hands skimming my body.

Mm.

“My childhood home was firebombed last night and I don’t know what to do about you. Of course I’m getting stressy.”

His face disappeared in my neck and he murmured in my ear, “I can teach you better ways to deal with stress than downin’ donuts.”

I knew this to be true since he’d already expended a fair amount of effort on those lessons. Except for stressing out about why I was letting him visit me, after a night with him my body felt like I’d received a one and a half hour full body massage at the hands of a master while in a steam room.

I put my hands to his shoulders and exerted pressure, saying, “My stepmom and your commandos are in the kitchen.”

His head came up and he looked down at me, his eyes warm and my belly got squishy. “We’ll be quick and quiet,” he whispered.

He could be quick? He’d never been quick before. He was a man who took his time and he did this in a good way.

“I can’t have sex in a house that Meredith is in. And I can’t have sex with you because I haven’t decided what to do about you.”

I wasn’t paying attention so when his hands met the hem of my nightshirt then went in and up, the warmth of them light on my skin made me shiver.

“How about I help you decide,” he offered then his head dipped and his lips slid across my jaw and that felt nice, coupled with his hands still moving on me, I did another shiver.

I pulled myself together. “No, I need to make the decision on my own. I’m compiling a mental pros and cons list of whether I should explore things with you.”

His head came up, his lips in a minor grin but the dimples were there. One of his hands stilled but the other one came out of my nightshirt, lifted and ran along my hairline.

“What you got?” he whispered.

“You’re bossy, arrogant, intrusive, annoying and you crushed Troy like a bug without thought or remorse. Those are cons,” I shared honestly.

His minor grin amplified.

See! Totally unrepentant.

“Oh, and you don’t listen to me,” I added.

More grinning then, “Do I have anything going for me?”

“On the very rare occasion you can be sweet, you’re a cuddler and you carried me out of a burning building. Those are the pros.”

“I’m a cuddler?”

“You spoon.”

His brows went up. “That’s important enough to put on your list?”

“Uh… yeah.”

He stared at me, grinning nearly at a smile then he noted, “Fuckin’ ridiculous what women think is important.”

My eyes got squinty and I snapped, “Con!”

The grin became a smile when he whispered, “You forgot a pro, baby.”

“No,” I corrected. “So far, that list is exhaustive.”

His hand in my nightshirt moved up and the warmth of it cupped my breast. I sucked in air and stilled, then melted and let out the air on a quiet gasp when the skin of his palm slid across my nipple.

“Definitely a pro,” he muttered while watching my face then his head dropped and he kissed me. This was a triple threat because his tongue in my mouth, his hand at my breast (now with thumb action that was nice) and his hard, heavy body pinning mine to the bed was irresistible.

He was right, definitely a pro.

His mouth released mine, his thumb stopped its brilliant torture and his fingers cupped my breast and I found my fingers curled around the back of his head, my other arm tight around his back and one of my calves had moved to hook around the back of his thigh.

I was gazing up at him firm in the knowledge that I wanted to discover quick when he grinned and his warm hand gave my breast a firm squeeze.

“See what I mean, baby?” he whispered. “Definitely pro.”

I blinked. Then I stiffened.

Then I stated, “And see what I mean, baby? Definitely arrogant.”

He did that manly, deep, amused chuckle, dipped his head, kissed the indentation at the base of my throat, his hand disappeared from my breast and he rolled off me, taking me with him. We were on our feet beside the bed, his arms around me, before I could blink.

“You need to work, get shit done,” he declared. “Tonight I need you focused.”

“On what?” I asked.

His face got closer and his arms got tighter. “On me.”

Oh boy.

“My parents are staying here,” I reminded him.

“I got a place,” he reminded me.

His lair. Hmm. Another shiver which he felt and I knew it because it caused him to grin another grin.

His arms gave me a squeeze. “Work, then tonight I add to the right side of your list.”

I opened my mouth to tell him I should make my decision without my mind muddled by his superhuman sexual powers but I didn’t get a word out. His head bent, his mouth touched mine and then, poof! he was gone.

I swayed a second without his strong arms around me and his solid body to rest against. Then I turned to stare at the bedroom door.

Then I muttered, “I hate it when he does that.”

But I didn’t. If I was honest, I thought it was cool.

I was scoring through work again after getting eggs, bacon and coffee from Meredith; sharing in her delight that it was “only the living room, honey, and I’ve been after your Dad for months for a new couch” and “I really needed a few days off, so now I get to put my feet up” (told you she always looks on the bright side); saying hello to the commandos; having a shower; accepting delivery of my laptop, bag, purse and jacket direct from the “scene” from another of Hawk’s commandos; and holing myself in my office.