Page 63 of Restless Hawke
The last thing I should be doing is spending any more time than necessary in New Orleans. I didn’t even book a hotel when I made the split-second decision to come.
“I have to head to my meeting. Where are you going to stay? Let me get you a room.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to stay here.”
His brow furrows. “Why not?”
Turning away from him, I tug on the handle, and it pops open. I motion to the lock. “Because my guess is your key card opens every door in this place.”
A slow, lewd grin spreads across his face. “Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?”
I step out into the hall, tugging him with me. “Because I understand you, Coen Hawke. And I don’t trust you one bit.”
“Youdon’t trustme?”
His brows pop up as I push the button on the elevator and lean against the wall, facing him. I release his hand and push my disheveled hair back from my face. “Why should I?”
He leans in, bracing his hand above my head. “Because, as I said, I was far too kind to you in there, kinder than you deserve… That should earn me some trust.”
If that was him being kind…
I shiver, and the elevator dings.
He steps back to allow me to turn and move into it, then immediately cages me in again, pushing me against the wall with his hard, lean body, pinning me to it.
Without tearing his gaze from mine, he reaches out and presses the button for the lobby, then kisses along my jaw in a way that has my legs trembling, even as I can feel the cum still left inside me slowly starting to seep out.
I clench my thighs together.
“So, you’re not going to tell me where you’re going to stay?”
I shake my head.
“And how will I get in touch with you?”
He won’t.
He pulls his head back, that question so similar to the one he asked me in Monaco.
I smile at him, offering him hope I didn’t then. “I’ll find you again, Mr. Hawke.”
We whoosh down, staring at each other until the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
Someone clears their throat, and Coen glances over at the four people waiting just outside the cab.
One, the woman from upstairs. Another, a stunning blonde with vibrant-blue eyes that tell me she must be a Hawke, in sky-high designer heels and a stunning pencil skirt and blouse that screams “I’m in charge.” A drop-dead gorgeous man with sandy-blond hair and a keen gaze. And another who is the spitting image of Coen, which means it must be his father or maybe his uncle.
Definitely family.
Thatone raises dark brows. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Coen mutters a curse under his breath, takes my hand, and pulls me from the elevator to where they wait. “Allegra, this is my uncle, Savage, my cousin, Kennedy, and her husband, Cass, and you’ve already met Bishop.”
Bishop smirks at me, crossing her arms over her chest, making the insane muscles in her arms bulge slightly.
This woman is vicious.
It certainly explains why she wasn’t at all worried about going right at Coen upstairs.
