Page 8 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
Hawk’s lazy smile deepened. “I was here first, remember? Maybe you’re following me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”
He leaned across the table, clasped his big hands together on the scarred wood tabletop, stared deep into her eyes, and murmured, “Tell that to your wet panties.”
Jack had never wanted to hit someone so much in her entire life. The urge was violent and total, and she had to curl her hands into fists in her lap to keep them from clawing his eyes out.
Because he was right. Goddammit, he was right.
Blood rushed to her face. She sat there, counting to ten, staring back at him in silence while a storm of withering heat exploded inside her body. Somehow she knew he sensed it. His gaze dropped to the pulse fluttering wildly in her neck, and when he looked back into her eyes, his own were hot and dark.
Danger! her mind screamed.
Oh, hell, YES! was her body’s awful reply.
The surly waiter arrived with her food.
“Veggie burger, no cheese.” He removed the plate on the table and replaced it with the one in his hand, then stalked away again, exuding contempt.
Feeling as if she’d just been flattened by a truck, Jack sagged against the unyielding booth, taking comfort in its rigidity. She wished her self-control would take note and follow suit.
Staring at her plate, she started another count of ten.
Hawk leaned back, mercifully releasing her from his sex-appeal tractor beam.
“Problem with your food?” he asked, his tone solicitous.
This was a much safer course of conversation, but she still avoided his gaze, afraid of what he might find in her eyes. “Not anymore.”
There was a pause as he waited for more, silently watching her as she picked up the burger and began to eat.
“Are you always this charming, or am I just getting special treatment because I saved your life and you’re too much of a feminist to admit it?”
Jack swallowed. The food slid down her throat in a solid lump. “Try not to break your arm patting yourself on the back about that, Ace. Wasn’t the first time I’ve dodged a few bullets. Won’t be the last.”
She felt him looking her over, felt his gaze on her face, her hair, her hands, a gaze so heavy it was almost touch. A rush of adrenaline made her heart pound. She marveled that she’d been in mortal danger in countless war zones all over the world, yet just sitting there in a booth with this man, not even speaking or looking at him, she felt a thrill unlike anything she’d ever known.
She closed her eyes, unable to resist savoring the sweet sting of exhilaration. She knew she was an adrenaline junkie, and at moments like this, with fear and electricity and anticipation winging through her like a million tiny starbursts, she felt as if she was conducting fire through her veins.
This was her drug. This was what she lived for. Because she was dead inside in so many ways, this was the only thing that made her feel alive.
She breathed into it, a satisfied little smile curling the corners of her lips.
Hawk said, “First time I’ve seen you smile.”
Her eyes snapped open. He was s
taring at her with the strangest look on his face, a combination of intense concentration and slight confusion, as if he was taken aback by something that didn’t fit.
Jack was vaguely aware of her heartbeat, of the pulse of the music, the sway of people on the dance floor, but she was acutely aware of him, as if there were an invisible Tesla coil connecting their bodies.
Channeling an ache and a fever of static electricity, the space between them felt charged.
Truly curious, her intuition screaming that she was on the verge of something big, hazardous, and possibly life altering, Jack whispered, “Who are you?”
Something in her voice or her face made him falter. He swallowed, that façade of perfect, arrogant self-confidence cracked. His voice barely audible above the music, he said, “Lucas Eduardo Tavares Castelo Luna. But my friends call me Hawk.”
His eyes burned. The tension between them was palpable, thick as molasses. Jack was at a loss as to why.
