Sinful Rewards 10 (4 page)

And he will arrive. I trust him to save me.

“He'll save you too,” I tell my cat. “You won't ever be alone again.”

She licks her chest. I don't know much about cats, but even I recognize she's unhealthily thin. “You've been starving yourself.” I cluck my tongue. She lifts her head and stares at me. She's a clever cat. She realizes I'm talking to her. “If you could speak, I know you'd tell me your name.”

She strolls toward me, her body swaying.

“But you can't.” I tilt my head. “So I guess I'll have to give you one.” I chew on the inside of my cheek as I consider possibilities. “How about Kate after the famous supermodel?”

My cat's tail twitches, the way Hawke's lips twitch when he's laughing at me.

“I agree. Kate doesn't suit you.” I tap my chin. “You could be a Heidi.”

My cat appears unimpressed with my suggestion. She has less interest in fame than I do.

I gaze at her with dismay. “Please tell me your name isn't Gisele.” My cat meows. “No, you're nothing like Gisele.” She meows again, her lips curling into a feline grin, and I groan. “She pioneered that horrible horse walk where models stomp along the catwalk. You're more graceful than that.”

My cat rubs her head along my knees, purring happily.

“Fine.” I relent, holding out my hand. “I'll call you Gisele.” She bumps into my fingers, her fur delectably soft. “But if anyone asks, you were named after the ballet.” I'm keeping Gisele. I made her a promise. She won't be alone, and I don't trust anyone else not to abandon her.

I sigh, my plan to help Hawke backfiring. He now has to rescue me and adopt a cat, more responsibilities added to his broad shoulders.

I don't regret my actions. Gisele needs me. She requires my protection, my companionship, my love. Hawke will understand this.

I watch Gisele as she once again grooms herself, my new pet even more of a neat freak than I am, and I wait for my man to arrive.

“B
ELINDA
,” H
AWKE BELLOWS
and I wince. He doesn't sound happy.

“I'm in here,” I yell back. The noise frightens Gisele. She jumps out of my lap and darts away from me. I have to let her go. We've been in this alley for over an hour. During that time, she has touched me but hasn't allowed me to touch her, not once. She wouldn't appreciate it if I grabbed her now.

My cat will return and if she doesn't, Hawke will find her, I assure myself.

The gate closest to the restaurant swings open. A gray-haired man in a security guard's uniform holds a collection of keys. Cameras flash, illuminating the shadows.

“Thank you, John.” Hawke nods at the man as he strides into the space, his gait fast, purposeful, his rugged countenance dark, his lips flat. The gate closes behind him and I frown. Are we staying here?

I hasten to my feet. “You came.” I smile at him, knowing he wouldn't let me down.

“I'll always come for you, love.” His pale blue eyes glow with a heart-pounding level of emotion. “Are you okay?” Hawke captures my face with his rough hands, gazing at me as though he thought he'd lost me forever. “Did they hurt you? If they harmed one hair on your beautiful skull, I'll kill them,” he vows.

“No one hurt me.” I press my lips against his right palm, tasting the salt on his skin, reveling in his proximity. “I hurt myself.” His grip on me tightens. “A little. I misjudged the size of my ass when I crawled under the gate.”

“Your ass is the perfect size.” He spins me around and lifts my skirt. Cool air wafts over my heated skin as he inspects the damage himself, prodding the scratches with his fingertips. “I'll apply ointment when we return home.” He lowers my skirt.

When we return home
, I silently repeat. Warmth spreads over my chest. I have a home and a man and a cat. “We can't leave until Gisele returns.”

“Who is Gisele?” Hawke frowns.

“She's our cat,” I explain. The furrows on his forehead deepen. “She's here all alone, Hawke.” I hold his hands, willing him to understand. “Someone abandoned her and she needs our protection. She—”

“Did this stray cat bite or scratch you?” Hawke asks, his tone angry. My stomach churns. I thought he liked cats.

“Her name is Gisele,” I emphasize. She's not simply another stray cat. “And she would never hurt me. She's very dainty . . . and clean,” I add, knowing how much he values cleanliness. “But she doesn't like to be touched, so allow her to approach you.”

Hawke blinks. “You know this because you paid attention.” He studies me. “You read the cat's body language.”

“
Our
cat's body language,” I correct. “A man I greatly respect taught me that.” I squeeze his fingers.

“Yet you didn't tell this man you greatly respect your plans for today.” Hurt edges Hawke's words. “Why didn't you call me?”

He thinks I deliberately deceived him. “If I get into the habit of calling you all the time, I'll forget and call you while you're on assignment.” I hug him close, pressing my body against his. “A distracted marine is a dead marine.”

“Who told you a distracted marine is a dead marine?” Hawke steps backward. “Was it the same person who mentioned I was more valuable out of the field?”

“No,” I answer truthfully. The information was gathered from different people. “And we weren't talking about you being distracted. Everyone knows you're the best.” I pause, considering my next words. “Your team thinks that's why you lead all of the high-profile assignments.” Since I'm already relaying insights, I'll share this too. “You're more skilled than they are.”

“They think I question their abilities?” Hawke's eyebrows lower.

I stare at him. Is he serious? “You assume command of every dangerous assignment. What do you expect them to think?”

He winces. “You're right. That does look bad.” He rakes his fingers through his closely cropped hair. “I wanted them to respect me, not to doubt themselves.”

“They respect you.” I touch the barbed-wire tattoo encircling his right arm. “Your team would follow you into the depths of hell. You say ‘Jump.' They say ‘How fuckin' high, sir?' ” I quote Mack.

Hawke's lips twitch. “They talk to you, don't they?”

“They do.” I nod.

“Come here, Belinda.” He pulls me into his muscular form, his seductive heat surrounding me. “How did I ever manage without you?”

“Better than you're managing now, I imagine.” Since meeting me, he's taken responsibility for three women and a cat, had his condo invaded by storage boxes, gotten into a physical fight with a billionaire, and waged a war against gossip blogs.

Hawke holds me, rubbing his big hands over my back. I snuggle against him, savoring his strength, his scent. He's here. He came for me, as I trusted he would. “We should leave.” He releases me, but his fingers linger on my arms, shoulders. “Our men are waiting outside the gate, blocking the paparazzi.”

“Gisele hasn't returned.” I survey the garbage drifting around us, searching for our cat. There's no sign of her. “We can't leave her here. She doesn't have anyone.”

“Mack has a way with animals.” Hawke brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his calloused fingertips grazing my cheek. “We'll give him a description of Gisele. He'll tempt her out of hiding with some cat treats.”

She deserves cat treats. “Gisele doesn't trust easily,” I warn him.

“None of my girls do.” Hawke's lips hitch into the lopsided smile I adore. “The crowd outside will scare her, love.”

My eyes widen. “With the noise and the cameras flashing, she'll be terrified.” I hadn't thought of that. “He'll be careful with her?”

“He'll be very careful.” Hawke skims his lips over mine, his kiss frustratingly brief. “As careful as I am with you.” He scoops me into his arms and I yelp with surprise, swatting his chest.

The idiot laughs as he strides toward the gate, his big boots eating up the pavement. I'm high off the road and, if any other man carried me, I'd be frightened, but this is Hawke and he'd never drop me.

My overprotective man raps on the metal with his scarred knuckles, and the gate swings open. I'm blinded by flashes of light. People call my name, none of them voices I recognize. They want me to look at them, to give them a selling shot for their tabloid magazines, papers, online sites. I press my face against Hawke's black T-shirt, not wishing to reward their bad behavior.

The paparazzi snap photos as we move, and I grimace. I'm dirty and smelly, my hair must be a mess, and I'm wearing that god-awful waitress's uniform. This is the image the world will see of me.

Hawke shifts me in his arms. I suspect he's pushing people away from us, but I can't verify this. The paparazzi are waiting for me to look up. Determined to thwart them, I cling to my big man's neck and keep my face hidden, trusting him to keep me safe.

His body folds over mine and we enter a vehicle. Hawke sets me on the seat. Someone tosses a leather jacket on top of me. It belongs to my military man, his scent soothing me.

“Go,” my military man barks. The seat vibrates under my ass. “Fuck, they're aggressive.” He draws me closer to him. “Are you okay under there, love?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, warm but healthy. “Don't forget about Gisele.”

“Right, our cat.” The rough edges in his voice smoothen. “I'm sending a text to Mack. What does she look like? Be specific. We don't want him returning with fifteen cats.”

There could be fifteen cats living in that back alley, abandoned, left behind by the humans they loved. I touch the dog tags hanging from the chain around my neck, wishing I could save them all. “Gisele is skinny; you can count her ribs. She has short black fur, yellow eyes, a bite out of her right ear, scars on her chin and back of her head and body, a huge deep gash on her left hind leg.”

“Gisele doesn't sound like one of those pampered purebred Persian cats I see all of the rich ladies carting around in their big designer bags,” Hawke says. “Was she in your plan?”

I lift the jacket a smidgeon and glare at him. “None of this was in my plan.” I lower the leather, concealing myself once more. “My plan was blown to hell the moment I met you.”

Hawke chuckles, his big body shaking. I pinch him and he laughs harder. My lips flatten. I'm living with an idiot.

“You like that I blew your plan to hell.” He peeks under the jacket, his eyes sparkling. “Admit it.”

“I shouldn't like it.” I jut my chin. My plan was to marry Nicolas, a handsome, steadfast, well-dressed billionaire, a man who could financially take care of my hardworking mom. We'd own a home, fit into Chicago society, be accepted everywhere.

“But you
do
like it,” Hawke presses.

“I shouldn't,” I insist. There's nothing about the situation I should like. I'm living with a man too weathered by his past to be considered beautiful. He has appalling taste in clothes, risks his life in a minimum-wage security job, can't financially help anyone. The condo is owned by the Organization, the company he works for, and, even if, by some miracle, he was accepted by Chicago society, Hawke wouldn't attend any of the events. He'd deem the publicity surrounding them too dangerous, the media coverage possibly attracting hostiles.

“
I
like it.” He kisses my dirty forehead. “A pampered Persian cat wouldn't have protected you in the alley.”

And Nicolas might not have protected me from the paparazzi today. He would have been too busy running his real estate empire. I would have been alone, as I've been in the past.

Hawke puts me first. “Will you get into trouble for ditching work?” I snuggle closer to him, reveling in his strength, in his caring.

“The clients will survive,” he drawls. “Go to parking level one,” he tells whoever is driving the vehicle. Hawke might not have a lot of money, but he always has a group of men willing to help him. He has also vowed never to leave me. If I stay with him, I'll never be on my own.

I suppose I can't walk away from him now. We have a cat. I smile.

Once the media attention surrounding me dissipates, I'll find another job and buy her some cute collars, in different colors and styles. She'll have a cat bed and a fancy scratching post and all of the food she can possibly eat.

Gisele will know she has a permanent home and a human who loves her. I'll read articles and watch documentaries and be the best damn pet mom on the planet.

I splay my fingers over Hawke's stomach. His muscles ripple under my palms.

First, I have to get through this next month, my lack of money worrying me. I barely have enough cash left to pay for my mom's rent. If Cyndi needs more help, we're fucked. I chew on the inside of my cheek. My best friend isn't accustomed to being on a small budget.

“How much longer will I be stalked by the paparazzi?” I ask.

“They typically get bored after a week.” Hawke slides me along the leather seats. “The week starts on the date of the newsworthy incident. Discovering that a woman who has been offered a billion dollars for sex prefers to work as a busboy at a burger joint is an incident.” His tone is underlain with disapproval. He's still angry that I left the condo. “You shouldn't need this now.” He tosses his black leather jacket to the side.

We're sitting in the backseat of a massive Hummer, the vehicle parked in the condo complex's underground garage. Demo and Prick sit in the front, talking, their voices too low to hear.

Parking level one belongs to Nicolas. This north tower space is as congested as the south tower, different makes and models of vehicles filling the spots. Nicolas has a huge collection of cars and trucks, yet I've never seen him drive. He takes his limousine everywhere.

“Nicolas is one strange bird.” I shake my head.

“Says the woman who pulled off an elaborate escape from our comfortable home so she could wipe down tables.” Hawke opens the door, planting his booted feet on the garage floor. “If you needed more messes to clean, I could have orchestrated that.” He scoops me off the seat.

I grab my messenger bag. “You don't have to carry me. I can walk.” I frown up at him. He ignores me, stalking toward the elevator, his grip on my body almost painfully tight. “And I didn't take the job at the restaurant simply to clean. I'd never do that. Everyone expects me to become my mom, to wait tables for the rest of my life. Donning that uniform today nearly cost me a piece of my soul.”

It didn't because I donned it for him, for us. I wasn't merely waiting tables. I was protecting the man I care for, the man I might grow to love . . . some day. I lower my gaze to Hawke's chin. The day isn't today. It can't be.

“You look pretty in your uniform,” he grumbles.

“I'm dressed in red-and-white polyester.” I pluck at one of my short sleeves. “I look like a ketchup bottle.”

Hawke's lips don't twitch at my joke. This is how upset he is. “If you hate the uniform so much, why did you take the job?”

Does he have to ask that question? I gaze up at my military man. “We need the cash.”

He jabs the elevator button with his finger. “Tell me how much cash you need and I'll give it to you.”

I shouldn't say anything. I'll damage his fragile male ego and make the situation worse. Oh shit. I have to say something. “Yes, you'll get the cash by working more hours, taking dangerous assignments, and you'll get your damn self blown up.”

The elevator doors open and Hawke steps inside, carrying me easily. “I'll get it by going to the bank machine and withdrawing the cash from our account.” He waves his passcard over the sensor and selects the third floor.