Caught (Prequel to Hawk) (Sex and Bullets) by Jo Raven Page A

I said, I wanna thank you for breaking up with this girl tonight, in this restaurant, because I’ve been watching her since she arrived and wishing she’d be free to have dinner with me.”
     
    “What the fuck?” Chance’s face has gone red. A thick vein is pulsing at his neck, like it does whenever he gets mad.
     
    The noise of the restaurant fades away. The room recedes, leaving only the beautiful, tall stranger and his unexpected words.
     
    He turns to me and leans over the table, offering me his hand. “Shall we, then?”
     
    “Are you serious?”
     
    He hums and nods, those blue-gray eyes twinkling. I put my hand in his, mesmerized by the way his fingers engulf mine, and let him pull me to his side.
     
    “Hey man, you can’t do this,” Chance is saying, taking two steps toward us, dragging the still unnamed girl behind him. “Layla? You can’t just let a fucking stranger take you—”
     
    “It’s just dinner,” the man says, his hand still wrapped around mine, his palm rough and hot. “And you broke up with her.” He pauses, gives Chance a condescending look. “Not that she ever belonged to you, or with you. Not a girl like her.”
     
    My jaw has officially hit the floor. Who is this guy?
     
    His arrogant confidence stops Chance like a physical barrier, like a punch to the chest. I can see how Chance struggles with indecision, with anger, and I wonder what his issue is. Like this man just said—this Hawk Fleming or whatever—Chance broke up with me. Why isn’t he just walking away?
     
    It’s as if he’s suddenly jealous at any man showing any token interest in me. Or maybe at this man, who’s so obviously rich and better-looking.
     
    It’s disgusting, and I make a sound of distress before I can help it. I feel sick. Sick that Chance would throw me away, slander me publicly, and then think he has any claim on me.
     
    “You look beautiful,” Hawk tells me, lifting my hand to his lips, and even if it’s just for show, I shiver at the brush of his soft lips over my fingers.
     
    And I’m also glad, because Chance’s face darkens so much he may well stroke out, and then he turns on his heel and leaves, the woman whose name I’ve yet to catch giving me a baleful glare before stalking after him.
     
    Leaving me alone with this guy, and with the eyes of everyone in the restaurant still on us—curious, judging, pondering.
     
    I hope it was fun for them, because honestly, I’m pretty shaken right now as the pieces of the evening fall around me like raindrops, revealing holes—in my life, in my plans for the future.
     
    Because I’d somehow thought Chance and I would move in together soon. That I’d finally meet his parents. Build a life together.
     
    I don’t know for him, but for me two years is a big deal.
     
    Was. Was a big deal.
     
    Oh my God, we’re done, and he was freaking awful, and that woman…
     
    The air is stuck in my throat, and my vision is all blurry, so when Hawk grips my chin and turns my face toward him, I barely see him. He’s a hazy, beautiful outline of a man, until I blink and his bright gaze becomes clear once more.
     
    “Okay?” he says. Only that, and waits for my reply.
     
    I nod. I mean, what else can I do? He salvaged as much of my pride as possible, salvaged my night, and no matter how scattered and hollow I’m feeling, the thought of sitting close to this guy is making my face warm.
     
    “Then this way, please,” he murmurs and leads me away to a table by one of the bay windows overlooking the harbor. His steps are heavy, his gait powerful, his grip on my hand just shy of painful. “I was about to order.”
     
    And I was about to die of shame and anger and the shards of my life falling around me, and he saved me.
     
    My heart trips over as he takes a seat across from me.
     
    A waiter comes to bring me a leather-bound menu, and bows to Hawk with a murmured, “Mr. Fleming.”
     
    That’s when it hits me and I know who he is,