Hawke Page 5

  “Okay,” I said softly, trying to keep the trepidation out of my voice. What was one showing? It wasn’t like the last few had put a dent on the map of artistic greatness. No matter how innovative and different I’d tried to be about it.

  “You look nice in that dress.” He opened the door and moved into the opening, blocking my way a little.

  I squeezed by him, enjoying the contact far more than I wanted to. “Thank you?”

  He laughed. “It was a compliment.”

  “Tell me about these changes.” I walked by my office, pausing to unlock the door and launch my purse into the room.

  “First, you tell me why you’ve been upset all week.” He moved up beside me as we walked to the front of the gallery.

  “It’s personal.” I shrugged. “Changes. Now.”

  “So bossy. I almost like it.” He winked and stopped beside one of the galleries. The entire room was different. Beautiful. Stunning.

  “What the hell?” I walked in and turned around in a slow circle. The paintings of old cars and movie stars from the thirties and forties were so much fun and filled with color.

  “You like it.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah, but... what the hell?” I put my hand on my hip and turned back to him, ignoring how good he looked with the sexy smile that was spread across his face. “Did you get that paperwork done?”

  “Yes, boss lady. I did.” He took a few steps toward me. “Tell me again that you like the new retro room.”

  “I do, but Hawke, these people around here are a little older and very antiquated.”

  “Says who?” He licked the side of his mouth, and my center turned to hot liquid. Shit.

  “Says me.” I found my voice and hardened it. Yep. No way in hell I was going to survive working for such a good-looking man.

  “Okay, well how about this? I continue getting things ready today while you review the paperwork you gave me, and we’ll put a bet on how the weekend goes.” He tilted his head to the side a little and stared down at me.

  Lisa was right. Moaning his name would be good for me.

  “I don’t make bets. This is a business not a—”

  “Hey, if you’re scared to lose, I get it.” He shrugged, turned, and walked out of the room. “I’ll get it done, and if it sucks, it’s on me.”

  “What?” I mumbled, left standing in the beautiful new retro room by myself. Asshat.

  I ran after him and stopped as he turned to face me. “I said if you’re—”

  “I heard you,” I huffed. “What’s the bet?”

  A smirk tugged at the edge of his perfect mouth. “If this goes well and the paper picks up a piece on the gallery, then you go out on a date with me. We take the bike. Have dinner, drinks, and we see where things go.”

  See where things go? My knees went weak, but I managed to keep myself upright. Holy shit. He was attracted to me, too? No way.

  “No,” I barked and moved past him.

  He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me close until our chests touched. “Yes.”

  “No,” I whispered and forced myself to look up into his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Shit. Yes.”

  “Good. If I win, you’re going out with me for a night.”

  I had to get some air. “And if I win, you’re going to run this company like your dad did—from a distance.”

  A darkness moved across his eyes, but he nodded. “Good. It’s a bet.”

  “Don’t put up pictures in your office.” I forced a smile. “This place hasn’t had a newspaper article done in forever, and I’ve tried everything.”

  “You haven’t tried me.” He smiled, released me, and walked down the hall, whistling something to himself.

  My heart thudded in my chest as I reached for the wall.

  I wanted him to win so damn bad. I needed to try him.

  I needed a reason to say yes.

  9

  Hawke

  I woke the next morning with my body hard and my thoughts on Jenna. There was no way in hell I wasn’t going to win our bet. All I needed was one date with the pretty, uptight girl, and she’d be mine.

  “Cocky fucker,” I mumbled to myself as I got out of bed and walked to the shower. My dick bobbed against my stomach, the blood all gone from every other part of my body to suffice my lust.

  After turning on the water, I got in and stepped under the hot spray. What was Jenna’s story? Had she been with someone and gotten her heart broken?

  Unlikely.

  She reminded more of the type of woman that had never been with anyone and liked it that way. Career-focused. Why, though? A dancer that didn’t dance anymore.

  My stomach tightened, and my balls contracted as I thought of stripping her out of a ballet suit. I reached down and stroked myself, squeezing pre-come all over the tip of my shaft before forcing my tight grip back down. A groan left me, and I gave myself over to the need building inside of me.

  The date couldn’t be about sex. Jenna was too classy for that.

  “Unless...” I moaned as I turned and pressed my forehead to the shower wall and closed my eyes. All I could see was her as I continued to fuck myself. Her perfect ass lifted in the air for me as I gripped her hips and thrusted hard.

  A soft whimper, a feminine begging filled my ears as the daydream took me further and further down.

  “Hawke,” she would whisper, her voice ragged, her ass jiggling from the power of my thrusts.

  “Fuck,” I cursed and pressed through my hand one more time as hot rivets of come coated the shower wall. Dizziness swam around my vision as I opened my eyes. How long had it been since I’d taken care of myself?

  Obviously, way too damn long.

  * * *

  “Hawke!” Jenna walked up, her eyes narrowed, her voice tight and pinched.

  I chuckled, unable to help myself. “Good to see you too, beautiful.”

  “It’s Jenna.” She moved up beside me as I walked down the long hallway to the gallery up front. I’d invited a few unknown artists that were friends to bring in their work for the showing that day.

  “I’m aware of your name. You look beautiful.” I glanced over at her and smirked. “Wear that on our date, hm?”

  “Hawke.” She turned, reached out, and gripped my arm tightly, pulling me to a stop. “There have been people coming and going all morning. The showing is at noon. Did you invite all of these people here?”

  “They’re artists, and yes, I did.” I tried to keep the angst out of my voice. The woman was a control freak. Not telling her about my invitation to a few good friends was probably a strike against me. “You knew I was going to do this showing a little differently than you were used to.”

  She dropped her hand, bit her thick bottom lip, and glanced to her left as Joel, a blue-haired sculptor friend of mine, raced by and greeted us. “You could have said something.”

  I reached out and gripped her narrow shoulders, offering her a warm smile. “I don’t bite, you know?”

  “What?”

  “You’re terrified that I’m going to win this thing. It’s just a date. I don’t bite, well, not unless you like that sort of thing.”

  She let out a huff as her cheeks and throat burned pink. Excellent. She did like biting. Me too.

  “This has nothing to do with the date and everything to do with the gallery.” She moved back, forcing me to let my hands drop. “I’m going to see what I can do to help get things in order.”

  “Sounds good but leave the showcase room to me. It’s going to be great.” I turned and walked toward the front room with a pep in my step. The familiar faces that greeted me with grateful smiles left me feeling light, good.

  “Dude. You rock so much for this.” Joel turned from his small corner where he was setting up his sculptures. “I’ve never been in a gallery.”

  “But you should have been.” I reached out and shook his hand as I checked out his art. “This stuff is magnificent.”

  “Thanks. It’s very cool of you t
o do this.” He patted my shoulder and knelt down. “Help me lift this one?”

  “Sure.” I knelt beside him and grabbed the side of a three-foot-tall naked woman, lifting it to a pedestal he had sitting close by. “You’re going to sell out today.”

  “It would be the first time.” He grunted as we set the statue down and moved back. “She’s my favorite.”

  “I can see why.” I smiled and turned, taking the time to talk to each of the more-than-grateful artists in the room. Whether I won the date with Jenna or not, the day was a success. My father might not have allowed street rats into his buildings, but I was one of them, and if I belonged in this new world, they did too.

  The rest of the morning was filled with Jenna, Dallen, and I rushing around to get everything into place by noon. By the time the doors opened to let in the crowd standing on the porch, we were all out of breath.

  I ran my hands down the front of my button-up shirt and smiled over at Jenna. “I think they’re going to love it.”

  She nodded and gave me a cute smile. “I do too, but you’re not getting the paper to publish a piece, Hawke Miles. I’d bet—”

  “You already did bet, unless you’re upping the ante?” I turned to face her and reached for her hand.

  She glanced down at our hands but didn’t drop hers from mine. “And how would I up the ante?”

  “The after dinner and drinks part is how that happens.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you.” She jerked her hand back, but her expression told a different story than her words.

  “I’m not thinking about sleeping.” I winked and turned to greet the crowds. I was teasing her—sort of. She was a good girl through and through, but there was more to her. I just knew it.

  “Come in. Welcome.” I moved up and shook a few hands, smiling as people from all walks of life came into the gallery.

  “This is beautiful,” an elderly woman with far too much jewelry on said. “I love the fact that you guys let a few new artists in. Whose idea was it?”

  “All of ours.” I extended my hand. “Hawke Miles.”

  “Oh!” She shook my hand as a warm smile moved across her face. “I knew your father. Brilliant business man. He will be missed in the art community. His stance on progressive art was something to respect.”

  “Progressive art?” I shook her hand and released it, stepping back a little. “What do you mean?”

  “He loved graffiti. Talked about your talent all the time.” She tilted her head to the side and got a faraway look in her eyes. “You didn’t know?”

  “No. We never talked about art.” I let out a short chuckle. “Dad has been more full of surprises in his passing than he was in life.”

  “As we usually are, my dear. As we usually are.” She moved around me and let out a squeal as she walked into the street artists’ gallery. Warmth rested in the center of my chest at the thought of Dad not only giving a shit about my art but talking to others about it.

  Maybe him giving me the gallery was his way of telling me that he cared.

  “Mister Miles?” A young guy with a camera and a notepad stopped in front of me.

  “Yeah. And you are?” I extended my hand and offered the guy a smile.

  “I’m Russ. A reporter from the Seattle Daily. Do you have a few minutes for a quick interview? We’d like to get a piece in the paper tomorrow morning about the progressive changes you’re making as the third-generation owner of the gallery.”

  “Third generation?” His comment surprised me. I cut him off before he started talking again. I would figure out what he meant on my own. “Of course, on the interview. Ask anything. I’m happy to get more attention on these artists and their talents.”

  “Excellent. Can we go to your office?”

  “You bet.” I turned to find Jenna standing to the side, her eyebrow lifted, mouth slightly agape. “Is that Russ Williams?”

  I winked and whispered my response as we walked by her. “Upping the ante?”

  10

  Jenna

  “Unbelievable.” I walked through my small apartment, the paper in front of my face. The event the day before had been a huge success. The biggest the gallery had seen in years.

  Someone knocked at the door, pulling me from the moment. I tossed the paper on the table and walked to the door. Lisa stood outside of it with a gallon of milk and a box of donuts.

  “I’m here! It’s too early for this, and there are church people out by the million. Traffic was terrible.”

  I laughed and took the milk from her. “Why did you bring donuts? I’m making cinnamon rolls and making bacon for us. I told you I’d cook.”

  “I know, but I haven’t had your cooking before.” She shrugged, opened the box of donuts, and pulled one out before offering it to me. “If your breakfast skills suck, I wanted a way out.”

  “All right. Fair enough.” I took a donut too and ate half of it on my way back to the kitchen.

  “So? How was the showing?”

  “It was... great. Beyond great.” I shoved the other half in my mouth and turned to face my best friend. “He was brilliant, and he looked like sexy on a platter in the dark blue shirt and tight black slacks he wore yesterday.”

  She breathed in and started choking.

  I laughed and started choking too.

  After we got ourselves pulled together, she walked to the table and picked up the paper, reciting the praise and adoration for Hawke Miles, the new, young, hip owner of the Miles Contemporary Art Gallery.

  “Wow.” She tossed the paper back onto the table. “I’m thinking he hit that one out of the park.”

  “He did.” I shrugged and went back to work on breakfast.

  “And you’re not upset? Not jealous?” She hopped up on the counter and gave me a knowing look.

  “No. I’m glad he did so well.” I let out a soft chuckle.

  “What’s that laugh for?” She pointed to my mouth as her eyebrow lifted. “That means something. I can tell.”

  “He and I had a bet.” I licked at my fingers, sucking the sugar and cinnamon off of them from rolling the pastry up. “And if I lost, we were going on a date.”

  “Yes! You lost?” She bounced on the counter like a small child.

  I laughed. “Yes, but I think he expects sex. I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe he was just flirting.”

  “All men expect sex. Give it to him. It’s about damn time anyway.”

  “I like knowing I have a gift to give the right guy in the future.” I stuck out my tongue before grabbing the tray of cinnamon rolls and walking over to put them in the oven.

  “So are you a virgin because you’re waiting on marriage, or is this about your mom being a strict religious person that thought you should wait?”

  “I just haven’t found the right guy. You know this.” I closed the oven door and moved over to work on the bacon. “If Hawke feels like the right guy, then I’ll sleep with him. I’m just a little worried about having sex with my boss. What if I suck?”

  Lisa let out a dramatic gasp that had me turning around to face her. “Or what if he sucks? Oh, the horror of it all.”

  “Shut up. He doesn’t suck. No way.” I turned back to the stove and smiled so hard it hurt my cheeks.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t. I’ve seen him. He’s a fucker for sure.”

  “Fucker as in asshole, or as in—”

  “As in a man that knows how to fuck.” She snorted and laughed. I joined her. It was fun to think about the possibility of letting my hair down for a night and just living a little. The part where he was my boss and it would be insanely awkward if things went poorly haunted me, but I pushed it away.

  No need to spoil the daydream.

  “So, did you like the additions or changes he made in the gallery? I know the reporter loved them, but you’ve got a great eye too.”

  “I loved them.” I turned the stove on and spun on my heel to face her again. “He’s an artist. I have no doubt. And he’s kind, Lisa. He brought
in all of those no-named artists from the streets and gave them a chance to showcase what they’d been working on their whole lives.”

  “Oh, wow.” She took a deep breath as her eyes got misty. “Look, if you decide you don’t like him, can I have him?”

  I reached over and grabbed a dish towel, launching it at her as I laughed. “No! He’s mine or no one’s.”

  “Oh Lord. We got a stalker on our hands, ladies and gentlemen.” She hopped down and walked over to stand in front of me, gripping my shoulders lightly. “Promise me you’ll have fun on this date. There is no reason in hell to let your tight-ass mother’s influence ruin this for you.”

  I nodded. “I know. My mother would croak if she thought I was going out with someone like Hawke, and to top it off? He has a motorcycle. I cannot wait to have an excuse for snuggling up to the back of him.”

  “Where is my tight-ass virgin friend that doesn’t believe in love?” She moved around me, opened the oven, and stuck her face near the opening. “You in here, Jenna?”

  I swatted her butt before making my way back to the kitchen table to read over the newspaper article one more time.

  “I keep thinking about the graffiti art the other night. How wild and free it was. It reminds me of Hawke, and honestly, it reminds me even more of the type of person I want to be. You know?” I dropped down in a chair and glanced up as she moved close.

  “Then maybe you should go back to dancing, or learn to paint, or come dye someone’s hair. Art is created in many, many different forms. You just have to find the one that fulfills you the most.” She reached down and tugged on a strand of my hair. “Your mom isn’t here, dictating your life anymore. She’s not paying for your college or your rent or your car. It’s all you, buttercup. Do what makes your heart sing.”

  “What if I don’t know what that is?” I let out a soft sigh and glanced down at the paper. I could so easily fall for a man like Hawke. No, not a man like Hawke. Hawke.