Her blond hair had a fine, wispy quality, and he knew from experience that it was as soft as a baby’s. Her eyebrows were delicately arched over eyes that he knew were large and expressive and a fascinating, changeable mix of amber hues.
Hawk let his gaze roam down to her lips. They held the sheen of a shimmery pink lipstick, but they needed no embellishment for their natural charm as far as he was concerned. He’d tasted them earlier in the day, because the temptation had been too great.
He debated for a moment, and then, unable to help himself, leaned over, tilted her chin toward him with a light touch and pressed his lips to hers.
He rubbed his lips against hers, feeling the tingle of sensation, and then gently worked her lower lip with a small suck.
Dessert hadn’t been nearly as good.
Pia’s eyelashes fluttered. She opened her eyes and lifted her head.
Hawk pulled back, and then gave her a lopsided smile.
“Wh-what?”
“I was awakening Sleeping Beauty with a kiss,” he responded in a low voice. “Isn’t that the fairy-tale heroine that you are today?”
She blinked, coming further awake. “Unintentionally. This isn’t a good idea.”
He glanced past her and then back down again, keeping his expression innocent. “Did you prefer not to be awakened when we arrived at your apartment? Should I have driven straight on to my place instead?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, though in a halfhearted tone.
He smiled for a moment before turning to open the driver-side door.
He reached her side of the car in time to help her alight, though she hesitated for a second before placing her hand in his.
By now, he was used to the sizzle of any physical contact between them.
“Good night, Your Grace,” she said when she’d gotten out of his car, her eyes meeting his.
He let his lips drift upward. “Good night, Pia.”
He watched as she made her way into her building, the doorman looking up from his television set to acknowledge her.
Only after she’d disappeared from view did he get back into his car.
As he pulled into traffic, Hawk acknowledged that he was pushing the boundaries with Pia. But, he told himself, he knew what the limits were.
Or so he hoped.
Seven
“Ducal Gofer. Gazillionaire bridal assistant, the Duke of Hawkshire…”
Pia gritted her teeth as she read Mrs. Jane Hollings’s gossip column in The New York Intelligencer.
“What’s wrong?” Belinda asked.
Pia had just sat down at a table in Contadini, where she, Belinda Wentworth and Tamara Langsford—née Kincaid—were having one of their Sunday brunch dates.
“Mrs. Hollings has written about me and Hawk in her gossip column,” Pia said as she scrolled down the article on her smartphone. “Apparently she received notice that Hawk helped me handle some wedding escapades last night.”
“That was fast,” Belinda commented.
“Well, it’s in her online column,” Pia responded, looking up. “Her regular print one will appear in Monday’s paper, where no doubt I will be able to savor the joy of having my name appear in print with—” her lips pulled down “—the Duke of Hawkshire’s.”
Belinda looked at Tamara. “Doesn’t your husband own this paper? Can’t you do something about this awful woman?”