“I won’t be a prisoner.”
“I don’t want a prisoner.”
“Why do you need to know where I am all the time?”
“I don’t need to. I just want to.” I lean in toward her. I want to be sure she understands what I say next. “I won’t put many restrictions on you. I’m a reasonable man. But if you say yes then we have an agreement, and these are my terms. Your acceptance means your compliance to said terms.”
“Your rules you mean?”
“Whatever language you’re comfortable with.”
“I want to talk—”
“And know that there will be consequences if you break those rules.”
“What does that mean?”
I relax back and give her a wide grin. “It means don’t break them. Did you visit Liza today?”
“No personal questions. Like your ‘no personal effects’ rule during the auction.”
“Touché.”
The food comes then, filet mignon with roasted potatoes and asparagus. She puts her wine down and picks up her knife and fork. I’m surprised at the zeal with which she eats. She’s half-way through her steak before I take my first bite.
When she notices me watching, she sets her utensils down and wipes her mouth.
“Have you eaten today?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Just coffee this morning. I was busy.”
“Another term then. You’ll eat regular meals. I need you healthy. I don’t want you passing out.”
“I don’t typically starve myself. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”
“Like Liza?”
“No personal questions. We just agreed.”
“Testing.”
“Don’t test.”
“Eat, Melissa.”
She picks up her knife and fork and resumes eating. “Is Hawk your real name?”
She’s breaking her own rule, but I answer with a nod. “Family name. Always the first-born son’s name.”
“Is that a Scottish tradition?”
“Not particularly. Just my family.”
“Are they here too?”
I lean toward her and she meets my gaze. “No personal effects, remember?”
She shifts her gaze back to her meal, and we eat in silence. When we’re finished, I pour the last of the wine into her glass and watch her sit back and drink.
“Why are you doing this?” she finally asks. “I’m pretty sure you can have any woman you want. Why me?”
I’ve been waiting for the question, asked it to myself more than once. But I don’t have an answer.
“That’s personal,” I say, deflecting. “Would you like dessert?”
She studies me, shakes her head no and that lock of hair falls forward. I think how it would feel against my face, my chest, my cock. How her heavy breasts would feel hanging on me, all that hair tickling me as she takes me into her mouth.
“Are we agreed, then?” I ask. I want to get out of here.
She studies me, nods once.
“Good. I’ll transfer funds tonight. Half now, half at the end of the thirty days.” I stand, walk to her side of the table. “Let’s go.”
Again, she blushes as she sets her napkin on the table and rises.
I touch my hand to her naked back, running my knuckles over the curve of her spine. She stiffens, sucks in a breath at the touch, and when I lay the flat of my hand across her back, it spans almost the whole of it.
We exit the restaurant, walking to the elevator. I signal to one of my men.
“Take Melissa to the penthouse. She has an appointment.”
“Yes, sir.”
I turn back to Melissa who’s watching me with a worried expression.
“Is this really necessary?” she asks when the elevator doors slide open.
I nod.
She glances at the man but if he’s listening, he’s smart enough not to show it.
“Thank you for dinner,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
She looks at me a moment longer like she has something to say, but then she steps onto the elevator and I watch her until the doors seal closed and carry her away from me.
10
Melissa
Hawk left a few things out.
One, that the doctor would be administering a birth control shot and two, that directly following my appointment with her, I’d be getting waxed.
When I finally hear the ding of the elevator doors and watch them slide open, I’m fuming.
Hawk steps out, looking like a giant even here. His smile doesn’t waver when he sees my face or my stance. I’m wearing a bathrobe, underneath which I’m naked, and standing with arms folded across my chest. I’m sure my face is red with anger.
He takes off his jacket casually, sets it over the arm of a chair and moves directly to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a whiskey.
“Vodka?”
“No, thank you. I didn’t know I’d be getting a birth control shot.”
He shrugs his shoulder. He does that a lot and it irritates me that something so important to me is a shrug of a shoulder to him.
He sits down on the couch and sips his drink. “No risk of pregnancy,” he says.
“It’s my body. You can’t just decide on birth control for me.”
“I just transferred a considerable amount of money into your bank account which says I can.”