Page 16 of Heart of Stone (Stoneheart MC #1)

"Not what you expected?" Hawk asks, helping me off the bike.

"I figured we’d end up at some dive bar with peanut shells on the floor."

"That’s tomorrow night."

"Funny."

His hand settles on my lower back as he guides me inside. The hostess’s eyes widen slightly at Hawk’s cut; this seems like the kind of place you’d normally need to wear a tie for, but she just plasters a smile on her face and leads us to a corner table with a view.

“This is…” I look around at the intimate lighting, the couples sharing wine and quiet conversation. “Nice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He pulls out my chair. “I do know how to treat a woman.”

“Apparently.”

His eyes darken. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The wine is good, the food even better. Conversation flows easily—he asks about my work, and we bond over motorcycle wreck horror stories. I tell him stories about the twins and Adam; he tells me about his time serving overseas.

We carefully avoid talking about the club or my situation with Amanda.

It feels... normal. Almost too normal.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he says as we finish our meal.

“Just wondering when the other shoe’s going to drop.”

“Why does it have to?”

I trace the rim of my wine glass. “Because good things don’t just happen. Not in my experience.”

“Maybe it’s time for some new experiences.”

The heat in his voice has me meeting his eyes. The way he’s looking at me… like I’m something he wants to devour.

“What do you do for a job?” I ask, suddenly curious that he hasn’t disclosed.

He leans back in his chair. “I own Stoneheart Security.”

I frown, trying to work out how I know the name. “Oh, that’s the company that handles security for Duck, right?”

He nods. “We do a bit of everything. Businesses, private contracts, security systems, some bodyguard work.” His lips quirk. “We even do the odd celebrity.”

“Huh.” I try to reconcile this new information with what I know of him. “So you’re like… a legitimate businessman?”

His laugh is low and rich. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked, I just…” I gesture vaguely at his cut. “Didn’t expect that. Not in this small town, anyway.”

“What did you expect?”

"I don't know. Professional badass? Lady-killer? Definitely not someone who worries about thieves in the night."

He snorts. "Don’t underestimate football nights. Those drunk dads get pretty rowdy on their way home."

I laugh, surprised by his dry humor. "So that's how you afford your ride."

"Among other things." His phone buzzes, and he glances at it briefly before turning it face down. "Ready to get out of here?"

My pulse jumps at his tone. "And go where?"

His smile is wicked. "Anywhere you want, little lamb."

"Want to take the long way home?" I ask as he pays for our meal.

“Sounds great.”

The night is perfect for riding—warm enough that the wind feels good against my skin, cool enough that pressing against him isn’t uncomfortable.

Instead of heading back down the mountain, he turns onto a winding road that hugs the ridge line.

The moon hangs low and full, painting the valley in silver light.

Each curve opens up new views—the twinkling lights of town below, the dark expanse of forest, the silver ribbon of river cutting through it all.

The bike purrs between my thighs as we ride, powerful and controlled. Hawk handles it like it’s an extension of himself, taking each curve with precision that speaks of years of experience. I find myself relaxing into the rhythm of it, letting my body move with his as we carve through the night.

We pass the old fire tower, its skeletal frame stark against the star-filled sky. The road narrows, trees pressing closer on either side, their branches forming a canopy overhead.

Moonlight filters through the leaves, creating shifting patterns on the asphalt.

Hawk slows as we approach a break in the trees, pulling off onto a small turnout. The valley spreads out below us, wider here than at the restaurant's viewpoint. The lights of three towns dot the darkness, connected by thin ribbons of highway.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" he asks as he kills the engine.

I stay where I am, still pressed against his back, my arms around his waist. "Worth the detour."

His hand covers mine where it rests on his stomach. "You haven’t seen anything yet."

He’s right. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, more details emerge. The silhouette of mountains against the star-filled sky. The movement of clouds across the moon. A shooting star streaks across the horizon, and I catch my breath.

"Make a wish," he murmurs.

I snort. "That’s not very badass of you."

His laugh rumbles through his chest. "I contain multitudes, little lamb."

I close my eyes.

What do you wish for when your entire life has been turned upside down in the span of a week? For Amanda to come back? For her to stay gone? For money? For time? For answers?

I think of the kids—Abby’s determined little frown when she’s concentrating, Amy’s belly laugh when she’s truly happy, Adam’s gummy smile. They deserve so much more than what life has given them.

Strength. I wish for strength. Strength to be what they need, to build them the life they deserve, to not screw this up the way everyone else in their lives has.

Hawk helps me off his bike, then turns us until he’s half-seated, half leaning against it, with me wrapped in his arms, my back to his front.

We sit there for a while, neither of us speaking. The night wraps around us like a blanket—crickets chirping in the underbrush, a distant owl calling, the soft whisper of wind through pine needles. The rest of the world feels very far away.

Slowly, his warmth seeps into me, grounding and overwhelming.

I’m not used to this—the weight of someone else’s care. It’s terrifying how easy it would be to sink into him, to let him shoulder just a little of the burden I carry.

But that isn’t fair, is it? To expect a man I’ve known for less than a week to wade into my chaos when I can barely keep my own head above water?

His hands rest lightly on my arms, his touch warm and steady.

“You overthinking again?” he murmurs, his voice low enough to blend with the whisper of the wind through the trees.

I swallow hard. “No.”

“Liar.” His tone teases, but his hold tightens just enough to make me feel anchored.

Safe.

That’s the problem. The safety he offers is a mirage. Nothing about Hawk is safe. Not the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing in his world that matters. Not the way he touches me, like he can’t help himself. And certainly not the way he makes me feel—seen in a way I’m not sure I want to be.

I should pull away. Tell him this is a mistake. Put distance between us before I let myself believe, even for a second, that this can be anything other than a fleeting distraction.

But I don’t.

Instead, I let myself relax into him, just for a beat. I let myself feel the solid strength of him at my back, the rise and fall of his breath matching mine. I let myself believe, if only for tonight, that I’m not alone.

The stars stretch endlessly above us, their cold light a stark contrast to the warmth between us. The moment feels fragile, like a bubble that might burst if I move too quickly or say the wrong thing.

“You ever just stop and look at the stars?” he asks, his voice breaking the silence but not the spell.

I tilt my head back, letting my eyes follow the trail of his gaze.

“Not really,” I admit. “Too much to do. Too many things to worry about.”

“You should.” His hand shifts, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle on my arm. “They remind you how small your problems really are.”

I turn my head slightly, catching his profile in the moonlight. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Depends. Does it?”

I think about it—the overwhelming list of responsibilities waiting for me back home. The bills, the kids, the ache of trying to hold it all together. But here, wrapped in Hawk’s arms with the stars above us and the world below, it all seems just a little more manageable. A little less crushing.

“Maybe,” I admit.

I feel his breath against my neck, warm and teasing. His lips graze my skin, crawling up to my ear.

“Guess we’ll have to take another ride and do some more stargazing,” he says, his voice rough with something I can’t quite name.

And just like that, the bubble bursts. Because it’s too much—too intense, too real. And I’m a stupid girl for even considering putting my trust in a biker.

I can feel him watching me, like he can read what’s going through my mind–all the thoughts and arguments as to why this is a terrible idea.

I pull away, stepping out of his embrace, and turn toward the bike.

“We should head back,” I say, my voice cool.

Hawk doesn’t argue, doesn’t push. But as he starts the engine and I climb back on behind him, I know something has shifted between us.

“Ready?” he asks finally, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist.

No. Yes. Maybe.

“Yeah,” I mutter, pressing my face to his cut. “Let’s go.”

He squeezes my hand once before starting the bike.

I tilt my head up to the sky, letting the stars blur in my vision, the cold wind biting at my cheeks. And then, without warning, a single tear slips free. It trails down my face, cold and foreign, as if my body is purging something I didn’t even know I’ve been holding on to.

Is it relief? Grief? Or just the weight of everything crashing down at once? I don’t know. But I let it fall, swallowed by the wind before I can wipe it away.

Hawk doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look back. But somehow, I feel like he knows. Like he understands in the way he holds steady, his body a quiet, unspoken promise between us.

When we finally pull up to the house, all the windows glow warmly. Through the front window, I see Ginger sprawled on the couch reading, while Tank dozes in the armchair, his boots propped on the coffee table.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say, my voice steady, even if I’m not.

Hawk’s gaze lingers on me, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, I think he might say something. But then he just nods, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.

“Anytime, little lamb.”

Hawk’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk up the porch steps, the touch sending tingles up my spine despite the layers between his skin and mine.

The house is quiet except for the soft murmur of the TV and Tank’s gentle snoring.

Ginger looks up from her book, a knowing smile crossing her face. “They were angels,” she says before I can ask. “Even got Adam down without a fuss. Though Steel might need therapy after the tea party makeover.”

“Where’s Steel?” I ask, noting his absence.

“Sent him to bed. Apparently playing with toddlers all night is a bit too much for his manly constitution.” She stretches, catlike. “Tank, baby, wake up. Time to go.”

Tank grumbles but hauls himself up, dropping a kiss on Ginger’s head. They gather their things with the easy familiarity of a long- term couple, and I feel that pang again—that dangerous whisper of wanting.

“Thanks for watching them,” I say softly as they head for the door.

Ginger’s smile is gentle. “Anytime, sugar. Really.” She pulls me in for a warm hug, holding me tight and squeezing me. She smells like vanilla and orange blossom. I stiffen, surprised by the gesture before awkwardly returning her embrace.

She pulls back with a knowing smile, giving me a wink.

Once they’re gone, the house feels different. Quieter. More intimate. Hawk’s presence behind me seems to fill every inch of space, making it hard to breathe.

“I should check on them,” I whisper, already moving toward the hallway. I need to see them, to ground myself after the surreal evening.

The twins’ room is bathed in the soft glow of their nightlight. They’re curled together in one bed as they always end up, dark curls splayed across their pillows, tiny hands linked even in sleep. In the crib, Adam sleeps peacefully, one tiny fist pressed against his cheek.

I feel Hawk before I hear him, a solid warmth at my back. He stays where he is, giving me space while somehow making me aware of every inch between us.

“They’re good kids,” he says softly.

“Yeah.” I turn, finding him leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “They are.”

He moves then, closing the distance between us with deliberate steps. His hand comes up, callused fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness.

“You’re good with them,” he murmurs.

“I try to be.” I swallow hard, fighting the urge to lean into his touch. “They deserve that.”

“So do you.”

Before I can process that, his mouth is on mine. This kiss is different from our first—slower, deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me. His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he draws me closer.

I let myself sink into him, let myself believe that this can be simple, uncomplicated. That I can have this without consequences, without fear. That the strength I’ve wished for might include the courage to let someone in.

But nothing in my life has ever been simple.

I pull back, walking on unsteady legs toward my bedroom door. “I should get some sleep.”

“Andi.” My name is rough in his throat, laden with things unsaid.

I pause in the doorway, one hand on the frame. The words come out before I can stop them, raw and honest in the darkness. “You know what’s funny? It’s easier to kiss you than it is to trust you.”

I glance over to see the impact of my words in his eyes, in the way his jaw tightens, but I step through and close the bedroom door before he can respond.

Leaning against the wood, I touch my lips where I can still feel his kiss, wondering if any wall will be strong enough to keep him out.

Wondering if I want it to.

Damn.