Page 114 of Restless Hawke

His shoulders square, as if he’s preparing for battle. “Get the fuck out.”

“Coen, no, I’m sorry. I never meant?—”

He growls again. This time, a warning. “Get thefuckout of my room.”

I shiver, hating the change in his tone, the shift from lover to whatever the hell this is.

Thisis the Coen he thinks his family wanted.

The one they expected to walk into a courtroom and tear people apart, limb from limb.

I knew what was coming, that there was no way I’d escape any of this unscathed, but it hits me harder than I care to admit how much I actually give a shit about him, about all this, about what I’ve done to him.

“Please let me explain?—”

“You’ve explained enough, and I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit excuses and lies. None of this was real, and you knew it from the beginning.” A mirthless laugh slips from his lips, and he shakes his head. “You’re a very good actress, Allegra. I’ll hand it to you. Last night, I almost believed…” He trails off, his hands fisting at his sides. “You have three fucking minutes to get dressed and get out of here. And I never want to see you again. Do you understand me?”

I nod as the tears soak my vision, making the man who gave me the best night of my life—more than once—nothing more than a blur.

“Iamsorry.”

Slipping past him back into the bedroom, I fight through the trembling that threatens to make my legs collapse. I strip away the hotel robe I wrapped myself in this morning and drag my dress off the floor, where we tossed it in our haste last night.

My hands shake so violently trying to pull it on that I can barely do it.

I don’t even bother with my heels. I just snatch them up and throw my purse over my shoulder.

It’s everything I came with—except my heart, which will remain here with Coen, even if it is shattered and he doesn’t want it.

I take one last longing look at the bed we shared, remembering every touch, every kiss, every thrust, and the way he completed me so fully, remembering what I destroyed.

* * *

COEN

The usual lights,sounds, and excitement of the casino floor feel like being bombarded with rapid gunfire today. Shot after shot slamming into me violently. Tearing through me. I squeeze my eyes closed against the assault on my senses, my footsteps faltering slightly.

Bishop’s hand closes around my elbow. “Are you all right?”

I glance over at her next to me. “Fine, just…tired.”

Emotionally fucking wrung out.

Destroyed.

Lost.

Something I can’t even put into words.

She waggles her eyebrows, releasing her grip on me as we keep moving through the Venetian toward the high-stakes poker room. “I figured you were up late last night with Allegra, but I’ve never known you to do anything that would put you so off your game on a day like this.”

I clench my jaw to keep from lashing out at her when this has nothing to do with Bishop and her friendly observation. She doesn’t know Allegra betrayed me in the worst way possible, that it was all a fucking sham set up by the man who seems intent on ruining my life and that of the rest of the Hawkes along with it.

Bishop is just being herself—nosy with no filter. And since she has had to play my shadow since I returned to New Orleans, I already feel bad enough. She certainly doesn’t need me snapping at her for something that is completely not her fault.

Just keep walking.

If I don’t put one foot in front of another andforcemyself to move toward that tournament…I’ll end up back in that bed.