Page 28 of Restless Hawke

Hewasn’t atallwhat I expected him tobe.

Rage…I could have handled.

Fury…I could have withstood.

Ire…I could have easily survived and walked away from unscathed.

But whateverthatwas…it wasn’tanyof those things.

There was anger there, lurking beneath his polished surface, vibrating under his tanned skin, but his interest and obvious attraction seemed to override that base need for revenge, or whatever it was he was seeking when he followed me in the first place.

And it overrodemycommon sense.

He didn’t force you to go to his suite…

That was my choice.

I could have just as easily said “no” to hisdrinkoffer and let him walk out alone when those doors opened on the top floor. I could have let them close on him and whateverthistension is. I could have gone on my way, followed through with the plan I came to Monaco with.

Yet, I chose not to.

And that knowledge somehow makes this moment so much worse, so much more uncomfortable. Because he knows it, too.

I stare into those ocean-water blues, again, remembering how it felt to have his warmth wrapped around me, his hand pressed into my back possessively, his lips on mine, and the promise in his words when he asked me to stay the night.

That damn ache returns to my core.

The need to ease it?—

No.

I take a step back, putting some much-needed space between me and the man who threatens to unravel all my well-laid plans with that smirk and the passion burning in his gaze when he looks at me.

With a shaking hand, I pull out my phone and text Buckley, letting him know to bring the car around.

Leaving. Now.

He knows to be ready to go at any moment, so it shouldn’t take him long to get here. And he’s been with me long enough to recognize the urgency in my text.

I force myself to look back up at Coen, who watches me with a furrowed brow, clearly confused by my retreat when, less than an hour ago, I was seriously considering spending the night in his bed. “I…uh…need to get going.”

His brows wing up, eyes widening. “What?”

Ignore that surprise and disappointment.

If I concentrate on it, let it affect me, I will end up in a very bad position—likeunderthe man in front of me.

He moves toward me as if he intends to pull me into his arms again the same way he did upstairs, but I hold up a hand, stopping his progress immediately. “You’re going to leave?”

I motion over my shoulder toward the curb. “I have somewhere to be.”

That playful, seductive smirk returns to his lips, and he eases closer. “What happened to considering my offer?”

Despite every reason it shouldn’t, a smile pulls at my lips. “I did consider it. Believe me…”

And if we hadn’t been interrupted…

Our night would be ending very differently—or not ending at all, given the way he’s looking at me now.