Page 42 of Restless Hawke

Their self-preservation instinct would kick in and send them running. But I’m frozen in place, completely entranced by the man beside me who has a wicked gleam in his eye that terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

I find myself creeping closer to him, leaning into his body, into his touch, opening even farther, wanting the very thing I’ve been dreaming about since I walked away from him last week. Walked away from what I knew this would be—brutal and toxic but also so fucking good.

He feathers his lips over mine—not a kiss, a tease.

And then his hand finally cups me between my legs.

I try to bite back the groan at the sensation, but it slips out against his mouth, and he issues a low, dark chuckle. That single sound confirms how much trouble I am really in.

“I want to know…what’s the endgame here, Allegra? What’s your goal? Because I know very much what mine is.”

I manage to let out a breathy sigh. “What’s that?”

He moves his mouth over to my ear. “I want to see if your cunt tastes as glorious as I think it does. And I want to fuck you until you can’t walk out of here. If I had my way, I’d do it all right here on this table.”

An embarrassing whimper slips from my mouth, and he adjusts his grip on the most intimate part of me. Cupping me harder. Almost possessively. As if what he holds in that hand nowbelongsto him.

And I have suddenly lost the ability to tell him it doesn’t.

“And ultimately, Allegra, I want to bring you to your knees the way you have me.”

* * *

COEN

Instead of beingscared or trepidatious, Allegra shudders against me, her grip on the bench beneath us tightening until her knuckles whiten.

Her thighs close slightly against my hand, but not in an effort to stop me. If anything, she seems desperate to get me to touch her—to do exactly what I just threatened.

She wouldletme eat her out in a Michelin Star restaurant.

She wouldletme bend her over this table and fuck her in front of all these people.

And I would be tempted to do just that, if the woman weren’t still being difficult.

I press the meaty part of my palm against her clit, rolling it through the thin strip of fabric that covers it, feeling exactly how fucking wet she already is. Her little display at the table today got her all worked up, too. And something about that draws a grin across my face.

“You didn’t answer my question, Allegra. What is your endgame?”

Absolutely nothing else is going to happen until that question is answered to my satisfaction.

Because I can’t figure this woman out.

Since the moment we met at that bar in Atlantic City, the chemistry between us has been off the charts. And even after realizing what she did in Monaco—knowing she set me up from the get-go—I still couldn’t stop myself from wanting her, especially when she very obviously seemed to return my desire. Yet she ran. And she continues to circle around me like a damn vulture, looking for any opportunity to fuck with me—mentally and physically.

The fact that she wentthatfar at the table today proves there is no line she won’t cross.

But what she doesn’t know is that there isn’t one I won’t cross, either.

As far as I’m concerned, any lines that did exist were obliterated the moment she set her sights on me and decided I was her target. It’s open season. Free rein to play dirty.

And one thing the Hawkes know is how to come out on top with someone who believes they have the upper hand.

I swirl my palm again, and she sucks in a sharp breath and swallows thickly, her throat bobbing. Her half-lidded gaze locks with mine. “You mean, besides winning all the tournaments?”

She knows damn well I don’t mean the fucking card games.

Pressing against her clit harder, I rock it in a way that makes her gasp. “Yes, beyond that.”