Page 76 of Restless Hawke

I shouldn’t, but I laugh, releasing my hold on his shirt and spearing my fingers through his thick, dark hair. “You’re surprised I survived the inquisition?”

My question makes him chuckle darkly, and he kisses me again, near the corner of my mouth. “That wasn’t even bad. You should see them when they really get ramped up. It’s like being flayed alive.”

A tiny shiver courses through me with the knowledge that he’s likely not kidding or exaggerating what that group is capable of. Tonight proved they’re more than willing to pepper a complete stranger with invasive and personal questions relentlessly for hours on end.

Even after dinner finished and the table had been cleared, every time I turned around, I found another Hawke there, waiting for me with at least a dozen lines of inquiry ready to throw at me.

I dodged and weaved like a true prize fighter, only answering when necessary and doing my best to divert the attention or involve myself in another discussion or activity that might save me from the worst of it.

And through it all, I learned another very valuable thing about the Hawkes.

Ilikethem.

They’re good people who are sarcastic, and funny, and who rib each other and push buttonsbecausethey care.Becausethey love every single person at that house tonight. They care about what happens to them, even if they occasionally irritate nerves and draw ire.

None of it is permanent.

Except the love.

Except that warm feeling of acceptance that seemed to permeate the air there.

That same warmth seeps into me now, staring into Coen’s eyes, as if I’m swimming in those Caribbean waters with the summer sun beating down on me.

Coen’s hand slips up my dress between my legs, easily finding my slick core. “No panties again…”

I groan at his feather-light touch, the calluses grazing over my skin—a tease more than anything. “I’m nothing if not predictable.”

He chuckles low. “You areanythingbut predictable, Allegra Knight.”

It almost seems like a compliment.

I gaze up at him, at the need and desire in his eyes, my heart flip-flopping with the urge to either save myself and run or throw myself at this man before I can take that first step. “What are we doing, Coen?”

His gaze darkens from a warm, tropical blue to darker, stormy waters. The kind people get swallowed by and are never seen or heard from again. And that’s the way it always feels when I’m likethiswith him—like being swallowed by a storm of passion. “What do you mean?”

WhatdoI mean?

It would be so much easier if I actually knew, but the question came out before I had a chance to consider what I was actually asking and why.

Does it matter?

If this is just lust we have to get out of our systems, then there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it while we have the opportunity. If it’s something more…

That is where the danger lies.

I press my hands against his chest, his heart beating steadily under them. “I meanthis. What are we doing?”

“Well…”—he kisses his way over to my ear, warm breath fluttering my hair before he tucks it back—“I know what Iwantto do.”

The promise lacing his words makes me press my thighs together against the dull throb centering there, but all I manage to do is pin his hand and earn a throaty growl from him.

And I’m suddenlyveryinterested in what Coen has in mind, even if that wasn’t what I was asking, and he knows it as well as I do.

“What’s that?”

Coen nips at my bottom lip, then pulls it between his teeth before letting it go. “I told you earlier that I took it far too easy on you. Now that we have my place and no interruptions, I think it’s time I paid you back.”

My pussy clenches, desperately wanting it while that little shiver of fear courses through me, making me question everything I thought I knew about sanity.