Perpetuate Page 6

Hot shivers course through my anticipating body. Then to my utter, dumbfounding surprise, he tilts one cheek towards me until his ear is hovering a mere inch from my lips. And holds.

  Wild flutters beat riotously in my stomach. For a pulsing, breathless beat all I can smell, see, hear is him. A swirling atmosphere of tempting man.

  The air hitches in my throat before my lips draw apart, the exhale soft on the shell of the ear in front of it, and release the one word like a light breeze. “Brad.”

  Is it my imagination, or is he shuddering?

  He shifts, his nose brushing along my cheek on his way to my ear a second time.

  “Say it again,” he whispers.

  How can I be trembling when all I feel is a raging inferno in my blood?

  His low voice is a livewire through my flesh. What’s happening? The world is spinning out of axis and I’m hanging on by wobbly will alone.

  “Why?” This whole thing is insane. We’re murmuring to each other on the side of the street in broad daylight while his driver and bodyguard awaits his dire fate not ten feet from us. “You said once.”

  Slowly, he straightens. A large palm cups the side of my neck and the breath trembles out of me. I watch his gaze stroke my lips, looking for all the world like he wants to flick his tongue over them for a forbidden taste. And, God help me, I want him to. This very second, I want nothing more than for him to fit his mouth over mine and devour while I climb him like a rock.

  “I like the sound of my name on these lips,” he confesses as he brushes a thumb across my lower lip.” He blinks for a second, surprised by his own words. “Maybe I want to hear you moan it. Breathless.”

  Frits and grits, I nearly said okay right there at the side of his posh SUV. What is wrong with me? “I’m not… I don’t...” I swallow down the lump constricting my throat. “I don’t do casual sex.”

  “Nothing casual about it.” He nuzzles behind my ear and sends my nerves careening out of the atmosphere. “You want me.”

  Yes.

  No.

  Wait…

  The man hasn’t even kissed me and I’m already a puddle at his feet. This is not good.

  My lids lower of their own accord as my neck tilts to better feel him. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It can be.” Teeth gently scrape my neck. “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

  Umm… he feels good. “Can’t.” My hands grip his forearms, desperate for purchase. “Have to work.”

  “Call in. Take the night off.”

  “Can’t,” I argue again. “Need the money.”

  “I’ll reimburse you.”

  It takes a second for his words to sink in before my eyes pop open. Abruptly drawing back, I can feel the leisure heat vanish into thin air. “I’m not a whore,” I bite out.

  He frowns, taken aback. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  I wait a beat. “Okay,” I allow but maintain the distance. “What did you mean?”

  “I want to see you. You can’t spare the time because you need to work,” he lists the reasons, all about logic. “I have the means to resolve the issue. So what’s the problem?”

  I allow us both time to consider the implication. “Let me ask you this. Would you drop everything at the office if a woman wants you to?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “No. For the love of... Gemma,” he growls at my expression. “You can’t possibly compare running a multi-million-dollar company to waitressing at a bar.”

  And the distance keeps growing.

  I shake my head sadly. It’s just one of many reasons why I need to recover my head when it comes to this man. “You’re right, of course.” I take a pace away. And another. “Which is why this is a bad idea.” Yet another, until my feet advance in reverse to my car, still facing that delectable but costly lure with stunning eyes, watching his frown blow up into a full-on glower. “You are tempting, though, Brad Hawkes, I’ll give you that. But then, you knew that already. My job, my responsibilities, are important to me, just as your company is to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Though his intense gaze is set on me, he doesn’t make a move to follow me. “I know you take on more than you should. Need I remind you of your negotiations for someone else to regain his position?”

  “That wasn’t just someone else. That was for my father.” At my car now, I take my keys out. “Not that it would matter to you, but when it’s for someone you love, it’s not a responsibility. Not really. Have a good day, Mr. Hawkes. Thanks for calling on my dad. I know he appreciates it.”

  The car beeps loudly and I get in, feeling the burn every second those fiery eyes are on me as I start the ignition and pull away from the curb without another glance.

  Seven

  Gemma

  That infuriating man.

  It’s not enough that he fired my dad, left me a bunch of bribe money to figure out, then enticed me with hints of untamed hunger without actually feasting, but now I’m stuck with this scorched, yearning need that I don’t have the time nor the inclination to indulge or even fantasize about.

  And what’s wrong with me? Letting someone like Brad Hawkes enthrall me is so unlike me that I’m not sure I’d actually recognize my face if I look in the mirror. From his fancy cars to his expensive clothes, his demanding, overpowering personality to his calculating ways, he’s the last thing I need or should want in my life. The way he callously abandoned my dad after so many years of devotion is a clue as to the questionable ethics of this man.

  But that’s not entirely true. He took the time to check on my dad – apparently regularly.

  “You’re zoning again, Gem.”

  I force myself to snap out of it and roll my eyes at Craig. It’s a slow night at Conyers as it sometimes is during the week. Only a handful of tables are occupied and mostly by couples and young families, all seated over an hour ago. No new diners have come in since, and Manny had already let most of the servers go home early, but I wasn’t one of them. With my recent popularity with customers that specifically requested to be seated at one of my tables – thanks to Hawkes - Manny was given the false impression I was some super waitress with a fluffy apron twirling a golden platter, so he’s keeping me on for this sluggish shift.

  Which is just as well since I don’t have any place to go.

  “Of course, I’m zoning,” I retort. “How can I not with you droning on and on about this Sam guy?”

  Craig scoots a glass of peach iced tea my way. “Who else am I going to vent on? The asshole stood me up.”

  “He texted you. That’s not exactly accurate.”

  “Yeah, five minutes before we were supposed to meet! I was already at the café. I mean, who does that?”

  After scanning the few patrons to ensure no one needs anything at the moment, I prop my forearms on the bar to give my friend my undivided attention. “I agree. It was inconsiderate. He should’ve at least called.” I sip at the tea. “Did he give you a good excuse?”

  He snorts. “He claimed there was an emergency at work.”

  I chew on that for a spell. “That could happen.”

  “He’s a hairstylist. What kind of emergency could there be?”

  My lips twitch. “Hey, you never know. Maybe someone really needed a blowout.”

  “More like a blow job.” Groaning, Craig snags another straw and pokes it into my drink. “I swear, I’m just going to give up on men,” he complains without much heat and begins slurping up the iced tea.

  Yeah right. Like that’ll happen. “We can start a celibate club.”

  Without removing his busy mouth, he lifts his gaze to me to deliver a meaningful peep. “Gurl, please,” he starts as soon as his mouth is free. “I’ve seen that look before, and it screams hard up for hard on. And you’ve got it bad. The big question is: who is he?” His face gleams with curiosity. “Is it that hot boss of your dad’s? ‘Cause let me tell you, if you don’t hit that I just might have you institutionalized.”

  I haven’t told Craig or anyo
ne about my late morning encounter with the enigmatic CEO. For some reason, I don’t know if I would. It’s something that, whether I like it or not, I plan to sweep under the rug and not think about ever again. If Craig finds out, he would just hound me endlessly about it until I go mad with my own bewildering thoughts.

  There’s no point denying I’m attracted to Brad Hawkes. Craig would see right through it. I aim for a different approach. “Both you and I know Mr. Hawkes is way out of my league, so forget it. I have.” What Craig doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “He’s rich, successful, handsome, and most likely have a string of supermodels on speed dial for those late-night booty calls. I’m up to my eyeballs in bills, my dad is an alcoholic, and I make a mean grill cheese. See where I’m getting at?”

  The sudden fierce scowl has me blinking. “That’s bullshit,” he refutes forcefully. “You’re better than any model out there. Don’t sell yourself short, Gemma. If his highness can’t see it, then he’s a stupid idiot and you wouldn’t want him anyway.”

  “I’m not selling myself short. I’m just a realist.” On a sigh, I take a last taste of the sweet beverage and push it aside. “Look, I’m not some naïve girl who believes in fairytales. Guys like him don’t get serious with girls like me. If there’s any interest on his part, it’s because he wants a momentary distraction from conquering the world. Mess around some, then move on. Since I’m not particularly drawn to that type of arrangements, it doesn’t go any further than that.”

  I hope.

  “Wait.” Craig’s hand flashes out to stop me just as I’m about to get back to work, his mischievous eyes sparkling. “Has he shown interest?”

  Son of a twit. I let that one slipped.

  “What man do you know wouldn’t be interested in unattached sex?” Good save, Gemma.

  Craig purses his lips for a second, considering. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Still, he did stop by that night, threw his money around like he breathes the stuff, just so he can land one of your tables.”

  “Guilt,” I remind him. “Nothing more.”

  Skepticism is written all over his charming features. “I don’t know…”

  I can’t stand around and allow him to try and convince me of Hawkes’s motives. Not only would it be a waste of time, but I just can’t work up to caring about it right now. “I better get back to work. You going out tonight?”

  “Nope. All yours tonight, buttercup. Jamie should be home, too.” He tosses me a playful wink. “We’ll have ourselves a threesome.”

  Letting the ludicrous suggestion roll off me since I know for a fact the thought of a naked woman would have Craig running out of the house in atrocious horror, though Jamie might be more open to such a thing, I decide to make my rounds.

  What am I going to do with that money? The perplexing dilemma consumes me as I refill water glasses and run a credit card. There’s no way in hell I would spend it. That’s blood money, a payout to keep me quiet so I won’t picket in front of his precious company, no doubt. Either that or he’s having trouble sleeping at night after firing a long-time employee for something he can’t control, though I can’t see the high and mighty Brad Hawkes having a conscience.

  But he does have gorgeous green eyes.

  Ahhh… stop it already!

  Exasperated with myself, I return the credit card along with the receipt to the family of four, grateful that I’m not being summoned every which way for a change. “Thanks for coming. Have a nice evening,” I tell them with a practiced smile over the monologue.

  Just as I’m returning to the bar, I see Manny waving me over from one of the stations. I know before I even get there what he’s going to tell me, but I’m not sure whether to be glad or disappointed.

  With a palm behind his neck, Manny flicks his free hand. “Looks like you get to go home early, Gemma. You can head on out once you close your last table.”

  I glance over at my single occupied table. The couple’s already looking around for me, probably waiting on the check. Only two other tables are unavailable, and they’re both Angie’s, obviously the last server to leave today.

  “You sure, Manny?” Granted, a couple of hours out aren’t going to make a huge difference in my wallet, not by the way it’s looking, but still, a buck’s a buck. “What if we start getting busy?”

  He makes a show of lifting his wrist up to look at his watch. “It’s nearly, nine. I don’t think we’re suddenly going to be stampeded by hordes of hungry customers tonight.” Inclining his head in the direction of the couple at my only table, he orders, “Just finish them up. There’s not much else for you to do after that, so clock out.”

  It doesn’t take long for me to clear out the waiting couple. That makes my shift abruptly ending at nine. I wave goodbye to Craig and Angie before pushing through the backdoor, not as worn out as other times but so ready to take it easy the remainder of the night. I’m not used to leaving Conyers so early with my feet not aching from toe to heel.

  My happy feet halt on the pavement at the sight of the screaming lustrous black car resembling the Batmobile in front of me.

  And the green-eye jerk on the phone on the driver’s seat.

  Not to mention the tatted ogre standing guard outside of the idling sports bar.

  They all add up to a mouth-gaping, WTF moment.

  Since the swanky car’s windows are up, I go for the nearest available throat. Getting right up on his face, I point an accusing finger an inch from his crooked nose. “You better not be here to harass me, Carlson, or I promise you things are not going to be pretty.”

  The unusually large head doesn’t have the decency to pretend to be intimidated. “Just doing what I’m told, Miss Warton,” he tells me in his deep, Darth voice. “Mr. Hawkes has been waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  Hired Goon doesn’t answer but merely shrugs a giant shoulder. At least Hawkes didn’t can him.

  Whatevs. “Well, he’ll be waiting a long time then ‘cause I’m out of here.” So saying, I continue on my way, tossing an offhanded wave behind my shoulder as I head to my car just to show him I don’t care what either one of them has to say.

  There are only a few vehicles in the parking lot, and as an employee, I’m parked in the rear. I already have my keys in one hand when I hear the whirling of car door. Heavy, sure footsteps sound behind me.

  “Miss Warton.”

  “Mr. Hawkes,” I respond without turning to the familiar bedroom voice. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. Your presumptuousness is not appreciated, so go hail a speeding ticket and go home. Like I told you before, I’m not interested in having dinner with you.”

  The footsteps seize behind me, but since I’m already at my car, there is no chasing necessary.

  “Not even to discuss help for your father?”

  I face him then, lifting my chin and giving him my most indignant expression. “My dad doesn’t need your help, Mr. Hawkes. What he needs is his job back. Unless you’re here to tell me he should report to the office first thing in the morning, this conversation is over.”

  The polite gap between us is abruptly condensed when he closes it, mere inches into my personal space. Stunning eyes punch right through to my every ready reproach. “And if I told you the very thing you want to hear, would you be able to guarantee we won’t find ourselves in this predicament again? Tell me something,” he pushes on determinedly before I can even open my mouth, “if HC were your company, and you were responsible for hundreds of employees and their mortgages, children’s education, their very livelihood, would you run it that way?”

  Snubbing his intent on common sense, I argue mulishly, “My father has been loyal to the company for years.”

  “Noted.” Infuriatingly calm, he presses, “Answer the question, Gemma. Who would do his work when he disappears again? Hell, he’s in no shape to even think about work right now.” Brows climb up. “So what about his job? All the people relying on him to do his part while he’s on a binge. Who’s going to step
in? You?”

  Dejectedly, my shoulders deflate. “However I answer would not mean anything, since it’s quite evident you wouldn’t give my dad another chance.”

  Heaving out an audible breath, he scans our relatively still surroundings in the corner of the shadowed parking lot. Carlson is lingering discreetly several feet away, his massive back unobtrusively to us as he shields us from nonexistent onlookers and playing deaf to our conversation.

  “There are alternatives for Peter, people I know that are qualified to assist with his recovery, but I don’t want to discuss them here. Carlson,” he calls without waiting for my response, “make sure Miss Warton’s car is taken back to her residence.”

  “Of course, Mr. Hawkes.”

  Then he’s holding out a hand to me.

  Ignoring it would imply I’m not willing to do what I can to help my father, but somehow I feel accepting what’s in front of me isn’t all that it appears. Would I be handing over more than just my faith?

  He says nothing but patiently waits for me. With an impish smile, I drop my keys into his outstretched palm.

  “Take good care of my baby, Carlson,” I tell the lingering goon as I breeze past the wordless man and stroll to the flashy sports car. “She might not be much, but she’s all I’ve got. I assume you already know where I live,” I say, certain Brad Hawkes wouldn’t leave such a minor detail untouched.

  Though he inclines his head stoically, I can see Carlson’s dark eyes dancing as he catches my tossed keys midair from his boss before lifting the passenger door of the car for me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A man of few words. I’m starting to like this guy, hired thug or not. “So I guess this means you won’t be babysitting your man for the rest of the night.” And if he has to take the bus to get back home from my place, well then, I’m sure he’ll be compensated well for it. “Lucky you.”

  Carlson is just closing the door after me when Hawkes slips into the driver’s seat. The engine thunders to life before it soothes to a ready lull. A heartbeat after I’m strapped in the car peels out of the spot and zooms away from the lot.