Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1) (2 page)

“And who is your baby sister?”

Her face scrunches in disgust at my inability to immediately make the familial connection.

“Nora Eriksson, she started shaking her ass and tits for you almost three weeks ago.”

The way she throws the words “ass and tits” at me, I have to cover my mouth with my hand to hide my grin. This woman is all attitude and it is sexy as fuck, although I have no idea why. She definitely isn’t my usual type, although, I’m not sure if I even know what my type is anymore. Certainly, she’s about as far from Becca as one can get, yet my cock is still straining against my pants.

I clear my throat before responding, hoping to give myself a second to regain my composure. “Ah, yes, Nora. My manager, Byron, hired her. I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting her on one occasion, but I can assure you, Ms. Eriksson, she was in no way ‘tricked’ into taking her position here.”

She glowers at me and her hands ball into tight fists at her sides. “I know my sister,
Savage
, and there is no way in hell she just up and decided she wanted to be a fucking stripper. She was tricked, or forced…”

I barely manage to contain an eye-roll. “If I didn’t have such thick skin, I might be insulted by the way you throw your words at me like daggers,” I retort, enjoying watching her distress at my ability to maintain my cool. The color in her cheeks flares and her blue eyes flash at me.

Who knew angry could be such a fucking turn on?

My blood is boiling and this man—Savage Hawke—has grated my last nerve. I can barely contain my desire to climb across his desk and smack him across his handsome, smug face for acting so high and mighty. He is a pussy peddler. A goddamn sleazebag who preys on young, impressionable, desperate girls in order to make a quick buck.

Savage Hawke.

He even has a porn star name. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was shooting them in some back room.

It’s too bad he’s so fucking gorgeous. He runs a hand back through his thick, wavy black hair and focuses his Caribbean-blue eyes on me with a calm that makes me want to throw my purse at him.

My traitorous body reacted to him instantly, heat churning deep in my belly the moment I walked into his office and saw him dominating the space behind his large, wooden desk.

The longer we talk, the worse it gets, and I have to press my thighs together to stop the dull ache there.

Damn, it has been way too long since I had a good fuck. What? Twelve days?

I’m so busy fuming and trying to rein in my runaway sex drive, I completely forget to respond to him.

“Ms. Eriksson,” he continues, giving me a smug smile, “I have a very rigorous interview process established to ensure none of my employees begin work here under any duress…”

I lift my brow in speculation and to ensure he’s aware of my disbelief.
Bullshit!
I bet their “interview process” involves lap dances and blowjobs in the champagne room.

“…Byron conducts a very thorough interview with each girl, including a complete background check to determine if they are under any serious financial strains. If I find they are, I typically offer them a personal loan, to be repaid at standard interest rates, to ensure they aren’t tempted to engage in pursuits some of the other clubs are often known for. We also do weekly drug testing and nightly breathalyzers, as our girls are forbidden from engaging in any illicit drug use and cannot perform while under the influence of any alcoholic beverages.”

I don’t believe him for a second. No damn strip club operates like that. He must think I’m some dumb, naïve, bimbo blonde to think I’ll fall for his line of horseshit.

He reclines back in his chair and waits for me to say something.

What does he expect me to believe? That he’s a pussy peddler with a heart of gold?

“Surprised I’m not a total scumbag?” His amusement is evident in the slight turn at the corner of his luscious mouth. “There are a hundred trashy strip clubs in New Orleans a man can go to if that’s what he’s looking for—drugs and easy women. I wanted to offer something different. People are always a bit shocked to learn how I run my business. But when I built The Hawkeye Club, I wanted it to be an upscale and supremely classy gentleman’s club, and established a very strict set of rules and regulations to ensure that both my reputation, and the reputation of my girls, remains pristine.”

I huff and take a step closer to his desk. “My sister was the goddamn valedictorian of her high school class and had a full ride to Tulane for pre-med. Then, this morning, out of the blue, I find out from one of her roommates that she has dropped out of school and started working here. She’s twenty years old, for Christ’s sake! Clearly, you can see why I’m concerned. I mean, why the hell would she do that?”

He offers me a small, understanding smile and leans over his desk, toward me. The fabric of his dress shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and strains against his massive biceps. My mouth salivates and I fight the flush I’m sure is creeping up my neck. The worst thing about being fair-skinned is the complete inability to hide my reactions, especially to men like Savage Hawke.

“I do understand, Ms. Eriksson, but I don’t have the answer for you. Have you tried asking your sister?”

Shit. I should have seen that question coming.

I shift uncomfortably and twist my hands in front of my body. “No, she’s been avoiding my calls. That’s why I finally went to her apartment today, to make sure she’s okay.”

He almost looks sympathetic and I wonder how long it took him to perfect this nice-guy act.

“Well, I think you need to talk to her. I don’t think she’s on the schedule tonight, but you can ask Byron downstairs, and, if she’s here, he will gladly show you to the changing rooms in the back so you can speak with her.”

Casting an uncomfortable glance toward him, I move my purse from one shoulder to the other and turn to leave without a word. Absolutely no good will come from me spending any more time in this room with this man.

Savage Hawke is precisely the type of man I always end up getting myself into trouble with: dark, strong, passionate…

I almost stumble when a vision of him slamming me back against the wall and yanking up my skirt to gain access floods my mind.

Jesus—I bet he takes absolute control in the bedroom, and I bet he fucks like a complete animal.
Men like that don’t do things slow and sweet.

“I don’t even get a ‘thank you’ or a ‘goodbye?’”

His sultry, deep voice stops me halfway to the door. I look over my shoulder at him.

Deep breaths, Dani. Keep it together.

Don’t let him see how he affects you. Don’t let him see you rattled.

“I don’t have anything to thank you for,” I reply, before raising my head high and strutting out the door, not bothering to close it behind me. I punch the button on the elevator and tap my foot impatiently.

I need to get out of here.

I need to get as far away as possible.

I need to find Nora.

I need to find something to prevent me from racing home, grabbing my Rabbit, and spending the rest of the day fantasizing about that man.

I need to find something to prevent me from racing straight back to his office, climbing over his desk, and straddling his lap.

An angry fuck can be supremely hot—ripped clothing, hair pulling, strong, groping hands—but having an angry fuck with my stripper sister’s deviant boss would be an epically bad life choice.

The instant she disappears around the doorjamb, I grasp my rock-hard cock and adjust it away from under the zipper of my jeans. That woman is walking attitude and sex. I can already smell the trouble she will cause me, mixed with the heady blend of lilacs and rain she left in her wake. I haven’t reacted to a woman this way in, well, ever.

I pick up the phone and press the extension for the downstairs bar, waiting impatiently as it rings several times. “Yep,” Byron answers, slightly out of breath.

“A very angry, very beautiful blonde is on her way down from my office. She’s looking for her sister, Nora Eriksson.”

“Your office? Shit. I’m sorry, Savage. I stepped out back to take care of a delivery. She must have slipped in when I was gone. I’ll take care of it.”

As much as I want to ream him out for letting someone get up here unannounced, I know he was busy out back and it really isn’t his fault. It does get me wondering about better security, though. I thought we had things covered—Gabe is kind of an expert when it comes assuring things are locked down—but if a woman like that can waltz right up here, so can anyone else.

“Please do, and track down Nora if she isn’t here. See if she can come in and meet with me as soon as possible.” I drop the phone back into the cradle and relax back into my chair.

My cock is still pressing uncomfortably against my jeans, but there isn’t anything I can do about it now. So, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and make my best attempt to center myself.

Deep breaths, Savage. Deep, cleansing breaths.

There’s work to be done, phone calls that need to be made…

“What the hell was that all about?” Gabe struts into my office and drops unceremoniously into one of the leather arm chairs facing me. “Was she here for a job? Please tell me you hired that fine piece of ass!”

His lecherous grin makes me smile despite my disgust at his constant dehumanization of females.

“No, sorry, Gabe, she wasn’t here for a job interview. She was here to tell me off because I hired her sister, Nora Eriksson.”

Gabe’s eyes widen and his jaw drops. “
That
is Nora’s sister?”

I nod and he chuckles, dropping his head against the back of the chair.

“You know what she does, right?” he asks.

“No, should I?”

He pulls his head up and gives me a look I’ve seen way too many times over the last twenty-plus years of our friendship—the “you’re a fucking moron” look.

“Should I?”

His grin tells me I may be in more trouble than I realized.

“Uh, yeah, man. She’s a goddamn investigative reporter for the
Times
. If you cross her, you’re liable to end up being the cover story.”

Shit.

I knew she looked familiar for some reason. I’ve seen her photo at the top of her column every fucking morning.

“Fuck, you’re right…but I don’t think she was here for a story. This was personal. This was about her sister. I gathered that the last thing she would want is for the world to find out her little sister is now a stripper.”

Gabe barks out a laugh. “Why do you say that with such disdain? You own the place, Savage. You employ these strippers.”

“That doesn’t mean I would necessarily want any of my baby sisters doing it.”

That gets Gabe absolutely rolling, doubling over in the chair and wiping tears from his eyes. “God, I can just imagine if Storm or Skye tried to become a dancer. You would completely lose your shit.”

I glare at him. “Not funny. Stop picturing my baby sisters in thongs, you pervert.”

“They are hardly babies anymore, Savage. They’re what, twenty-seven and twenty-nine? Storm is married and has a child, for Christ’s sake.”