Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1) (27 page)

He stills under me and turns his head away with a quick jerk.

“Savage? What’s wrong?”

His hand finds my wrist and he yanks me off his cock while his eyes avert mine.

Oh, no…I am NOT getting rejected again.

“Savage?” I pull my hand from his grip and move to turn his face to mine, but before I can, he grabs my waist and lifts me off him, setting me on the bed to his side. “Woah, what the fuck?”

Is this seriously happening?

“Sorry,” he says, glancing back at me over his shoulder as he lifts himself back into his chair. “I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. It must be something I ate.”

Before I can formulate a response, he’s across the room and the bathroom door slams shut, effectively preventing any further questioning.

Did he actually pull the “I have a headache” excuse?

I slump down onto the bed and grab the nearest pillow, pulling it down over my face so I can scream into it without making Gabe think Savage is murdering me in here.

It feels good.

Cathartic.

When I bring the pillow away and take a deep breath, the cool air helps calm me, but only marginally.

I just don’t fucking get it. Five hundred dollars of La Perla and it got me exactly nowhere! He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

Is this some game for him? Some way to still exert his dominance? He strings me along but doesn’t seal the deal?

What does he want? For me to beg? Because, hell, I’m ready to beg and then some.

How has it comes to this?
Me…actually needing to beg for sex.
Something is quite seriously fucking wrong with the world if it has come to me begging.

I hurl the pillow across the room and it hits the bathroom door silently. I’m tempted to throw something else, something that will give me a satisfying bang or crash, but even as angry as I am right now, I don’t want to ruin any of Savage’s things.

Despite how I feel at the moment, Savage has his hooks in me, and now I’m wondering if he really is sick.

Shit. I’m such a bitch. I should check on him.

I slide off the bed and hustle to the bathroom door. I don’t hear anything. No water running. No tell-tale sounds of Savage praying to the porcelain god.

“Savage? Are you all right?”

The toilet flushes and I spend several awkward moments standing with my ear up against the door, waiting for his response. I watch the doorknob turn and I take a step back, almost tripping on the damn pillow.

Crap.

I bend down and grab it just as the door opens and Savage appears. He certainly doesn’t look sick, and he avoids making eye contact with me as he rolls past me and directly for the bed.

Without even glancing my way, he moves into bed and tosses his shirt onto his chair. “I’m exhausted and feel like shit. I’m just going to go to sleep. You might want to go home tonight in case whatever I have isn’t food poisoning. I don’t want to get you sick.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Go home? He’s actually telling me to leave!

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such a pile of shit. Honestly, I thought tonight would be different, that maybe all he needed was a black silk nudge in the right direction. I guess I was wrong. What he needs is me to go home and leave him the fuck alone.

Well, I can certainly accommodate his request.

“Feel better.” The words come out as icy as my heart feels right now—cold and dark in my chest. This is what I get for opening myself up to a relationship. Rejection.

I slip my jeans and t-shirt on over the useless expensive fabric and grab my overnight bag and purse. When I reach the bedroom door, I pause to look back at him. The candles are still lit and I know I should probably blow them all out before I leave—I don’t want the place to burn down—but right now, I just want to get out.

“Don’t forget to blow out all the candles.” My words are met with silence. I bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying something I’ll regret later.

Making my way to the front door, I fish around in my purse until I find my phone. I call Nora and she picks up almost immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m coming over.” I know she didn’t work tonight and is probably on the couch with a pint of mint chocolate chip.

“Why? Is everything okay?”

I let out a deep sigh and press the button for the elevator. “Of course it is, my boyfriend just rejected me and told me to go home.”

“Shit, Dani, you know how weird it is for me when you talk to me about Savage. I have to see him at work, you know?”

She doesn’t know the half of it. I’ve managed to keep my personal shit with Savage just that, personal. Even Caroline doesn’t know what’s been going on. But, Nora’s right. It isn’t fair for me to put her in an awkward position with her boss.

“I promise I won’t talk about him anymore tonight. I just want to come spend some time with my baby sister, all right?”

“Of course. I’ll see you soon.”

The elevator dings just as she hangs up and I enter the car and lean against the back wall, my ego utterly deflated. I’m out of ideas here. Maybe it’s time to give up trying and admit I was right to avoid getting emotionally tangled with someone like this.

When I left for the gym this morning, I didn’t think it was possible to be more frustrated, but I was wrong.

I stare up at the bar, which is weighed down with three hundred fifty pounds again, and I know, without even trying, I won’t be able to lift it today.

Fucking pussy.

Yeah, I know.

What happened with Dani last night won’t stop playing in a loop in my head and it’s throwing me completely off my game. She didn’t even respond to my good morning text.

I can’t say I blame her.

What I did last night might land on the top of the “unforgivable” list.

“Fuck.” I drop my forearm over my eyes and resign myself to the fact I won’t get anywhere with my workout today—at least the weight-lifting part.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?”

I move my arm and Rick is looking down at me with both concern and frustration.

“Nothing, I’m just…tired, I guess.”

“Bullshit.” He holds his hand out and I grasp it, letting him help pull me to a sitting position. “I’ve known you for three years, and I’ve seen you tired. I’ve seen you in pain. I’ve seen you sick. This is none of these. So, spill.”

I search the immediate area for Gabe, but don’t see him.

Good. The last thing I need is him hearing this shit. He already thinks I’m a huge pushover for her.

“It’s Dani.”

“I should have guessed. Only a woman could make a man look so miserable.”

Ain’t that the truth?

I move into my chair and Rick follows me back to the gymnasium where the heavy and speed bags are ready and waiting. It’s been a while since I’ve used them. They used to be my go-to form of stress-relief. After Dad died, my mom forbade me from fighting professionally. At ten, I never questioned her edict, but I also loved it, and continued to train and spar despite the look of disdain I got from her when she found out.

It was different after the accident, though. I couldn’t get my release on the bag anymore.

Now, it calls to me in the way it used to and the itch to wrap my hands and pummel it is unshakable.

Rick grabs the tape and wraps and begins preparing my hands without me even asking. When he’s done, he points to the heavy bag without a word.

He doesn’t need to coach me. I probably know more about boxing and throwing a good punch than anyone in this gym and he knows it. He also appears smart enough to give me some space to pound it out.

The first crack of my right against the leather of the bag is more satisfying than words can describe. The vibration and slight sting in my hand is like coming home without ever knowing I had been gone.

Home.

When I used to think of home, it was my mother’s house, or my condo. Now, when I think of home, all I see is Dani’s flowing blonde hair, loving blue eyes, and dazzling smile directed at me.

I. AM. SO. COMPLETELY. FUCKED!

The combinations my father drilled into me as a child come back easily. I demolish the bag, pounding it until my arms and shoulders drop helplessly to my sides.

Maybe I should have given this a bit more thought. I still need to actually move in my chair today.

Rick moves from behind the bag and eyes me.  “You want to talk about it now?”

“Fuck! Seriously?”

He unwraps my hands and tosses everything to the side. “Yes, seriously. You don’t have the energy to kill the bag again and it looks like it hasn’t done anything to ease your frustration. So, talk.”

Shit.

I run my shaking hands back through my sweat-soaked hair and clench my eyes closed.

“I just feel like I’m failing miserably at the whole relationship thing with her.”

The responding chuckle from Rick only angers me more. “Dude, you excel at everything you do. I’m sure it’s the same with Dani. You are probably overreacting.”

Am I?

He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew everything, but fuck if I’m about to admit my inability to fuck my girlfriend to him, or anyone else for that matter.

“Yeah, maybe.” I don’t know how else to respond. I know he means well, but he’s not going to get anything out of me today.

“If you’re looking for a nice date night for you two, you should come to my sister’s show.”

“What kind of show?” I vaguely recall Rick telling me his younger sister is some kind of artist, but I’ve never been much of an art fan so I didn’t really pay much attention.

I follow him toward the locker room, my arms and shoulders screaming in protest with every move.

“She’s being featured at a gallery next Saturday. Her whole new collection will be displayed. There will be food and wine. It should be a good time.”

An art gallery might not be a bad idea.

“Okay, sounds interesting. I think Dani would enjoy it.”

“Great, I’ll make sure to put you on the list and I’ll text you all the details tonight. Margaret will be thrilled you’re coming. She’s terrified no one will like her work and she’ll be stuck there all night with people giving her dirty looks. A few friendly faces will be greatly appreciated.”

I know the feeling. I sure as hell hope Danika’s face is friendly the next time I see her.

Sitting on the side of the bed, I lean down and slide my shoes on. I sense movement in front of me, and when I sit back up, I find Danika leaning against the doorjamb, watching me. Her four-inch cabernet-red stilettos make her already-mile-long legs look never ending. The shortness of her black sequin dress only adds to the effect.

Her blonde hair cascades in ringlets around her face, stopping just at her shoulders, and as she glides slowly toward me across the hardwood floor, it swings around her. Somehow, she has managed to match her lipstick to her shoes perfectly. How women do that, I will never understand.