Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1) (5 page)

“You don’t think it was maybe a tad bit overkill?”

What? Two dozen white, long-stem roses to a woman I only met once?

I stare up at Rick, my trainer, as I recline on the bench in the gym and try to look more confident than I really feel. “No, not at all.”

He smirks at me. “Dude, two dozen roses? I don’t even get my wife two dozen roses on our anniversary,” he says, reaching down to grab another twenty-five pound plate to add to the bar.

Sweat drips down the sides of my face and onto the bench under my head. I grab my towel from the floor and do my best to mop it off, even though I know I’ll just have to do it again in a couple minutes. “Maybe that’s why you never get laid, my friend.”

He laughs as he adds another plate to the other side of the bar, making it three hundred fifty pounds. “Whatever, dude, let’s bust out this last set.”

I re-center myself under the bar and try to get back to concentrating on my workout instead of Danika, but I can’t help but wonder about her reaction to the card.

I bet she is fucking pissed and I bet it’s fucking hot.
A laugh escapes me and Rick looks at me like I’m insane. Thankfully, my cock stays in place instead of inflating to nut-busting proportions like it so often has every time I think about meeting Danika. The flashing anger in her eyes and the way she stood up for her sister have me under some kind of spell.

There’s just something about that woman that stokes a fire in me I didn’t even know still existed. God knows I don’t have a clue what to do about it anymore. The “invitation” seemed like a great idea at the time.

I grip the bar tightly, raising it up off the rack and then slowly lowering it down to my chest. My muscles strain and burn as I push it back up, raising my arms to full extension. After repeating the process five more times, I gasp in relief when I finally rack it and finish.

Rick is in my face immediately, grinning like an idiot. “Way to go, man! You rocked that! I can’t believe you did six reps at three-fifty!”

I wish I could be more excited about the accomplishment but my mind is elsewhere.

“Thanks, man,” I reply, wiping my face with my towel. I slowly sit up and look around the gym, searching for Gabe so we can get out of here.

I finally locate him talking up a petite redhead near the treadmills. I catch his eye, and he winks at me with a knowing grin.

He is such a dog sometimes. Okay, well, all the time.

She hands him her cell phone and his fingers fly across the screen, no doubt giving her his number. I swear, I see more women coming and going from Gabe’s condo than you would from a gynecologist’s office.

I wait until he glances up at me again and roll my eyes, making it clear I don’t appreciate waiting for him just so he can line up another booty call. He shrugs at me and says goodbye to little red before making his way over to where Rick and I are waiting.

“You ready to go?” Gabe asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. We have a routine and we rarely, if ever, break it. Gym in the a.m., early, like really fucking early sometimes, then we head to the office, then the gym again in the afternoon on days one of us really needs to let off some excess steam, and then we head back to our condo building so he can clean up before one of his lady friends arrives and I can relax and unwind from what lately have been excruciatingly stressful days.

We’re opening several more restaurants and bars under the Hawke umbrella, and it appears it may not have been such a good idea to try to do so many at once. Gabe and I are constantly on the move—examining potential locations, interviewing potential managers, dealing with contractors and the city to arrange permits—and it’s enough to cause constant migraines and sleepless nights.

“Yeah, I was ready five minutes ago, but you were too busy shaking your dick at that redhead to notice.”

“And you completely missed his badass bench set,” Rick adds.

Gabe rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with my weightlifting skills. “I’ll be sure to catch it next time. I was more worried about getting her digits.”

I scoff and wipe myself again with my towel. “Shocking.”

“Oh, you can’t talk, my friend. You’ve been brooding and distracted since you met a certain feisty blonde last week, and you don’t see
me
sending two dozen roses to someone I barely know and who already hates my guts.”

“She doesn’t hate my guts,” I retort, a little too quickly.

Shit. I hope she doesn’t hate my guts. What if she does?

No, she doesn’t.

That blush creeping up her neck during our confrontation was a dead giveaway—she was just as attracted to me as I was to her. Rage may have been simmering in her veins but it was mixed with a burning desire she couldn’t hide. I have to believe that. Otherwise, I really will feel like the utter and complete asshole she probably thinks I am.

I say goodbye to Rick and turn back to Gabe. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”

By the time we get to the club, I’m confident I made the right decision in sending the flowers. I’ve never been one to second-guess my decisions when it comes to women. At least…I wasn’t before Becca, but it has been a long time since I asked someone out on a date, and even longer since I went on a first date with someone, let alone someone who wasn’t exactly thrilled to meet me in the first place.

I could debate myself in a circle about this. Part of me wants her to decline my invitation, but the bigger part of me needs her to accept. The way she stormed into my office and didn’t give me an inch, despite my somewhat condescending attitude toward her ethical conflict with her sister’s profession and my business…I’ve never been with a woman like that, someone who exudes confidence and doesn’t back down from someone like me.

It intrigues me; she intrigues me. She makes me question what I’ve been doing the last thirty years with women who were meek, easy, happy to appease. Something about her “take no shit” attitude made me instantly hard, and
that
truly is a feat. It terrifies me as much as it excites me.

Waiting two more days to see if she shows for dinner is going to do a real fucking number on my psyche, and my dick.

The back corner booth at Angelo’s is usually more comfortable. Tonight, sitting and waiting for Danika, my usual table just doesn’t have the same feel. I swirl the Chianti in my glass and take a long sip, letting the thick wine slide down my throat and praying it helps calm my nerves.

Nerves.
Jesus Christ, I haven’t had nerves about anything since I was in middle school.
In the last week, I’ve somehow reverted to my insecure ten-year-old self.

My watch does nothing to assuage my fears. When I see it’s already 8:15, I shift uncomfortably as the once-delicious wine begins to sour in my stomach.

She’s late. Hell, I don’t even know if she will show.

Maybe I fucked up?

Maybe the flowers
were
overkill? But, what girl doesn’t love roses? And two dozen of them at that? I thought they were the perfect accompaniment to my dinner invitation.

I guess I expected she would call to let me know one way or the other if she was going to show up tonight, but since I spend most Friday nights here anyway, I figure it can’t hurt to hold out some hope.

But, then again, maybe it can. My hand begins to shake and I set down the wine glass so my anxiety isn’t quite so obvious. If she shows up, she can’t see me this way. A strong, confident woman like her would do a stiletto-heeled one eighty if she found me here shaking like a leaf.

What the fuck do I do if she doesn’t show up? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this girl. How will I ever get her out of my mind if I haven’t at least tried?

Staying busy at work hasn’t done the trick, nor has beating myself up at the gym. Gabe keeps telling me I’m working myself too hard, but he’s smart enough not to press it with me. I may not be my father, but I can still kick his ass and he knows it.

Across the main room of the restaurant, Michael, my regular waiter, catches my eye. He approaches the table with a half-hearted smile.

“Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Hawke?”

“No, Michael, not right now.” He refills my wine glass and gives me a small bow before retreating to the kitchen.

How long do I wait here, alone, before I order dinner or go home? Shit, being stood up right now would be a real kick to the nuts.

I reach for my glass, put it to my lips, and take another long pull at the red liquid, thankful I have it to keep me company. In my peripheral vision, I see a flash of blonde and turn to find Danika making her way toward my table. Her long hair is twisted up and pulled back, away from her face, and she’s decked out in a fantastic knee-length black dress with a plunging neckline that shows just a tasteful hint of cleavage.

My lips twitch up in the first smile I’ve managed all night, and I try, probably unsuccessfully, to hide my delight at her arrival. Jumping up and down like a middle school kid who just received his first kiss would probably not be a huge turn on for her right now.

“Ms. Eriksson, I am so glad you could join me this evening.”

She returns my smile, drops her purse on the bench next to her, and settles in the seat across from me.

“Thank you for the invitation,” she replies, somewhat coolly.

My smile fades at her tone, but she’s here, so I’ll consider that a win.

Michael appears at the table and gives me a knowing grin. “Ma’am, would you like some Chianti?” He presents the bottle to her and she nods, glancing over the table at me.

The moment our eyes meet, she blushes and shifts in her seat, fidgeting with the linen napkin on the top of the table. Throwing her my best panty-dropping smile, I’m helpless to keep myself from chuckling when her blush deepens and spreads down her neck and into her cleavage.

And just what is causing that blush, Danika?

She’s nervous.

Good.

That means I affect her just as much as she affects me.

And affect me she does. I’m forced to reach down as inconspicuously as possible to adjust my throbbing cock.

Less than a fucking minute with this woman and I am already hard as granite. This could be a very long dinner.

Michael retreats from the table.

She clears her throat, barely glancing up at me before looking back to her hands while I take another sip of wine. “Thank you for the flowers. I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from you, and certainly don’t deserve them after the way I acted in your office the other day.”

I almost spit out my wine.
An apology?

She doesn’t seem the type to apologize for anything. That I’m getting one tells me it’s a nudge in the right direction.

“You mean when you stormed in like hell on wheels and tore me a new asshole?” Her head snaps up and I grin at her, making sure she understands I’m just messing with her. “Relax. You didn’t offend me. In fact, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the last week.”

Obsessing might be a more accurate term.

“Really?” She shifts forward in her chair, her eyes never leaving mine. I’m glad she’s apparently gotten over her initial reservation. “Thinking about ways to get back at me for my horrible behavior?” She picks up her glass and tilts it back.

I grin and lean forward across the table, close enough so I’m sure she’ll be the only one able to hear me.

“No, thinking about how much I want my face buried between your legs and my tongue in your pussy.”