Page 22 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
So why was I thinking them? And more important, why was I envisioning Hawkin Play as being the center of my universe when we butt heads like siblings and verbally spar like enemies?
It has to be because of his goddamn kiss.
Hell yes I wanted it—won’t deny it even to myself—because damn, the man can kiss. I shove the thought away that he’s probably had many women to practice on to get that kind of skill; it was so mind-blowing, I don’t care so long as I got the benefit of it.
His lips were the perfect combination of firm and soft, he used enough tongue but not too much, and then added to it the gentle coaxing of his fingertips to get me to open up to him, and ugh, I want more.
But therein lies the problem. I’m sure wanting more means different things to him than it does for me. For him it’s probably a quick fling that would run the duration of his seminar. And while I’m all for quick, fun, and meaningless, the way I just reacted to his kiss alone scares me into thinking that I might not be able to keep it on that level, promises made to myself be damned. That I’d be falling headfirst into something serious without a moment to enjoy it before heartbreak crashes down around me.
I roll my shoulders, stand up, and do something uncharacteristic of me. I’m usually a go-for-it, damn-the-consequences-later type of girl … and yet as I head back toward the auditorium with thoughts of how to play this with Hawkin, I tell myself not this time, not with this guy.
He may embody all of the things that call to me on so many levels—and I’ll probably curse myself later for it—but with the start of my career on the horizon, I need to be smart.
And walking headfirst into heartbreak is not smart.
“You okay?” Axe asks, his expression stoic, and his eyes hidden behind dark lenses scanning the students beginning to line up for the lecture.
“Yeah. Thanks,” I tell him as he opens the door for me. I walk through it, head down as I try to figure out how to handle this. Do I take the blame, apologize, and then hide behind the facade of hostility that helps me to resist him?
I’m still deciding what to do when I’m startled by a scuffing sound ahead of me. I look up to find Hawkin leaning against a pillar, arms across his chest and a condescending smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. “Well, well, well. So good you came back for more, huh?”
His words startle me. And not in a good way. I came in here willing to apologize, worried about everything, and he greets me like that? Pretending to be hostile is no longer a necessity because it’s a reality.
“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, eyes narrowed and disbelief undoubtedly written all over my face.
He straightens up some, and the smarmy look stays on his face but he drops his hands. I briefly notice he’s changed his shirt to a white button-up—and I can see the hint of another tattoo through the open collar—but my frazzled state leads me to not give it a second thought. I’m too busy watching how rejection doesn’t sit well with the rock god Hawkin Play.
Well, he’d better get ready for more of it if he thinks he can be an asshole to me. So what if I kissed him and then changed my mind? And standing here, eyes locked on each other’s, I’m dismayed by the way he’s handling this. Stupid me thought he’d be more hurt and less jerk. Guess I thought too highly of myself. The reality check that I really am just another in a long line of women to him is welcome.
Good thing I found out now rather than in a month when my heart’s already invested. I use my own hurt, the revelation of truths I didn’t expect—the spite in his glare—to keep my guard up. But guard or no guard, I become uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny when he just stands before me, posture in itself threatening, and doesn’t say a word.
“What do you want?” I snap, shifting my feet.
“You for a start.” He ghosts a smile and where before I found it sexy, right now, the sight of it mixed with the look in his eyes unsettles me.
“If my actions didn’t say it earlier, then my lips will say it so you can understand: Dream on.” I take a breath, eyes flickering over my shoulder to see if Axe is still there just on the other side of the door, because for some reason alarm bells are sounding in my head.
He laughs low and mocking and if he’s trying to freak me out, he’s doing a damn good job. I’m done here. Carla can pull my thesis for all I care but I refuse to work with this schizophrenic asshole. In the span of one minute we’ve gone from flirting to kissing and in the next making me uncomfortable.
I start to walk past him to go grab my bag I left when I ran away and he grabs my arm, fingers digging in. A shocked gasp falls from my mouth but I refuse to give in and meet his eyes.
“Believe me, any dream I have of you will be a wet one.”
I yank my arm from his grasp, disgusted by his comment and how far off the mark I was in judging him. How did he go from hot and desirable to cheesy and creepy?
I ignore his laugh at my back and all but jog to the open doors of the auditorium. I rush through them, head turning to glance back at him, and find myself colliding into someone.
“Jesus!”
I’m shocked by the voice, the scent of cologne, and the face when I look up to see Hawkin’s surprised expression.
What the hell?
“Hawkin?” His name comes out in a flustered gasp as I try to process the fact that he’s standing before me when I thought he was behind me. I push back from him, adrenaline hitting me now so that my hands are a little shaky and take in his black Def Leppard T-shirt and the hair mussed earlier from my hands.
How can? … And then it hits me. I recollect an article I read during my intermittent cyberstalking about Hawkin that he had a brother. It definitely didn’t say he had an identical twin.
He stares for a beat, trying to figure out what’s wrong, when his eyes lift to over my shoulder. Hawke’s gaze immediately turns hard, jaw clenched and shoulders squaring in irritation as he delivers an unspoken warning to his brother before falling back on mine and softening with concern.
