Night hawke, p.1
Night Hawke, page 1
NIGHT HAWKE
A SECOND GENERATION HAWKE FAMILY PREQUEL
GWYN MCNAMEE
NIGHT HAWKE
© 2022 Gwyn McNamee
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Models: Andrew Biernat and Evan
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Design: Michelle Johnson at Bluesky Design
Editing: Stephie Walls at Wallflower Edits
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Author
OTHER WORKS BY GWYN MCNAMEE
1
ISAAC
There are few guarantees in life—death, taxes, and that the night is going to end with my dick buried inside that redhead across the bar.
God fucking willing…
She tosses back her head, laughing effortlessly at something her blond friend says, the sound light and airy. Sexy as fuck. It goes straight to my cock and makes it swell against my zipper.
What is a girl like that doing in a dive like this?
I shift on the stool, surreptitiously adjusting my semi, keeping my gaze locked on her. She casts a furtive glance at me out of the corner of her eye—at least the tenth time I've caught her doing so since Coen and I arrived almost an hour ago.
Her amber eyes meet mine for a split second, and the corner of her red lips twitches before she returns her focus to her friend at their small high-top near the pool table.
An energy radiates from her, a vibrancy and pull that makes me want to ditch Coen in favor of a much more interesting evening. After the last few months, nothing sounds better than celebrating my accomplishment with her under me, over me—however she wants it.
I raise my empty beer bottle to the bartender and incline my head, indicating I want another. He grabs one from the fridge and brings it over, sliding it across the marred wooden bar top to me.
“Thanks, man.” I tilt it at him in recognition. “Hey”—I tip my head slightly toward the girl—“you know her?”
He follows my focus and shakes his head. “No. First time she's been in here. At least when I’ve been working. I would remember a girl like her.”
No shit.
That isn’t the type of girl you forget.
Her hair spills down past her exposed shoulders and over the cutout at the back of her skin-tight, short, black dress that shows off her curves and more of her flawless, alabaster skin.
She’s the kind of woman who can burn you and you’d let her, just to be that close to the fire sparking in her eyes.
And I want nothing more than to sink into her heat tonight.
I take a sip from my beer, the tingle of Coen’s hard gaze coming from my right—judging me when I haven’t even done anything yet. Trying to ignore him would be futile, so I slowly turn my head toward him. “Problem?”
He raises a dark eyebrow. “I thought we came here to have a beer to celebrate, not for you to pick up some chick.”
I shrug. “I'm not doing anything of the sort.”
Coen snorts and shakes his head, taking a pull off his beer and letting the bottle dangle between his fingers. “Not yet.”
A grin pulls at my lips, and I playfully bump my shoulder against his, the way I always have when we’re ribbing each other. “Am I that predictable?”
Coen lets out a mirthless laugh. “I can't remember a single time you and I have ever gone anywhere together where you haven't ended up trying to pick up a girl, Isaac. Why would tonight be any different?”
I point at him. “First, I don't like the implication in that comment—even if it might be true. Second, tonight shouldn't be any different. In fact, this is exactly the type of night I should be having—looking for some fun instead of sitting at the bar, drinking alone with my brother, who has been a sad-sack buzzkill since he landed in Chicago.”
He sighs deeply and glances toward me, pain flashing in his familiar blue eyes. “Am I really that boring? That awful to spend time with?”
“Fuck you, dude. Don’t be a drama queen. You know that's not what I'm saying. It's just that after three days of Hawke Family Time, I was glad to see them off at the airport this morning—”
He scoffs. “Oh, what? So, you're pissed that I decided to stay the full weekend? And here I thought it was so we could spend some extra time together.”
I slap him on the back. “I love having you here, bro.” Leaning toward him, I peek at the girl again. “But it doesn't make me want to get my dick wet any less.”
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head, taking another swig of his beer. “You really are a pervert.”
Truer words have never been spoken.
I take a drink of my beer and check her out again, but she’s leaning over the table, engrossed in a deep conversation with her friend, both of them smiling and laughing conspiratorially.
Coen issues a deep sigh. “You know what? I don't get you sometimes, but I envy you.”
His words make me pause with the bottle halfway to my mouth. “What? Why? Because I get so much pussy?”
The corner of his mouth quirks into a lopsided half-smile. “Well, that, and because you know who you are. What you want to do. You have your whole life mapped out.”
Sipping on my beer, I consider his words. I don’t get laid nearly as much as he imagines. Between classes, interning for the Center for Wrongful Convictions, and clerking at the local firm to get some real experience, it doesn’t leave much time for the extracurricular activities I would love to enjoy more often with girls like the redhead.
Though it probably does seem like that to someone on the outside looking at me—that my life is all meaningless sex and success after success in school—but he has no idea the pressure that’s been put on me. He can’t possibly fathom the expectations that weigh on my shoulders every day of my life and threaten to drop me to my knees at times.
Being the eldest male of the Hawke children means things have been laid out for me, demands made from a young age. Everyone expects me to succeed, to become Dad’s right hand and help manage the Hawke empire in the legal arena, help it grow, and protect it from all threats.
Easier said than done.
But at least when everything is already planned for you, it removes having to make certain decisions. I can see how Coen might envy that from where he sits.
I nod slowly, trying to figure out how to say what I want to, how to explain it to him in a way he can understand. “I guess I do have my life mapped out. I’ve always known I wanted to go to law school and work with Dad, but I'm not so sure that makes me lucky or gives you any reason to envy me.” Water trickles down the brown bottle in my hand, and I brush my thumb across it absently. “I’ll never know if wanting to be an attorney was actually my choice and what I really wanted or whether I only wanted it because it’s what I was raised to do because Dad always brought me to the office with him and it’s what I saw every day growing up. It meant I was always very focused on one thing, which didn’t leave room for other possibilities. It gave me tunnel vision.”
“But still…” Coen fiddles with his beer label, suddenly looking every bit my baby brother and not the adult he now is. “I'm twenty-one, almost twenty-two, and I still haven't figured out what I want to do with my life. I don’t want to work for Uncle Savage and Uncle Gabe forever.”
No one does.
We all love them to death, but it only seems the older and grayer they get, the more demanding and intolerant to change they become. It makes keeping all the family businesses running at full speed difficult, something Kennedy laments every time I talk with her. She undoubtedly has ranted to Coen about her feelings the same way when he’s around. It can’t put him in a great mindset about working for the family forever to see our cousin so stressed out and frustrated in her role, especially when she’s still so young and has so much responsibility already.
“You're still young, Coen; you'll figure it out. In the meantime…” I pull my keys from my pocket and hand them to him. “Head back to my place. I'm going to go talk to the redhead.”
He smirks. “You're ditching me?”
“I'll be home in New Orleans permanently in two days. You're going to see plenty of me. So much that you’ll probably get sick of me.”
Coen examines the keys. “You're not going to try to bring the redhead back to your place tonight?”
I bark out a laugh and shake my head, tossing a couple twenties on the bar for our drinks. “No. Having your little brother hanging out at your condo kind of kills the mood.”
“Gee, sorry I'm cock-blocking you.”
I lean toward him and nudge his shoulder with mine. “You're not cock-blocking anything. I pull out my phone and swipe the screen. “I'm texting my friend, who is a concierge at the Palmer House. He'll have a room ready and waiting for me when I get her out of here.”
“When?” Coen raises his brows. “Don't you mean if?”
I peek over my shoulder at her and meet her amber gaze again. “There is no if.”
“Christ”—he releases a heavy laugh, pushing to his feet—“you’re a dick.”
Grinning at him, I waggle my eyebrows. “That may be, but I’m a dick who's going to spend some time with a beautiful woman tonight. Unlike you.”
Coen shakes his head, smirking. “Asshole.”
I push off from the bar, nudging the stool back, so I can slide out and move toward the redhead who now stands alone at the high-top, her back to me while she types on her phone. Her friend seems to have vanished while I was talking with Coen. I wave to Coen before he steps out the front door, and I approach the girl slowly so as not to startle her when she’s so fully engrossed in whatever she’s doing.
“Your friend abandoned you?”
She jerks slightly and turns to me as I move to the other side of the small, round table and set down my drink.
“Oh, no.” A smile plays on her perfect lips, and she slips her phone into a small purse in front of her. “She had to take a phone call and wanted some privacy. She’s just outside.”
I tsk and shake my head, grinning at her. “Very dangerous of her to leave you like that. Haven’t you seen the way the men in here look at you?”
She scans the almost empty bar now that Coen has slipped out. “I’ve seen the way you have been looking at me.”
I take a sip of my beer, keeping my eyes on her. “How have I been looking at you?”
She leans her elbows on the table, flashing me her ample cleavage and twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “The same way I’ve been looking at you.”
Well, damn.
Direct. To the point. Not nervous or shy.
Never looked away from me for one second when she said it.
This is a woman who knows what she wants and takes it.
And fuck if that isn’t the sexiest thing.
There’s nothing hotter than a strong woman, and it’s been far too long since I’ve met one. Though something tells me that no one I’ve ever met is anything like the one across the table from me. It’s too bad I didn’t meet her earlier, during my three years here in Chicago. She’s different from the other girls I’ve spent my very little free time with. Stronger. More confident. Not looking to latch onto me for the wrong reasons.
This is pure animal attraction. What it’s supposed to feel like. This is wanting something and being willing to bend over backward to get it. This woman is special.
She’s a fantasy before me, a dream come to life.
Maybe the perfect woman.
And tonight, she’s going to be mine.
JACK
The man standing in front of me might just be the definition of walking sex. It oozes off him the same way the heavenly, masculine scent does, floating over the table to me, forcing me to inhale it with every breath. Crisp. Clean. It makes me want to bury my face in his shirt and never stop smelling it.
Something flutters deep inside me—a longing, a need I’ve never felt this strongly. It struck me the moment our eyes connected the first time and hasn’t stopped during the hour Felicity and I have been here with him. And now that he’s finally made his move, he’s even more handsome up this close than he appeared sitting at the bar.
Striking Caribbean-blue eyes rake over me from under a mop of thick, dark, wavy hair. A playful smile tilts his lips, surrounded by rough stubble covering his powerful jaw.
He watches me with keen interest as I take a sip of my Jack and Coke to try to calm my racing heart while I think about what that would feel like between my thighs.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Flirting with a man has never unnerved me like this, but it may have something to do with the adrenaline coursing through my system from my “escape” today. I was already riding high and enjoying the freedom of my night away from everything before I ever stepped foot in this dive.
It just feels good to be out, to be normal, to be sitting here, talking with a hot guy who seems as interested in me as I am in him, without knowing someone is watching me and reporting my every move to the people who can make my life a living hell and enjoy keeping me on a short leash.
The only person whose eyes I want on me now is across the table from me.
“You’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Seems we’re on the same page. I just need to know what you’d like to do about it. Because I sure know what I’d like to do…and how.”
His tongue darts out across his lips, his gaze darkening.
Sweet mother of God, that’s hot.
I swallow through my suddenly dry throat and take another sip of my drink before I can speak again. “I have some ideas.”
He chuckles. “I bet you do, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
That should be insulting. It’s condescending, misogynistic, and should make me want the punch him and tell him to go fuck himself. And I’ve certainly said and done worse to other men who have called me that…or worse. But instead, the little flutter in my chest at the pet name makes me lean in closer to him.
“You might be dangerous, though. A girl has to be careful.”
He grins. “Oh, I’m definitely dangerous, and I agree about being careful. I just graduated from law school, and I can tell you, there are definitely some unsavory and perverted men out there who do not have good intentions.”
“Law school, huh?” My gaze dips to his lips, then back up. “That explains the silver tongue.”
Something blazes across his eyes, a heat that roars through every cell of my body. “You have no idea what my tongue is capable of.”
My entire body clenches, and I have to shift back slightly; otherwise, I’d be liable to throw myself across the tiny space separating us.
And that would be unwise.
I can’t just rush out of here with a total stranger because I have a lady boner for him. The responsible and smart thing to do is at least assess him and the situation a little more. I motion over my shoulder. “How about we play a game of pool?”
He releases a deep laugh, the sound sexy and thick in a way that goes straight between my legs. Amusement flashes in his eyes. “Sure. You can break.”
You can break.
The words seem to hold some sort of double meaning that keep his lips curled into a knowing smirk.
This man is most certainly dangerous; though, I don’t think it has anything to do with the things girls are always warned about by their mothers. This man is dangerous in a way that will destroy your body and soul.
Standing, I take a sip of my drink, then grab a cue from the far wall while he wanders over from the high-top, watching my every move.
Examining the empty felt, I bite my bottom lip. “I forget how you start.”
He fights a laugh and produces a triangle from somewhere under the table. “I'll rack them.” He pulls out a ball and rolls it toward me. “You use the cue ball for breaking—the white one.”
I lean forward to catch it, exposing my breasts to him slightly in the low V of my dress—a move he does not miss. His gaze dips with me, then he clears his throat, and I watch, mesmerized, as his strong hands place each ball meticulously.
Once satisfied, he pulls off the triangle and returns it to its original place. He motions toward the table and winks. “All yours, sweetheart. Do your worst.”
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to hold back a smirk as I line up my shot, fumbling the cue slightly. I take a half-assed shot at the white ball, and it rolls lazily and barely bumps into the perfectly racked set-up.
He walks over to me and steps close, so close that the masculine scent completely dominates every breath I take. “Let's try that again.” He grabs the cue ball and replaces it while I move back into position. “I'll help you this time.”
