Sinful Rewards 10: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella

By Cynthia Sax

Everything that Bee once believed in has changed … because of him. With one heated glance, one meaningful touch, one soul-melting kiss, he has turned her world upside down and transformed her life forever.

She knows he'll do anything for her, including sacrificing all that he holds dear and never letting her go.

But what is she willing to do for him?

Will Bee embrace the unthinkable to keep her man safe and give up her dreams to spend one more night in his arms? Will their passion be enough to satisfy them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Apr 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9780062354280

Cynthia Sax

Cynthia Sax lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever. Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.

Book preview

Dedication

To my dear, wonderful hubby for being supersupportive; to Max, the neighborhood guard cat, for keeping the block mouse (and sometimes hummingbird) free; and to Gilly, one of my bestest friends in the entire world.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the Author

Also by Cynthia Sax

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

I DON’T KNOW which is worse—the nightmares or not sleeping.

Last night, I was haunted by terrifying dreams, visions of Hawke in increasingly intense levels of pain. My subconscious doesn’t allow me to reach this state of slumber tonight. I drift off for an hour or two, wake, reach out and touch my military man, reassuring myself that he’s here, he’s safe.

Hawke curls his body more and more around mine, wrapping me in muscle, his breath wafting on my skin, his grip comfortingly tight. The time I remain awake shortens until around four o’clock, I crash hard, emotionally exhausted.

As soon as I surrender to sleep, the doorbell rings. Cyndi will answer the door, I mumble, dragging a muscular male arm over my eyes. My rough, tough former marine will protect me from the morning.

Your bubbly best friend is in LA, love. He chuckles, the man obscenely cheerful after our restless night. Our visitor might be looking for me. He pulls his delicious heat and sheltering body away from me.

Hawke left on the overhead lights to ease my fears of the dark. The illumination is blinding. Too bright. I squint and scowl.

Hawke laughs again. I’ll be back. He bends over and presses his lips to my bare shoulder, the stubble on his chin chafing my skin, warming me.

He walks away from our bed, his tread soundless. The bedroom door opens and softly snicks closed behind him. Good. I grab the pillow and ram it over my face. I can go back to sleep.

Moments pass. I shift an inch to the left, squirm, roll over on my back, wrestling with the pillow. Hawke’s distinct scent—a combination of leather, engine grease, and man—clings to the cotton. I can’t get comfortable, can’t relax.

I suspect our early morning visitor is one of Hawke’s coworkers from the Organization, the security company he’s employed at. A situation has gone FUBAR, to hell in a handbasket, and they’re reaching out to him for assistance, expecting him to put his scarred neck on the line for minimum wage.

He’ll die, leaving me, as every man has left me. I stare at the ceiling moldings, seeing the shadows and not the light, the heavy weight of fear pressing down, down, down on my chest.

Hawke’s deep voice rumbles and my terror eases. He remains in the condo, talking with the newcomer in the main room. I can’t decipher any of their words, but I know he’s safe. He’s alive.

I give up on trying to sleep. Hugging a pillow against my chest, I sit with my back against the unvarnished headboard and stare at the closed bedroom door, willing him to return to me.

I should be doing more. Dawg, his number-one man, enlisted my help in persuading Hawke to delegate the leadership of dangerous assignments to his highly skilled team. I can’t complete this mission if I’m in a different room.

Next time, I’ll get my sleepy ass out of bed and join Hawke, standing by his side as he’s debriefed, giving him my input. We’re partners. I should start acting like it.

The door swings open and my shirtless man swaggers into the room. Tattooed wings stretch across his collarbone, his golden skin marked with silver scars and black ink. His lips are pressed together, his square jaw jutting. He’s fierce and strong and mine. A heat blossoms in my chest, my nipples tightening.

Why aren’t you sleeping, sweetheart? His gaze meets mine, his pale blue eyes reflecting his concern.

I shrug and say nothing, not wishing him to become distracted by my issues. A distracted marine is a dead marine, I’ve been told, and I won’t be the cause of his death.

Hawke looks at me, and I hold his searching gaze, meshing his strength with mine. Meaning and emotion zing between us, a connection I’ve never experienced with any other person. Our link is special, right, real, not needing words or touch.

Hawke sighs, his chest rising and falling. You were worrying about me, weren’t you? He pops his button fly, revealing his brown curls and hard shaft. I wouldn’t leave without telling you. The faded denim drops to the hardwood floor.

He’s trying to shift my attention from the situation, and damn it, it’s working. My gaze lowers and I lick my lips. He tracks the movement, his perusal exciting me. I like that he watches me. I like it very much.

Are you leaving? My voice is husky, my pussy wet with a soul-deep yearning.

Regret flickers across his battle-worn face. I have to go to work soon. He reaches into the plastic fishbowl set on the makeshift nightstand and pulls out a condom package.

I should put the condoms in a drawer. That’s classier, more sophisticated, but I like being able to see that huge ugly container. It’s physical proof that Hawke views our relationship as long-term, that I’m not simply a one-time fuck.

But I don’t have to leave right now. He rips the package open and rolls the latex over his thick shaft. Right now, I have a beautiful woman to love.

To love. My heart does a funny little dance in my chest, hope unfurling inside me.

Does he care for me this much, or is this another flippant phrase such as calling me sweetheart or love? I survey his countenance, seeking the truth. His eyes glimmer with lust and a hint of humor.

This tells me nothing. Laughing and horny is my big man’s natural state, and I love this about him.

Love. Shit. There’s that word again. I can’t love Hawke, not yet, not until he’s declared his undying devotion to me first and not until I figure out a way to keep him safe.

I feel friendship and desire for him. That’s it. That’s careful and cautious, and I’m a cautious woman. I have to be, to protect myself.

Needing to smother my growing agitation with passion, I toss the pillow to the side and spread my thighs in a blatant invitation, my body naked, exposed to his gaze. Then come here and fuck me, I challenge Hawke, unwilling to use the word love, afraid of what my highly observant man might hear in my voice.

The mattress dips under his weight and I slide toward him, cotton rubbing against my skin. You’ll sleep well after this, sweetheart. He pulls me under him, bracing himself upward with his arms, and I bend my knees, cradling his hips between my legs, eager for this, wanting, craving him.

Curling my fingers over his shoulders, I savor his warmth, the power in his physique, the bluntness of his countenance. He has the type of face a woman could study for a lifetime and not fully know, his features too male to be handsome, his nose flattened and his forehead wide. Scars leave an intriguing design in his dark stubble, remnants of his violence-filled past.

This beast of a man lowers over me. His muscles ripple against my curves and his condom-covered cock presses against my pussy lips, his tip nudging my clit.

Yes, I murmur my approval, arching my back, caressing his chest with my taut nipples, adding more exquisite sensations to the erotic mix.

Yes, Hawke agrees. He strokes along my feminine folds, slicking his shaft with my moisture, my scent, the decadent glide of his hardness against my yielding flesh spiraling my yearning higher.

I tilt my chin upward, silently asking for a kiss, and he obliges, covering my lips with his, pillaging my mouth. Our tongues tangle and twist, dancing to the rhythm of our bodies, and the bond between us tightens, every encounter tying us together, tiny threads of