Sinful Rewards 12: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella

By Cynthia Sax

The thrilling conclusion to the Billionaires and Bikers series!

One tiny mistake turns Bee Carter's worst fears into a terrifying reality. She knows she isn't alone. The sexy, honorable man she adores stands by her side, willing to sacrifice his freedom to ease her concerns.

But she yearns for more than he is offering. She wants a partner who will love her as fiercely as she loves him, who will say the words and mean them, and someone who will choose her because this is what he desires more than anything else, not merely out of a misguided sense of duty.

Will saying no to the man she loves earn Bee unbearable heartache or will she finally get the forever she craves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Jun 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9780062354327

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 giving me my own happy ever after, and to all of the Sinful Rewards readers who made this journey with Bee, Hawke and, yes, Nicolas. May you have the happy ever after you desire also! (hugs)

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

The World of Sinful Rewards

About the Author

Also by Cynthia Sax

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

A HEAD-SPLITTING DRONING sound wakes me. You’re breathing too loudly, I mumble, my mouth feeling as though I swallowed a bag of cotton balls. Hawke doesn’t answer and the droning continues. I sigh. This is a struggle. A weight bears down on my chest.

A furry, purring weight.

I open one eye and then the other. Gisele, our cat, is staring at me, her cute little face a whisker away from mine, her yellow cat eyes not blinking. You’re not supposed to be a morning cat.

Is it morning? I turn my head toward the window. The sun is shining, rays of light coming from high in the sky. Shit. I frown. How long did I sleep, Gisele?

She jumps off my naked body onto the mattress and then leaps gracefully to the hardwood floor. A selection of cat toys surround the bed, the mess making my fingers twitch. A glass of water, two Tylenol capsules, and what appears to be the contents of a man’s pockets are on the makeshift nightstand. Gratefully popping the Tylenol and swigging the water, I chase this combination with a mint I find in a small black tin.

I should wander to the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair. Judging by the makeup and glitter left on the pillowcase, I must look like hell. This effort is beyond my capabilities right now. A transport truck filled with pain is driving its way through my brain.

Hawke’s presence soothes some of my agony. Although the door is closed, I know he’s in the main room. I hear his deep voice. A smile curls my lips. He’d never leave without telling me. I touch the dog tags cradled between my breasts. He realizes how that freaks me out.

Waiting for my headache to dissipate and my man to return, I prop a pillow against the headboard and tuck the cotton top sheet around my body. The only regret I have about last night was the amount of alcohol I drank.

I remember arriving at the Road Gator, the bikers lining a green-tarp carpet, the boisterous and overwhelming welcome when we entered the bar. Hawke had to leave me, a situation demanding his attention. Ellen ordered whiskeys. We drank and after the second round, my memory of the evening grows blurry.

I tilt my head, searching my memories and not finding a hell of a lot. We had a good time and the happiness lingers, a warm fuzziness in the pit of my stomach. I belonged. I was accepted, one of them.

Gisele sits in front of the closed bedroom door and meows and meows and meows. Christ. My headache fading, I drag my sorry ass out of bed and clomp to the door, opening it.

The cat walks between my bare legs in a figure eight pattern, rubbing against my skin. Her feline massage is soothing yet confusing, her purpose undecipherable. She then flicks her tail and strides across the bedroom.

I stare at her. You wanted out.

Gisele doesn’t look back at me, doesn’t offer even a halfhearted cat apology. She parks her tail by the window and gazes out.

You make no sense, I tell her.

You’re up. Hawke’s voice rumbles behind me. I thought you’d sleep all day. He hooks his arms around my naked form, pulling me into his large body. My face heats. He has taken a shower, the scent of soap, leather, engine grease, and man engulfing me. I smell like sex and alcohol.

Gisele makes no sense, I repeat. And I’m a mess.

You’re a hot mess. Hawke turns me to face him. My military man is dressed in his usual hideous black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, his big feet bare are braced apart as though he’s safeguarding me from an attack. And Gisele is a cat. They’re mysterious creatures. His blue eyes sparkle and stubble shadows his square chin. As are certain brown-eyed brunettes. He brushes his scarred knuckles over my cheeks and I tremble, my body ensnared by his gentle touch.

Yet, you understand both of us. I gaze up at him, willing him to kiss me, caress me, take me.

I’m in intelligence. Hawke flexes, the barbed wire tattoo on his right bicep rippling. And I’m a marine. We know these things. One corner of his lips hitches higher than the other.

Do you? I raise my eyebrows. Then you must also know you’re wearing too much clothing for this assignment, Marine.

I run my hands down his cotton shirt, over his jeans’ button fly, pulling at some of the frayed threads. He hardens, pressing against the denim. I press back, cupping him, and his eyes darken.

Belinda. Desire edges Hawke’s voice. He dips his head and covers my lips with his. I open eagerly to him and he surges inside me, our tongues sliding seductively, tumbling in an intimate embrace. He tastes of coffee and mint, and I suck on him, drawing him deeper, swiveling my hips, seeking to be closer to him.

Hawke curves his coarse palms under my ass and lifts me higher, aligning my mons with his bulge. My feet dangle, my toes inches away from the floor. Not breaking our mind-numbing kiss, I wrap my legs around my former marine’s waist and link my ankles behind him, trusting him to hold me, to never let me fall.

He squeezes and releases my curves, squeezes and releases, setting off ripples of sexual awareness, the waves of pleasure traveling from my ass to my pussy. I grip his shoulders and rub my taut nipples against his T-shirt. The garment looks hideous but feels divine, more decadent than the finest silk. Our tongues swirl and slope playfully, my lips humming, the skin on my chin and cheeks teased by his stubble.

You might make me a morning person, I murmur against his mouth.

If it was still morning, I might. Hawke nips my bottom lip, the sharp pain exciting me. He strides across our bedroom, carrying me easily, his tread silent and smooth. My former marine passes our untidy bed, dips one of his hands in the plastic fishbowl filled with condoms, and heads toward the window.

The curtain-less window.

It’s daylight, I squeak. All of my previous window sexual antics were performed at night. I couldn’t view my audience, couldn’t see the faces of the men watching me.

Tell me you don’t want this. Hawke challenges me.

I don’t want this. I meet his gaze, unable to back down, trusting him to read me as he always does, to know that I do want this.

He chuckles. You’re such a terrible liar. He skims his lips over mine. You crave this. I feel how wet, how hot you are.

I wiggle, unable to argue, my pussy moist and my nipples hard. They’ll think I’m a bad girl. My ass touches cool glass. Anyone looking up at our condo will see my bare bottom flattened against the window.

They’ll think you’re a very good girl. Hawke lowers my feet to the floor, sliding my body over his. You’re obeying your very bad man. He extends my arms, pressing my hands against the window, and widens my stance, forming an X with my body.