This was Hawk’s room.

Pressing my palms flat against the grooved wood, I leaned forward, resting my forehead on the door and thought back to the day I entered this door, and everything changed . . .

**•

Last night had been a mistake. A stupid drunken mistake.

While drinking heavily, reeling with self-pity after Jase had left for home, Hawk had caught me unaware with his surprising intentions.

And in my sorrow-drenched state, I’d done the unthinkable.

Now, apparently Hawk had thought he had some claim over me, thinking he could demand that I meet him in his room.

Oh, I would be meeting him in his room, all right. Not for some sordid rendezvous, but to tell him exactly where he could shove his line of thinking.

I stormed through the club’s back hall and when I reached Hawk’s bedroom door, I didn’t bother knocking. As far as everyone in the club was concerned, I was only here to clean. Grasping the doorknob, I pushed inside, quickly closing the door behind me.

I looked over the bare walls, the plain and minimal furniture, the lone book sitting atop his dresser, before coming to a stop on the man himself. Leaning against the window ledge, he had one arm across his chest, his hand tucked into his armpit, while the other brought a cigarette up to his mouth.

“Why?” I demanded shakily. “Why are you doing this? Is this funny for you? Is this some sort of sick game?”

After stubbing his cigarette into an ashtray, Hawk pushed himself away from the window. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked me directly in the eyes. Darkly intense and unwavering, sheer dominance radiated from his eyes, making me feel even smaller, not just in size, but worthless in comparison.

“Woman,” he said, his voice a deep, rolling rumble. “I don’t play games.”

“Then what?” I demanded. “You just figured I’d be easy, because why? Because I’m a whore!”

The corners of his mouth began to curl. If he were anyone else, I would have thought he was smiling, but Hawk didn’t smile and the expression was anything but lighthearted; it was pure menace.

“You’re not a whore.” He practically growled the words. “I don’t fuck with club whores.”

His admission gave me pause, forcing me to think back throughout the past few years, trying to place Hawk with any one of the girls that were or had been regulars at the club.

Every so often he’d make a lewd comment to one of the boys, take part in their sordid stories, and he’d definitely flirted with the girls around the club, that much I knew for certain. They’d sat in his lap, he’d done his fair share of groping, but never once could I recall a woman exiting his room. Unlike the other men, with the exception of only a few, their bedrooms were usually littered with the remnants of a long night of partying. But not Hawk’s. Never Hawk’s.

In fact, Hawk usually kept to himself. Aside from his club obligations, I’d only seen him sharing in the occasional drink with Ripper, and quick, quiet conversations with Blue.

With this new knowledge, I felt myself deflating, my anger receding as confusion quickly took its place.

“Why?” I whispered, shaking my head. “Why me?”

I truly didn’t understand his interest. Compared to the women around the club, or even half the women in town, I was plain. Plain and boring.

Several moments of silence followed and then he began walking toward me. I stared, watching as he grew closer and closer, noting that suddenly everything about him seemed . . . different somehow. The way he looked at me, the way he held himself. All that formidable muscle no longer seemed bulky but perfectly aligned with his body, his movements sleeker and smoother.

He stopped just before me and, unsure of his motives, I held my breath, my heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in my chest. I didn’t know what to expect, and certainly not what happened next.

Grabbing hold of my bicep, he shoved me in front of him and began pushing me forward. I was too shocked to fight him and simply allowed him to force me across the room where he pushed me up against the window. His arms came down on either side of me and his body pressed against mine, caging me in.

“Look at your man,” he growled.

Hawk’s room was located on the far side of the hall, but from his window I could see the party, still in full swing. While some partygoers still stood in small groups, most were now crowded around the picnic tables, filling their plates with the food I’d prepared only hours ago.

I found myself wondering if someone had finished making my macaroni salad . . . until I saw him. Standing beside his wife, Jase’s arm was slung across her shoulders while he gestured wildly with his free hand, emphasizing whatever it was that he was discussing. Beside him, Chrissy’s smiling face was upturned, utterly focused on her husband.

She really was a truly beautiful woman. Her body was tall, sleek, and toned; her skin was perfectly tanned, and her long auburn hair always curled to perfection. She didn’t need makeup or tight clothing; she didn’t need anything to enhance how beautiful she was. She just simply was.

But her beauty wasn’t why I was staring. What drew me was how comfortable they looked with each other. The two of them, perfect human specimens, talking, smiling, all without a care in the world.

Hot, humiliated tears began to fall from my eyes and slid down my cheeks.

Where did I fit in?

Any other day, I would have wrote it off as Jase playing the part of the loving husband for the sake of his children. It was something I’d told myself many, many times before. But after today, after last night, I couldn’t seem to truly convince myself of anything.

What was wrong with me that I’d actually thought I could have Jase for myself?

There was no room for me here. I was the other woman. The whore. And why Jase even bothered with me when he had all that—a beautiful wife, a happy family—suddenly didn’t make any sense at all.

Was I a joke to him? Did he pity me?

Had he only ever wanted a quick, easy lay, but later when he was done with me felt in some way obligated? All while I continued to put myself through this hell, letting everyone treat me like a lesser being, waiting on the sidelines for something that might never, would probably never happen.

I tried to turn away, to push back against Hawk, but his weight and his strength brooked no movement.

“Don’t that shit piss you off, D?” Hawk’s face was bent to mine, his breath hot and smelling of cigarettes as it breezed past my cheek. “Knowin’ that he’s goin’ home to her, takin’ her to bed.”

“Don’t,” I whispered hoarsely. “Don’t do this to me again.”

“Look at the way he’s touchin’ her,” he continued. “Doesn’t exactly look like a man who’s plannin’ on leavin’, does it?”

I couldn’t answer him, I couldn’t speak, I could no longer even see. Tears were welling and falling, faster than I could blink them away, and if I spoke, I knew I’d only sob.

Everything hurt, so much more than ever before. After last night, and now this, God . . . I . . . I was so . . . so . . .

I was so damn angry.

No, I was so much more than angry. I was humiliated and hurt, and all of it was bubbling up inside me, everything I’d kept hidden for far too long was rising to the surface. I couldn’t hold back, not anymore. My fears had turned to fury, and my pain had turned to rage. It was all there and Hawk was forcing me to see it, and with nothing or no one to soothe me, it had begun to boil over, leaving me shaking inside and out, craving an outlet.

“Stop!” I cried, twisting in his hold. “Stop . . . I can’t . . . I can’t!”

He allowed me enough space to turn and then he was back, his body pressing up against mine. I panicked then, shoving against him, beating my hand wildly against his chest. It was a useless battle. Three times the size of me and far stronger, Hawk simply grabbed hold of my wrists and pinned them high above my head.

“I’ll scream!” I cried.

“Why?” he asked, sounding bored.

Through my tears, I blinked up at him. “What?” I whispered.

“Why?” he repeated. “So you can go cry some more? Go back to feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

I didn’t have a ready answer.

“I know you,” he continued. “Wantin’ everything, gettin’ none of it. I get that. Hell, I feel that too. You don’t know shit about me, but I know you. Fuck, I know you better than you know yourself.”

He released me and all at once began backing away. Stopping in the center of his room, he gripped the hem of his black T-shirt, pulled the threadbare material up over his head, and tossed it aside. Then he kicked off his boots, sending them flying across the room where they hit the wall with a loud thud. Then in one fluid movement, Hawk had removed both his leathers and boxers.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, suddenly breathless.

“Givin’ you somethin’,” he said.

Giving me something. That was all he’d said.

I stared at him, both terrified and fascinated.

“Last night was a mistake,” I whispered and dropped my gaze, a last attempt at trying to convince myself of just that.

“Ain’t no such thing as mistakes,” he said. “There’s only shit that happens and shit that don’t.”

Raising my eyes, I found Hawk’s expression unchanged. He stood there, naked as the day he was born, as stoic as ever. And, good God, was he infuriatingly cryptic, and . . . naked! He was still naked! But even as shocked as I was at his brazenness, I found myself looking him over rather thoroughly. His thick arms, his broad chest, a pair of thighs that could crack walnuts, all covered in dark, shadowed tattoos. But mostly I found myself staring at the erection, jutting out tall and proud between his legs.