Sinful Rewards 11 (5 page)

Our cat has joined us, accepting us as part of her family. I glow with happiness.

“Someone likes chicken.” He offers Gisele a small square of cooked white meat. She eats it daintily and then licks her fur clean.

“It’s your turn.” Hawke hands me a piece.

I hesitate, not knowing what to do, having no experience with cats. “I’ll scare her.”

“You won’t scare her. All of my girls are fearless.” He gives me one of his lopsided grins. “Hold it out to her.”

I do as he advises, my fingers shaking. Gisele bites into the chicken, pulling it from my grasp. “She took it,” I whisper.

“Your food is delicious.” His eyes twinkle. “How can she resist?”

I beam. My cat and my man appreciate my culinary efforts.

Hawke selects slivers of meat and I feed her. I can’t look away from her cute little face. We have a cat, the pet I’ve always wanted, and we’re taking care of her, together.

Gisele twitches more and more with every movement Hawke makes. Eventually she loses interest in the chicken, her suspicion overcoming her hunger. He reaches for his glass of water. She jumps from his shoulder to my lap to the floor and dashes into the trunk with the litter box.

“Gisele found her bathroom.” I hop off the bar stool and place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Hawke will leave to supervise his security scan soon. I wish he could stay home, but at least I won’t be alone. Gisele and I have each other.

“Maybe I should stay in tonight.” I’m responsible for our cat. Her needs come first. “She might be frightened being here all alone.”

Hawke’s jaw moves as though he’s debating with himself. I wait for his advice. He’s the expert on cats.

My former marine sighs, finally coming to a decision. “She’ll be fine, love, better than fine. It will allow her to explore, to learn her territory, make the condo her home.” He stands, clipping his boxy phone to his belt. “She’s used to being solitary.”

“Should I give her more space?” I slide my fingers into his calloused palm.

“Allow her to decide how much space she needs,” he advises as we walk toward the door. “Cats are perverse. If you act like you don’t care, she’ll want your company.” Hawke dips his head and skims his lips over mine, a teasing, tempting touch promising future passion. “Call if you need me.”

“I always need you.” My voice is husky, my body warmed by his embrace.

Hawke’s eyes gleam. He wants me also, the ridge in his blue jeans pronounced, his form hard with desire. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He kisses me again, a quick playful smack on the lips, and he saunters out the door, his shoulders square, his stride long, leaving me with our new cat and a very dirty condo.

Chapter Six

I
CLEAN THE
condo, sweeping the floor and wiping the counters. Gisele watches me from the hiding place in the trunk, her yellow cat eyes not blinking once. Cyndi texts me. I tell her our good news, that we have our very first paying client. She sends me a video of her doing a happy dance, Cole gazing at her, his movie-star handsome face soft with caring. She also promises to send me an invoice I can forward to Hawke.

I wish my best friend were here. In the movies, the ugly-duckling-soon-to-become-the-prom-queen’s girlfriends convene en masse at her house. They help her with her hair, makeup, and dress, laughing and teasing her and exchanging boy advice. I want this full experience, but don’t know whom to ask. My mom is four states away. Susan is sick. Hawke is busy with security. Nicolas would be bored out of his brilliant mind. My scary new friend Ellen isn’t the teasing and laughing type.

I press Lona’s number before I think about the possible consequences.

“You shouldn’t be calling me, hon.” The high-class escort’s voice is husky, hinting of smoky clubs and carnal delights. “What would your friends say?”

“I don’t know. What would you say?” I counter, realizing only now how much I’ve missed the older woman.

Depriving myself of her company, her wisdom, and her friendship because I was afraid of what some judgmental strangers might think was foolish. Hawke considers Lona to be his friend. My mom approves of her. Nicolas allows her to live in one of his precious buildings, and Cyndi doesn’t care. I shouldn’t care either.

“I need some style advice.” I use this as the excuse for the call, not wanting to sound too desperate. “I’m attending a charity ball tonight.”

“
Hawke
is attending a ball?” Lona’s laughter is classy, controlled, as elegant as she is.

“I’m going with someone else,” I admit, pushing aside my guilt.

“What are you doing, hon?” My friend clucks her tongue, communicating her disapproval. “Hawke is a good man and he cares for you. You’re living together. He—”

“He knows and he doesn’t mind.” I interrupt her spiel before she makes me feel even worse. “I’m wearing a black gown, black sandals.” I steer the conversation to the more neutral topic of fashion. “And I’m torn between the expected red toenail polish and doing something different.”

“No red.” She rules out this classic option. “There will be hundreds of women striving for that version of sophistication. Very few can offer your youth, your freshness. Your look should be playful, a little sparkle, some whimsy, fun.”

I like sparkle. “I don’t have the makeup for that look.” I’ve tried my entire life to fit in, to not take any fashion chances, to be perfect. “And I can’t leave the building. The paparazzi blockade remains outside.”

“I noticed.” Lona’s tone is dry. “I’ll buy the nail polish and makeup and ask Jacob to deliver them.”

“I wish you could deliver them yourself.” I don’t want to be alone. “But with the cameras outside, I guess Jacob is the safer choice. No one notices a security guard.”

“Any escort worth her hourly rate can enter a building without being detected,” Lona says smugly. “Some of my clients included rock stars, high-profile politicians, and billionaires.”

Nicolas is a billionaire. Has he ever hired my friend? I don’t ask. I’d rather not know.

“Then you can visit me.” I walk across the room to the window. My cat watches me from her hiding place. She cares about me, about what I do, where I go. “If you have time.”

“I have time.” Lona pauses. “There’s always a chance that I’ll be caught. The paparazzi would then link our names together again, ruin your restored reputation.”

My reputation is only partially restored. I stare down at the park, the sliver of green flat and bare without Nicolas’s beloved tree. Some of the people attending tonight will believe I’m a whore. They’ll always believe this, as some of the people living in Happydale will always view my strong, brave mom as being wild, unworthy, and less than.

“I’ll risk my reputation.” I clutch the dog tags hanging between my breasts. “I want to see you.”

Moments pass. She doesn’t say anything. I glance at my phone. We remain connected. “Lona?”

“You’re a good person, Belinda,” she says softly. “I’ll be there in an hour.” She ends our call.

“Did you hear that, Gisele?” I look at my cat. “We’re having company.” She licks her dainty black paws. “I agree. We should get ready.”

I hurry into the bedroom, hang my gorgeous Prada gown in Hawke’s eerily semiempty closet, and steam the wrinkles out of the luxurious fabric. It’s almost too beautiful to wear, the skirt fairy-tale-princess light.

I set the sandals under the dress and envision the entire outfit. The black will accentuate the paleness of my skin. The fit will be perfect, the hem skimming the red carpet.

With this dress, I can enter the ballroom and know I belong, that I deserve to be there. Heads will turn. They’ll gaze at me with wonder, begrudging admiration reflecting in their eyes. No one will find fault with me, not Angel, not Dru, not one of my critics.

I frown. These critics are the same people who rejected Cyndi and Lona, my friends, who labeled me as being a whore for having lunch with a tormented soldier, who treated Hawke like shit because they thought he was merely a bodyguard, merely a man devoted to protecting them, willing to die for their ungrateful asses.

Fuck them. I step into the bathroom. It’s no wonder that Nicolas wants me by his side, that he wants a friend in his corner. I won’t abandon him . . . not until he abandons me. Then I’ll ask Mack or Ellen to escort me home.

Satisfied with this plan, I carefully set my diamond hair comb on the vanity, quickly strip and shower, reluctantly washing Hawke’s scent from my skin. His mark on my breast remains, a brand of possession I wear proudly.

I dress in black G-string panties and the red silk robe Cyndi forced me to wear to the English department’s senior year “pimps and hoes” party two years ago. The garment is poorly crafted and shamefully slutastic, but I need something I can remove without mussing my hair. This robe is the best choice.

The doorbell rings. A black ball of fur streaks across the floor, dashing into the bedroom I share with Hawke. “It’s Lona, Gisele,” I tell my nervous cat. “She’s a friend.”

I gaze through the peephole and inwardly groan, wondering if Lona will be a friend for long. The escort is her usual immaculate self, perfect hair, perfect makeup, and from what I see, perfectly dressed.

I open the door and my trepidation increases. She’s wearing a drool-worthy Dolce & Gabbana floral brocade dress with a fitted bodice, an empire waist, and a softly flared skirt. I’m in a tacky silk robe. “Afternoon, Lona.”

“Afternoon, hon.” She hugs me. Her floral perfume fills my nostrils. “I was able to pick up everything you need.” The high-class escort lifts a large Chloe tote.

“Come in.” I glance around the main room. The furnishings consist of a worn leather chair, a dozen metal folding chairs, two bar stools, and a trunk turned litter box. I inwardly cringe. Lona is stylish and our place is . . . not.

“I apologize for the state of the condo.” I shift my weight from my right foot to my left, dreading her judgment. “Our furniture hasn’t yet arrived.”

“Oh, how sweet of him.” Lona’s lipstick-covered lips curl into a small smile. “Hawke said he was waiting for you, that he wanted you to decorate, to make the space your home, but I thought he’d buy the bare necessities.” She touches his leather chair. “I can’t imagine living like this for months.”

What does she mean he was waiting for me? I gaze at her. “He hasn’t lived in this condo for months.”

“He lived in another unit.” Lona waves her finely manicured hands. “He thought you would be more comfortable here.” She strides to the window. “Living across from your bubbly little friend.”

Hawke bought this condo for me, to make me happy? Warmth spreads across my chest. “Cyndi is in LA.” I stand beside Lona.

“She’s with her movie star. I know.” She turns to face me. I suspect she knows everything that happens in the complex.

A crash comes from the bedroom and I wince. “That’s Gisele, our cat.” I resist the impulse to run to the newest member of my family, to protect her. Instead I give Gisele the space Hawke says she needs. There isn’t anything expensive she can damage. We don’t have many pieces of furniture, and my things are packed in the storage boxes.

Lona lifts one eyebrow. “Cats shed on fabric.”

“Gisele is very neat.” I defend my fur-baby. “I excel at cleaning, and we have grooming supplies for her.”

I wander to the counter and sift through the box Hawke’s men stocked for me. The cat toys have a distinctly military theme, as if the men are training my adorable pet for combat. I palm a small plush grenade.

“Speaking of grooming.” Lona follows me. “How are you styling your hair for tonight?” She touches the damp tendrils.

Yes, my hair.

“I have a comb I’d like to wear.” I bounce on the heels of my feet. Lona will take one look at the luxurious reward and she’ll tell me that Hawke loves me, that I don’t have to hear the words, this gift is proof of his caring.

“Wait here and I’ll get it.” I rush into the bedroom, carrying the cat toy.

I enter a domestic war zone. The plastic fishbowl container previously filled with condoms is on the floor. The blue packages are strewn across the hardwood.

“What did you do?” I place my hands on my hips and survey the carnage. Gisele hides under the bed, gazing at me with wide eyes. There’s no need to yell at her. She knows she’s been bad.

“This is a toy.” I drop the plush grenade in front of my cat. She bats at it with her little paws. “These are not toys.” I grasp the fishbowl and gather the condom packages, as a mother might round up her child’s toys at the end of a play date. Love is as messy as passion is. It’s a nice type of mess, a mess I could embrace.

I twist the previously unneeded lid onto the fishbowl and place it on the makeshift nightstand. “Leave that alone.” I bend over and wave my finger at Gisele. She takes a swipe at me. “Play with your grenade.” I realize what I’ve said and my lips twitch. Hawke’s men have sick senses of humor.

Gisele sticks her cat chin in the air and struts to the window, her tail flicking. She sits with her back facing me, ignoring my presence.

My cat is a diva. I grin. “Fine. Be that way.” I retrieve the diamond comb and return to the main room.

Lona has arranged containers of makeup and jars of nail polish on two folding chairs. “I heard your voice. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” I wave my hands, not wanting to be seen as insane for talking to a cat. “I received this today.” I proudly hand Lona the comb.

She examines the piece, turning it in her hands. “Someone treasures you.”

Someone treasures me.
My shoulders slump. He doesn’t love me. “You must have been given similar gifts in the past from . . . ” I stop, not knowing what to call her Johns.

“From my clients.” Lona supplies the words. “It’s not the gift that matters. It’s the meaning and the man behind it.”

Shit. My head hangs. She has received diamond combs from her clients, men who merely wanted sex and temporary company.

“Sit.” She sets the comb aside and pats a seat. “I’ll attach your new toenails.”

I lower into the chair and stick out my feet, feeling awkward. No one has ever waited on me. “What do I do?”

Lona gives me an emery board. “Buff your fingernails.” She places my hideous feet in her lap and I want to curl up and die. She’s perfect and I’m not. “So, tell me why you’re attending this fancy ball with another man.”

I stiffen, hearing the disapproval in her words. “Nicolas is a mutual friend.”

“Ahhh . . . ” She inserts the foam toe separators. “Your date is the mysterious Mr. Rainer, our handsome and elusive landlord.” She prepares my feet for the fake toenails. “He offered you a billion dollars to have sex with him and you refused.”

“He knew I would.” I lift my chin.

“Because you don’t have sex for money.” Lona’s lips flatten. She thinks I’m judging her, criticizing her life decisions.

She doesn’t know I’m a pervert, that if another man—if Hawke—had offered me the money, I would have agreed, played that kinky game.

“I refused Nicolas’s offer because I love Hawke.” I skim the emery board across my fingernails.

“Yet you’re spending the evening with another man.” She pushes back my skin with a cuticle stick. “You’ll be photographed with your Mr. Rainer, associated with him. The world, including many of Hawke’s friends and clients, will assume you’re a couple.”

Hawke is a possessive man. Why would he allow this? Oh God. My chest aches. “Hawke doesn’t care about me.” He’s with me because he feels he has to be, because he promised not to leave me.

“I suspect the opposite is true.” Lona’s gaze meets mine, her eyes older, wiser. “Hawke cares so much for you, he’s willing to sacrifice his pride to make you happy. He’d do anything for you. The question is—what would you do for him?”

I’d do anything for Hawke. “I told Nicolas I’d be his date. I can’t back out now, can’t abandon him.” As I’ve been abandoned in the past, left without a friend in the world.

“Nicolas Rainer would survive,” Lona says dryly. “And he won’t be alone for long. He’s handsome, young, and wealthy.”

Nicolas is handsome, young, and wealthy, but he’s also lonely and feels he’s unworthy of love, of mere friendship. I exhale heavily, my breath lifting my hair. Leave no friend behind. Hawke often teases me about my unspoken motto. It’s a part of me . . . as he is.

But I don’t want to embarrass Hawke, to damage his pride while I attempt to make another man happy. I chew on the inside of my cheek.

Oh shit. Hawke puts me first. I should do the same.

“I have to make a call.” I scroll through my phone and press Nicolas’s number. It rings three times.

“Nicolas Rainer,” my billionaire friend barks into my ear, his voice a smidgeon louder than the men yelling around him. “This isn’t a good time, Bee.” The shouting fades. “The New York build is on the verge of collapse yet again. Nothing is going right with this project.” He sounds exasperated.