Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (Hawke Family #1)(3)
Damn, it has been way too long since I had a good fuck. What? Twelve days?
I’m so busy fuming and trying to rein in my runaway sex drive, I completely forget to respond to him.
“Ms. Eriksson,” he continues, giving me a smug smile, “I have a very rigorous interview process established to ensure none of my employees begin work here under any duress…”
I lift my brow in speculation and to ensure he’s aware of my disbelief. Bullshit! I bet their “interview process” involves lap dances and blowjobs in the champagne room.
“…Byron conducts a very thorough interview with each girl, including a complete background check to determine if they are under any serious financial strains. If I find they are, I typically offer them a personal loan, to be repaid at standard interest rates, to ensure they aren’t tempted to engage in pursuits some of the other clubs are often known for. We also do weekly drug testing and nightly breathalyzers, as our girls are forbidden from engaging in any illicit drug use and cannot perform while under the influence of any alcoholic beverages.”
I don’t believe him for a second. No damn strip club operates like that. He must think I’m some dumb, na?ve, bimbo blonde to think I’ll fall for his line of horseshit.
He reclines back in his chair and waits for me to say something.
What does he expect me to believe? That he’s a pussy peddler with a heart of gold?
“Surprised I’m not a total scumbag?” His amusement is evident in the slight turn at the corner of his luscious mouth. “There are a hundred trashy strip clubs in New Orleans a man can go to if that’s what he’s looking for—drugs and easy women. I wanted to offer something different. People are always a bit shocked to learn how I run my business. But when I built The Hawkeye Club, I wanted it to be an upscale and supremely classy gentleman’s club, and established a very strict set of rules and regulations to ensure that both my reputation, and the reputation of my girls, remains pristine.”
I huff and take a step closer to his desk. “My sister was the goddamn valedictorian of her high school class and had a full ride to Tulane for pre-med. Then, this morning, out of the blue, I find out from one of her roommates that she has dropped out of school and started working here. She’s twenty years old, for Christ’s sake! Clearly, you can see why I’m concerned. I mean, why the hell would she do that?”
He offers me a small, understanding smile and leans over his desk, toward me. The fabric of his dress shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and strains against his massive biceps. My mouth salivates and I fight the flush I’m sure is creeping up my neck. The worst thing about being fair-skinned is the complete inability to hide my reactions, especially to men like Savage Hawke.
“I do understand, Ms. Eriksson, but I don’t have the answer for you. Have you tried asking your sister?”
Shit. I should have seen that question coming.
I shift uncomfortably and twist my hands in front of my body. “No, she’s been avoiding my calls. That’s why I finally went to her apartment today, to make sure she’s okay.”
He almost looks sympathetic and I wonder how long it took him to perfect this nice-guy act.
“Well, I think you need to talk to her. I don’t think she’s on the schedule tonight, but you can ask Byron downstairs, and, if she’s here, he will gladly show you to the changing rooms in the back so you can speak with her.”
Casting an uncomfortable glance toward him, I move my purse from one shoulder to the other and turn to leave without a word. Absolutely no good will come from me spending any more time in this room with this man.
Savage Hawke is precisely the type of man I always end up getting myself into trouble with: dark, strong, passionate…
I almost stumble when a vision of him slamming me back against the wall and yanking up my skirt to gain access floods my mind.
Jesus—I bet he takes absolute control in the bedroom, and I bet he fucks like a complete animal. Men like that don’t do things slow and sweet.
“I don’t even get a ‘thank you’ or a ‘goodbye?’”
His sultry, deep voice stops me halfway to the door. I look over my shoulder at him.
Deep breaths, Dani. Keep it together.
Don’t let him see how he affects you. Don’t let him see you rattled.
“I don’t have anything to thank you for,” I reply, before raising my head high and strutting out the door, not bothering to close it behind me. I punch the button on the elevator and tap my foot impatiently.
I need to get out of here.
I need to get as far away as possible.
I need to find Nora.
I need to find something to prevent me from racing home, grabbing my Rabbit, and spending the rest of the day fantasizing about that man.
I need to find something to prevent me from racing straight back to his office, climbing over his desk, and straddling his lap.
An angry fuck can be supremely hot—ripped clothing, hair pulling, strong, groping hands—but having an angry fuck with my stripper sister’s deviant boss would be an epically bad life choice.
The instant she disappears around the doorjamb, I grasp my rock-hard cock and adjust it away from under the zipper of my jeans. That woman is walking attitude and sex. I can already smell the trouble she will cause me, mixed with the heady blend of lilacs and rain she left in her wake. I haven’t reacted to a woman this way in, well, ever.