Sure about her being my ol’ lady? Hell yeah. Sure about ending the slimy bastard who put his hands on her, who tried to break something so pure and beautiful?
"Dead sure."
Chapter 4
Aria
“How are you feeling this morning?” Hawk glances at me over his shoulder from where he stands at the stove, those piercing eyes pinning me in place.
I’m trying hard not to drool, and it’s not because of the savory aroma of bacon wafting from the frying pan in front of him. No, my eyes are fixated on his broad back and the way his muscles shift beneath a thin black t-shirt. Honed perfection. His dark mohawk is slightly rumpled from sleep, and his butt encased in grey sweat pants looks so…so…
It suddenly dawns on me that he asked me a question. He’s waiting for me to answer, and I’m standing here ogling him. God, how embarrassing.
“Um, yes. Yes, I did." My voice comes out morning-raspy, and I clear my throat. "My body still aches a bit, but a good night’s sleep does wonders."
He gives a grunt of acknowledgment and says, “Sit,” motioning to a small table with two chairs against the wall.
I slide onto one of the chairs. He places two plates on the table, both piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon before taking the seat across from me.
“Wow. I didn't expect you to cook," I admit, picking up a fork and trying not to stare at his raw masculinity. But, honestly, how can a girl help it? His jawline could cut glass, and this morning it’s darkened with a sexy amount of stubble. Gah! Now you’re calling stubble sexy.
He flashes a crooked grin that transforms his face. "Don't be too impressed. I can cook exactly four things. Scrambled eggs and bacon are two of them."
"What are the other two?" I take a bite of eggs. They're perfectly seasoned.
"Steak and burgers.” He shovels a heaping forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Not much else a man needs to know."
"I love to cook," I offer. “I’ve been cooking for myself since I was a young child.”
His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “Yeah? What about your parents?"
“They’re both gone. My dad died when I was two from a massive heart attack. Mom passed from pneumonia when I was seven.” The familiar ache spreads through my chest. "I went to live with my uncle after that."
“Your uncle know about those bruises?" His voice drops to a dangerous register that makes goosebumps rise on my arms.
My shoulders stiffen automatically and I stare at my plate, pushing eggs around.
My uncle isn't the one who hurt me, but he might as well have. He's the one who arranged the whole twisted engagement. The one who handed me over to Marco like a business transaction.
Hawk watches me with all-seeing eyes, registering every nuance of my reaction. I expect him to demand answers from me. I knew it was coming, the questions, the grilling about last night and the events leading up to it, and my whole body tensesas I search for a way to explain. But, to my surprise, before I can answer, he asks, "You cook Italian food?"
The abrupt subject change throws me. “Huh?”
“You said you like to cook. You make any Italian food? It’s my favorite."
"Yes. My parents emigrated from Italy. My nonna taught my mom, and my mom taught me.” So relieved at his change of topic, I smile and tease, “Let me tell you, I make a mean lasagna." I press my fingertips to my puckered lips, then fan them out in an exaggerated chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”
He huffs a laugh at my antics, but I know he's filed my reaction away for later. He’s not a man who misses much.
We finish eating in relative silence. I’m not sure what I should do now. I can’t go back home. My uncle will no doubt be furious with me. What am I supposed to do all day while hiding from Marco?
When I can’t stuff in another bite, I ask, “What do you have planned for today?”
“Gotta head down to open the shop soon.” Hawk scrapes the last of his eggs into his mouth.
My fingers twist in my lap. "Could I...would I be too much of a bother if I stayed here? Just for today? I promise I won't touch anything."
“I was hoping you'd come down with me." His expression remains neutral, but I swear there’s a hopefulness in his eyes. Or am I imagining that? “You could hang out at the shop for a while."
