KENNEDY
Downing a third glass of champagne hasn’t done anything to help ease my annoyance or frustration from the last two days, nor does the beautiful surroundings of the Marigny Opera House or the pleasant music filling the air coming from the live band.
Given the shitty mood I’m in, I doubt anything can pull me from this funk brought on by the beating from Atlas and the dark cloud hanging over Hawke Enterprises.
I turn back to the bartender and lift my empty flute, wincing slightly at the pain the movement brings to my ribs despite them being wrapped tightly with an ACE bandage. “Another.”
He gives me a wry smile, clearly just as perturbed about having to be at this event as I am. At least he’s getting paid to be here.
While my healthy salary for my role as CFO of Hawke Enterprises keeps me flush in Louboutins and the rest of the finer things in life, these events make me question whether it’s at all worth it.
It’s the least fun part of the job—schmoozing with the elite of New Orleans. Begging for donations. Kissing asses of…well, asses…to get the Hawke Family Charity Fund’s coffers filled. But it’s a necessary evil. One I knew I was signing on for when I decided to work for Dad and Uncle Gabe rather than go off on my own after graduate school.
Not that it was much of a choice.
No one walks away from the Hawkes—at least, not fully.
Atlas may have his boxing career against pretty much everyone’s wishes, but the gym is still owned by Hawke Enterprises. Even Coen, who seems least interested in committing himself to any one thing in particular, can’t break free from the pull the family business and the money it brings has on everyone.
Me included.
It’s even drawn all these people here—at our request. They dress in their finest, with masquerade masks that probably cost more than most people make in a week, covering their faces and obscuring their sins.
The bartender refills my drink, and I bring the glass to my lips, enjoying the crisp, bubbly, cool liquid as it slides down my throat.
“How many of those have you had?”
I jerk toward the sound of Isaac’s voice, fighting another wince, and he sidles up next to me at the bar, eyeing my glass through his mask with a half-grin.
Rolling my eyes, I take another sip. “Not enough.”
He chuckles and motions to the bartender. “Lagavulin 16, neat.” Leaning his back against the bar, he scans the massive crowd—New Orleans’ richest and most influential citizens, all here because we asked them to come and open their wallets. “I don’t blame you. If I have to force one more smile tonight, I might lose it.”
I chuckle, pressing my free hand against the twinge in my ribs, and mirror his stance, releasing a sigh. “Where’s that beautiful woman of yours?”
Isaac inclines his head to the left. “At the table with Astrid and Coen. She couldn’t be on her feet anymore.”
“Can’t blame her.” I watch her for a moment, her hand resting on her belly. “Being pregnant seems awful.”
He barks out a laugh. “So, does that mean you don’t ever plan to have a family?”
I shake my head and snort. “Who has time for that?”
His shoulders rise and fall. “I do.”
Sipping at my drink, I turn to face him. “You have your dad helping you manage the family’s legal needs. It isn’t as if you’re doing it alone.”
Nodding, he glances toward where Jack sits, laughing and chatting with Astrid and Coen, who looks just as immensely annoyed at having to attend this shindig as I am. “True, but he won’t be here forever, and I’ve taken over most of the court appearances and day-to-day operational things.”
“Which is exactly what I’ll be doing when my dad and Uncle Gabe retire.”
Isaac barks out a laugh so loud that it draws the attention of several people mingling around us who cast strange looks our way. “You think Uncle Savage and Gabe will ever retire? You’re going to have to drag their corpses out of their offices at the Hawkeye Club when they finally keel over.”
I scowl at him and turn back to the party, finishing off my fourth glass.
These pours seem awfully small…
“Did you only come over here to remind me I’m stuck in a job that requires a ton of work and no advancement opportunities short of the deaths of those we love?”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “No. I wanted to make sure you weren’t in this shit mood because of what happened yesterday.”
I scowl and cross my arms over my chest, cringing at the sharp bite in my bruised ribs. “What, Atlas kicking my ass, or Whitaker walking all over us?”
Isaac’s blue eyes sharpen with his annoyance. “He didn’t walk all over us. Judge Cramer was not amused with his injunction request and tore him a new one on the record after I did in my argument against the bullshit filing. The judge denied it because he knew it was just a stall tactic on Falco’s part and completely frivolous, without any legal basis. We won, Ken. So, relax and enjoy the soiree as much as you can, since we have to be here.”
“You think we won?”
He takes a sip of his drink and nods. “We did.”
I shake my head, tightening my hand around the empty stemware. “No, we didn’t. Falco may have lost the injunction, but they succeeded in exactly what they set out to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Get to us.” I lock my gaze with his. “Get under our skin. Rattle us by delaying the opening, even if only for a few days. It’s bad enough everything else they’ve done, but this crossed a line. They’re trying to keep us from rebuilding what they stole from us, what they stole from Angelina.”
Isaac scowls. “We still don’t have proof that it was Falco who set the fire.”
“We don’t need it.” My words come out a little more aggressive than I intended, making him recoil slightly. “We both know they’re the only ones who had anything to gain from it. That’s proof enough for me. And their attack dog, Cassius Whitaker, is going to keep coming at us as long as we let him.”
“What do you suggest we do?” He takes a long sip of his drink, smirking under the mask. “Drag him out into the bayou, let Saint, Gabe, and Luca work their magic, and leave him for the gators?”
I shrug. “Sounds like an excellent resolution to me.”
He chuckles low and leans in slightly. “I agree, but it won’t solve the problem. Falco Enterprises will just find another attorney to do their bidding. Removing Cass doesn’t resolve the ultimate issue—which is that we don’t know who we’re fighting against. Until we do, we have to dodge each swing he takes at us and hope we don’t sustain any damage.”
Like the damage Atlas did to my damn ribs yesterday morning.
They burn and ache each time I move, despite the wrapping and this tight dress. Just getting it on felt like someone was drop-kicking me. But I have to look and act the part. That’s what being a Hawke requires, especially when we’re begging people for money.
The mayor approaches through the crowd, and I stand up straighter, fighting a wince, and force a smile. “Mayor Lavine, how are you this evening?”
He grins at me and holds out his hand for mine, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it.
Revolting man…
Every time I’m forced to play nice with him at events and he insists on this form of greeting, I can never wash my hands enough to get the slimy feeling off it.
“I’m lovely, Ms. Hawke. Always a pleasure to see you.” He releases my hand after holding it a second too long, then turns to Isaac. “And Isaac”—he takes his hand and shakes it vigorously—“I hear congratulations are in order. Your girlfriend is expecting?”
Isaac nods, offering him a genuine smile but only because the man mentioned his impending fatherhood. “I am. My daughter is very happy to become a big sister.”
The mayor chuckles. “Excellent.” His eyes shift around us carefully for a moment before he steps in closer to Isaac. “I do have a…private matter to discuss with you, if you have a moment.”
I fight a grin.
Isaac has dirt on just about every politician in the city and uses it to ensure the family doesn’t hit any roadblocks with any of our endeavors. What he has on the mayor could ruin the man if it ever got out, and given how nervous he looks now, we may be getting more ammunition to load the gun pointed squarely at him.
Downing the rest of his drink, Isaac nods. “Of course.” He sweeps an arm out, indicating the older man should lead him somewhere private. “I’ll catch you later, Ken. Try not to spend the whole night with that sourpuss look on your face.”
Easier said than done.
I collect another refill, then move away from the bar before anyone else can corner me for a conversation I don’t want to have. For a second, I consider joining Jack, Astrid, and Coen or seeking out another member of the family to commiserate with before it’s time to give the speech, but I don’t have the stomach for that tonight.
For the briefest moment, I almost slip out the back door and head to the nearest bar to try to find someone to make my night a little more bearable. Only the ever-present guilt of leaving an event designed to raise money for the city we all love stops me from doing just that.
I beeline for the old staircase to the choir balcony that overlooks what used to be a church that housed penitent patrons not so long ago. The sign warning that the balcony is closed doesn’t dissuade me from slipping around it and heading up the old stone spiral stairs.
The sounds of the party hit me the moment I reach the lofted area, and I wander over to the waist-high solid-wood banister to watch the revelry. It’s a much better position than being smack dab in the middle of it. Up here, I can finally take a deep breath and feel like I’m actually getting some air in my lungs, despite the restriction around my chest.
I take a sip of my champagne, scanning the crowd, enjoying their evening for a good cause.
It is a good cause, Ken.
Get out of your foul mood.
I’ve been trying to for days, but after that injunction filing, nothing has seemed to be able to drag me from the well of anger—and the rib injury didn’t help, either.
It’s been one hit after another against us, but I shouldn’t let it get in the way of doing my job and doing it well. Maybe a few moments alone will help me get my head back on straight, then I can rejoin the party and do my duty on stage.
Footsteps sound on the staircase behind me, and I tense as they approach across the old, polished floor.
Who came up after me?
I prepare myself for whoever it might be—one of my cousins, an aunt or uncle, or—God forbid—one of the other invitees come to interrupt my much-needed moment of solitude.
Leave me the fuck alone.
A man in an immaculate black tux and matching black mask with silver accents around the edges steps up next to me, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. Pale, mossy-green, almost-translucent eyes assess me from behind that mask, slowly snaking down from my face, pausing for a moment on my exposed neck and cleavage, then dipping over the skin-tight silver-sequin gown that stops mid-thigh, to the four-inch stilettos on my feet.
The corner of his perfect lips tips up. “I hope you don’t intend on doing any dancing in those tonight. I’d hate for you to break that beautiful neck of yours.”
I thought I knew everyone in New Orleans—or, at the very least, everyone who would be invited to one of our charity fundraiser events.
His gravelly yet somehow velvet voice.
His lips.
The chiseled jaw.
What I can see of him beneath that mask…
None of it sparks even a hint of recognition.
But his comment has certainly ignited something deep inside me.
* * *
CASS
Anger flares in Kennedy’s Caribbean-blue eyes, heating them before it switches to a defiance that freezes them over instantly. My stomach knots, the warm bourbon I’ve been sipping on since I made a stop at the bar downstairs souring as she shoots icy daggers at me with her hard gaze.
Fuck.
Not a great start, Cass…
I may have just ruined my chance at actually getting anywhere with her tonight.
Show up at the fundraiser.
Try to get Kennedy Hawke alone for a private conversation.
Hopefully, convince the eldest of the Hawke kids, the one closest to the helm of the ship, to trust me when I tell them Falco wasn’t behind the fire and that there’s another enemy out there.
It was a simple plan…
…that I may have just blown up with one ill-placed flirtation I wasn’t able to bite back.
She assesses me for a moment, mulling over my comment before turning to face me fully, an ornate silver mask covering the top half of her face. The corner of her bright-red lips curls slightly, like she’s gearing up to jab the spiked heel she wears right into my balls for making such a remark. Given what I know about Kennedy Hawke, it’s more than likely to happen. “You underestimate what I can do in heels.”
There’s that feisty spirit I’ve heard so much about…
And it appears my balls are safe—at least for the moment—from her stilettos. But if I don’t watch my step, I could get crushed under her all the same.
I take a sip of my bourbon, keeping my gaze firmly locked on hers, searching for signs of weakness in the wall of attitude she surrounds herself with.
It would be wise to ignore the opening she gave me, to move the conversation away from the sexual innuendo she’s invited in and steer it toward my purpose for coming tonight.
But I can’t help myself.
Fighting a grin, I let my gaze drift down to the heels again, then flick it back up to meet hers. “Do I?”
Her eyes widen slightly, apparently not expecting me to play her game, and her icy glare melts slightly, replaced with a sudden heat. She swallows thickly, her elegant neck revealing just how difficult it is for her to hold herself back from saying or doing whatever it is she wants to. “You do.”
Against my better judgment—not learning my lesson after what happened the last time I got this close to a Hawke—I lean in slightly until her light, flowery scent fills my lungs and unexpectedly stirs my cock. “Prove it.”
Most women would recoil from a blatant sexual challenge thrown down the gauntlet, but not Kennedy Hawke. She squares her shoulders, bringing her champagne flute to her bright-red lips, taking a long sip, eyes still on me without a flicker of reaction to my words.
Stone cold and scorching hot all at the same time.
It’s no wonder Savage put her in charge. Some would say it’s pure nepotism—his only child named CFO of Hawke Enterprises at such a young age—but staring her down for the first time in person, I can see precisely why he did it.
Kennedy Hawke must unnerve men and women in the boardroom if the way she’s sizing me up over her glass is any indication.
This woman is looking for a fight—and she thinks she’s going to win.
She swallows her champagne, darting her pink tongue across her lips to catch a lingering drop, then offers me a sultry grin. “I could, but I’m not in the habit of proving my talents in heels to men just because they demand it.”
A challenge lies in her gaze—to make further demands and do something that would have those heels digging into my lower back.
Fucking hell.
My cock stirs again, more than willing to rise to the occasion, even though it’s the last thing I should be thinking about.
This is stupid, Cass.
Yet my feet move me a half-step closer to her until the heat radiating off her body seeps into mine. “What does a man need to do in order to have you prove your talents?”
It’s as direct as I can be without flat-out asking how to get into her pants—or under her dress, as it may be.
Absolutely not what I intended tonight.
But when I saw her standing here, her sleek blond curls cascading over her slender, exposed shoulders, her dress hugging her curves and accentuating her hourglass shape, looking absolutely fuckable as hell in those heels, the shoe remark just slipped out. The same way compliments and flirty comments seem to find their way out of my mouth whenever I’m around a beautiful woman. And Kennedy Hawke is far beyond beautiful. Even with the mask partially covering her face, she’s absolutely stunning.
And she knows it.
The photos I’ve seen over the years don’t do this woman justice. Kennedy wears her sexuality like a badge of honor, not something to be ashamed of or to hide behind a wall of propriety, as most of the people in this world do. It shouldn’t surprise me, given some of the businesses the Hawkes own—they peddle flesh in their strip clubs and appeal to the basest of human desires.
She’s grown up around it. Her damn office is in the first club they ever opened. Kennedy won’t back down now that we’re in an unbreakable eye-fuck competition.
It opens up a whole new world of possibilities.
And a new avenue of approach to my problem.
Playing nice with Kennedy when she doesn’t recognize me may open more doors, and it’s clear she has no idea who the hell I am. If she did, we never would have gotten this far in our conversation.
Despite all the active campaigns the Hawkes and Falco Enterprises have waged against each other over the last few years, I’ve somehow never been in the same room as this woman, instead spending my time staring down Stone and Isaac in the courtroom most of the time.
Tonight, that’s definitely played in my favor. But as soon as she knows who I am, she will undoubtedly end this flirtation harshly—perhaps with that heel in my balls as I imagined earlier. If I want to get anywhere with her, if I want her to listen to my warning, she can’t know who I am.
She stares up at me through thick, black, impossibly long lashes, and her free hand comes up to my chest, her sharp, manicured nails digging in through the crisp fabric of my tux shirt. “That depends.”
“On what?”
Mischief twinkles in her now-heated gaze that I could swim in all fucking night. “What that man would offer in return…”
Holy hell.
My cock strains against the front of my pants, pushing painfully against the zipper. This may not have been the plan, but I’ve always been excellent at thinking on my feet, rolling with the punches, and switching tactics, whether it be in the courtroom, cross-examining a witness, or in bed with a woman.
No reason I can’t do the same now.
I take another sip of my bourbon, then lower my head slowly until my lips brush against her ear. “I’m not in the habit of picking up beautiful women at parties and fucking them senseless, but if that interests you, I wouldn’t be opposed to you proving just what you can do in those fuck-me heels.”
A shiver rolls through her, goosebumps pebbling across her exposed skin.
The idea of a quickie with a stranger at one of her family’s fundraisers excites her far more than I expected. Most women would slap me for even suggesting it, but the flare of interest in her eyes that I catch when I pull my head back makes my cock twitch with anticipation.
She drags her gaze away from me to scan the party raging on below us. No one casts a second glance at us up on the balcony, too engrossed in drinking, dancing, schmoozing, and reviewing the silent auction items set up along one wall.
I shift closer to her, stepping slightly behind her so I can use my free hand to brush the blond hair off her neck and feather my lips to her ear again. “The only problem is…this balcony leaves us very exposed. All it would take is one glance up for someone to see me behind you, slamming my cock into your cunt.” Her body shudders against mine. “Plus, the acoustics in here were designed to carry any noise from up here out across the entire space. And I guarantee that when I’m inside of you, you won’t be able to contain your screams.”
Kennedy slowly turns her head toward me, catching my gaze out of the corner of her eye. “That’s unfortunate. I really could have used the release tonight.”
I grin and down the rest of my bourbon. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to get you off.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and her gaze cuts down to the party again. I set my empty glass on a small table on the balcony to our side and grab hers from her hand to do the same—we certainly don’t need her dropping it onto a partygoer because she loses her grip while I work her over.
She watches me do it with interest, not a hint of trepidation despite me being a complete stranger.
Stepping up directly behind her, I press my lips on the center of her neck, sliding my hands to the waist of her sequin gown. “Just make sure you stay quiet, or we’ll have some unwanted attention.” I tighten my grip on her hips. “And I don’t want to get interrupted while I’m making you come.”
Kennedy sucks in a harsh breath, her body tensing.
“Unless you’d prefer that I go back down those stairs and return to the party…”
Her hands curl around the banister, and she shakes her head. “The party is quite boring. You aren’t missing anything.”
I smirk as I glide my hands to the dress hem and work it up over her hips, exposing her beautiful bare ass to me.
Full.
Lush.
My hand itches to smack it, but the very real fear of the sound reverberating through the building keeps me from doing just that. Instead, I slide my palm over the soft, peachy flesh, my cock straining against its confines. Getting Kennedy off will be sheer torture, but I never anticipated this spark between us, this desire to see what she looks like when she completely lets go of all the tension she carries in her body and the weight that rests on her slender shoulders.
Gripping her hip with my left hand, I slip my right down between her thighs. My fingertips brush against her wet heat, eliciting a low groan from deep in my chest.
“No panties? And you’re already wet for me. Pauvre bête, you really need this, don’t you, Cherie?”
Her entire body trembles with my feather of a touch, and she shifts her hips, trying to force me to move my hand to where she wants it.
Cupping it up between her legs, I hold her firmly in place, relishing the way she vibrates, trying to grind her pussy against my palm while I prevent her from moving. “I hope you’re ready for this, Cherie, because I don’t plan on taking things easy on you just because we have a potentially captive audience.” I slip a single finger up inside her, earning a gasp as she clutches at it. “You better bite your tongue and hold on tight to that banister.”