Chapter 44

"Hey Smoke," I called, waving at him.

Commandos looked to their boots and shuffled their feet.

"Hey Sam," Smoke replied.

I tipped my head to the side and asked loudly, "Next time you need to make up a nickname to fake someone out, can I pick it?"

There was more shuffling of feet, Smoke grinned at me and I heard Hawk chuckle then he handed me a keycard and put his hand in the small of my back.

"Babe, top office, hang there. I'll come get you as soon as I'm done," he ordered and I looked up at him to see him jerk his head to the dark office at the top.

I nodded and, not thinking, my body and brain having absorbed six Tamayopolitans, my feet encased in Jimmy Choos he'd given me, my belly filled with yummy food he'd bought for me, my night having been spent sitting across the table from him, I put a hand lightly on his abs, lifted up on my toes and touched my mouth to his.

Then I clipped across the shiny black floors, up the side aisle steps and used the keycard to get into his office not realizing I had a bunch of commando eyes following me, some admiring, all curious.

Upon entering and turning on the light I found Hawk's office was uber-modern and totally clinical. No photos on the desk or credenza. No medals on the walls. No trophies on shelves or plaques displayed. No personal paraphernalia. There weren't any files on the desk, pencil holders, notepads, not even a computer, just a phone. The whole thing was decorated in black, light gray, black leather and chrome and so clean a doctor could perform surgery there. There were four television monitors on the wall, blank screens. There was a long, black couch. There were two black chairs in front of his desk and a big, high backed swivel one behind it. That was it.

I considered my options for time spent in Hawk's office and I decided to text Cam and Tracy about the date instead of trying to rifle through drawers. Firstly, if I rifled through drawers that would be intrusive and very wrong - he might have intruded in my life but that didn't mean I needed to return the favor. Secondly, and more importantly, I figured he maybe had cameras in there and would find out I did it which he probably would frown on and Hawk pissed was a scary thing.

So I sat on the couch and texted Cam and Tracy about the date and received ecstatic texts back from Trace and cautionary texts back from Cam which mostly consisted of her begging me not to imbibe even a drop more alcohol.

Hawk said it wouldn't take very long but he was wrong. So since it took a long time, I had six Tamayopolitans, my belly was full and I'd had two interrupted nights of sleep during which there were intervals of high emotion including break-ins and firebombs, I eventually passed out on his couch.

I woke up to Hawk lifting me in his arms.

"I can walk," I mumbled.

"Yeah?" he asked then suggested, "How 'bout you do that on level ground when you're in those heels."

He wanted to carry me? Okay, I was all right with that.

I shoved my forehead in his neck and wrapped one arm around his shoulder, the other around his neck and muttered, "'Kay."

He walked me down the steps by the console workstations but even when we got to level ground, he didn't put me down until we were outside the elevator. When he did, I leaned heavily into him.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Six Tamayopolitans," I explained but I kind of slurred the word "Tamayopolitans" mainly because I was sleepy but also because I was still a little drunk.

He chuckled and pulled me closer.

When we were inside the elevator and I was again pressed into him, I noted, "Your briefing lasted a long time."

"Reports from the field, things changed, we needed to abort mission, regroup and re-engage."

This was all scary language my mind refused to process so I lifted my face from his pectoral and tipped my head back to look at him. "Let me guess, I don't want to know?"

He grinned down at me. "No, you don't want to know."

"You're grinning," I observed. "Does that mean there were no casualties?"

"Not the good guys," he replied.

Again, scary. Again, mind refused to process. Though, good news.

I planted my cheek in his pectoral again and mumbled, "Good to know."

He gave me a squeeze. Then he guided me out of the elevator and into the Camaro. Then I fell asleep again.

The last part of the evening was when I woke up because the Camaro had quit purring. He had parked. He helped me out of the car, through a door and I knew one thing. I wasn't home. I knew something else. I didn't care. I just wanted to sleep.

So I muttered, "Bed."

"Gotcha, Sweet Pea."

Hawk helped me stumble up some stairs that made a lot of noise and I was curious to look around, I just didn't have the energy. I spied a bed, I groped my way to it, divested myself of little black dress and awesome shoes and face planted in it.