Chaos series by Kristen Ashley

When he stopped speaking, I held his eyes.

Then, hesitantly, I asked, “Are you… looking for soft spots with me?”

It was then he held my eyes for one beat… two… three.

Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

I felt my eyes narrow.

“Hop,” I called.

He kept laughing, his head now bowed, hand up, waving at me to give him a moment.

Yes. Apparently what I’d asked was that funny.

“Hop!” I snapped. His head came up and his eyes caught mine. “I was actually being serious,” I informed him.

“I know,” he choked out.

“Stop laughing!” I clipped, short and angry, and he abruptly stopped.

Just as abruptly, he pushed out of his chair and rounded my desk, and before I knew what he was doing he was bent into me, hands on either side of my head, his face all I could see.

“You put yourself in front of bullets for your fiancé,” he whispered and my breath stopped. “Baby, you don’t have any hard spots.”

“I—”

His hands on my head pressed in gently just as his forehead came to rest on mine.

“You don’t, and just so you know, that is not why I’m with you or why I want you, the fact that you’re the kind of woman who did that for him. What you did was beautiful, the ultimate, but it’s who you are that interests me.”

He had to stop.

“Hop, you need to take your hands off me and step back.”

“Worried what your staff will think?”

“I don’t care what they think,” I retorted. “But you’re being sweet again, saying nice things again and getting to me, and I need a break and I want to finish my sandwich.”

“I’m getting to you?”

“Step back.”

His eyes held mine a moment before he muttered, “I’m getting to you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Babe,” he called.

I rolled my eyes back.

“Wanna know part of who you are that interests me?”

“Are you going to say something nice?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

I watched his eyes smile.

Then he started to speak and, per usual, he did it against my wishes.

“Part of who you are that interests me is that you don’t care what they think. I walk into your cush offices, you say ‘hey, honey’ and don’t even f**kin’ blink. Wearin’ motorcycle boots or a suit, it’s all the same to you. And a woman like you, so knockout gorgeous, most movie stars would give their left nut just for you to walk up a red carpet on their arm, a banker’s daughter who sleeps in unbelievably soft sheets and drives a sweet ride ninety-nine percent of the population can’t afford acts like that. Now that interests me.”

Okay, I was back to him getting to me.

“I’ve decided to be un-biker-friendly,” I announced, and watched his eyes smile again.

“Too late.”

“Figures,” I mumbled.

“Right. I’m here, kiss me, we’ll finish our sandwiches and then I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Hop, I’ve got pastrami breath.”

“So?”

“It might be gross.”

Another smile. “It won’t be gross.”

“It’ll be gross.”

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

“Kiss me.”

“No!”

Hop slanted his head and kissed me.

I kissed him back.

He let me go, we finished our sandwiches and he kissed me again before he let me get back to work.

I got looks all afternoon and I didn’t care because I wouldn’t normally care, but also because all I could think about was Hop getting to me.

And that I sort of wanted him to bring me lunch the next day.

And that I not so sort of wished he’d be in my bed that night.

Alas, Thursday, I got nothing but a phone call. I was busy with work. Hop was busy with Chaos business and his kids.

But Friday morning, about two and a half seconds after I got the call, I turned to my cell, snatched it up, and called Hop.

“Lady,” he answered.

“We got the account!” I shrieked.

I could actually tell the smile in his voice was huge when he replied, “Good news, baby.”

“Great news. Fabulous news. Christmas bonuses for the staff news,” I corrected.

Hop was silent.

When this silence spread, I called, “Hop? Did I lose you?”

“You absolutely did not lose me.”

No smile in his voice but the rough tone of it that communicated colossal things made my body go completely still.

“You work your tail off for that account, your first thought is Christmas bonuses for your staff,” he stated.

I said nothing, just concentrated on breathing and ignoring the warmth shrouding my heart.

“No hard, Lanie. All soft,” he whispered like that meant everything to him.

Everything.

I again said nothing.

“And f**k, but I like it,” he finished.

It meant everything.

“Hop,” I whispered.

“Wish we could celebrate. We’ll do it next week. Yeah?”

I closed my eyes.

Then I opened them and said, “Yeah.”

I did this because I wanted to celebrate, I wanted to know how Hop celebrated, and because he was getting to me.

“Lettin’ you go,” he replied.

I didn’t want him to let me go. I wanted his voice in my ear. I wanted that warmth he gave me to stay close around my heart.

I didn’t say this.

I said, “Okay, Hop.”

“Later, lady.”

“Bye, honey.”

We disconnected and, without a big new client to concentrate on, I was unable to keep him off my mind.

Also unwilling.

And my thoughts didn’t go to planning how to end things.

They went to how Hopper Kincaid would celebrate his old lady getting a big new client.

Now, I standing in my bedroom, staring at my bag and facing a weekend with my parents and trying to train my thoughts on Vail, God’s country, which was gorgeous.

Suddenly I sensed movement that shouldn’t be there since I was alone in my house and I jumped, whipping my head around to see Hop walking into my room.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as he moved to me.

He made it to me, his hand lifting, fingers curling around the side of my neck, thumb extended which he used at my jaw to push my head back as his dipped down and his lips and ’tache brushed my lips.