“That’s right,” Hawk muttered. “Come for me, Pia. Come again.”
He whispered sweet encouragement.
Pia felt herself tremble, her body on the cusp of deliverance. She tightened around Hawk, and her hands fell from his back to grasp the coverlet.
He was relentless in pursuit of her pleasure. “Pia,” he breathed in her ear. “Sweetheart, tell me.”
“H-Hawk, p-please, y-yes.”
The sound of how much he affected her was his undoing.
Hawk groaned and stilled just as her body began to shake. He spilled himself inside her, wondrously joining her powerful climax with one of his own.
Pia cried out with her release, and Hawk clasped her to him, his skin hot and damp.
Their hearts racing, they came back down to earth—or some version of it.
This, she thought, was what dreams were made of.
Nine
In the normal course of things, lunch with Colin, Marquess of Easterbridge, and Sawyer Langsford, Earl of Melton, in the dining room of the historic Sherry-Netherland Hotel should have been a tame and relaxing affair.
Hawk knew better.
Lately, notoriety had come nipping at the heels of his trio of friends.
Colin looked up quizzically from his BlackBerry. “Well, Melton, it seems Mrs. Hollings has done it again.”
Sawyer nodded at a waiter who then proceeded to fill his wineglass, and took his time addressing Colin. “What, pray tell, has she deemed worthy of acid ink this time?”
“The topic is us…again,” Colin said, his tone bland. “Or, more exactly, the subject is Hawkshire.”
“How very fair of you, Melton,” Hawk commented dryly, “to include us in the Intelligencer’s gossip column.”
Sawyer’s lips quirked. “So what does our Mrs. Hollings have to say today?”
“Apparently Hawkshire has a second career as a wedding planner’s apprentice.”
Sawyer raised his eyebrows and swiveled his head to look at Hawk, his expression droll. “And you kept this tidbit from us? How could you?”
Damnation. Hawk knew he was in for a ribbing from his two friends. Still, it was worth mounting a defense, however feeble. “My sister is getting married.”
“‘We’ve heard,’” Colin said, quoting the text from his BlackBerry, “‘that a certain very wealthy duke has been keeping company with a lovely wedding planner. Could it be that wedding bells are in the air?’”
“Charming, our Mrs. Hollings,” Sawyer said.
“A veritable fount of useful information.”
Hawk remained steadfastly mum, refusing to add his two cents to his friends’ comments.
Sawyer frowned. “How is your mother these days, Hawk? The last time I had the opportunity to be in her charming company, she talked of finding you a bride. In fact, I believe one name in particular crossed her lips.”
“Michelene Ward-Fombley,” Hawk said succinctly.
Sawyer nodded. “Ah, yes, that sounds—” he paused to give Hawk a shrewd look “—exactly right… A suitable choice.”
Of course, Sawyer and Colin would have a passing acquaintance with Michelene, Hawk thought. She was from their aristocratic social circle. Her grandfather was a viscount, not someone from a small town in Pennsylvania…