Mystery Man
Page 39
His hand left my thigh so he could shift as he stated quietly, “Gwen, baby, you meant every word you said.”
“Did not,” I returned.
He stopped the car and I saw we were parked outside Tamayo on Larimer Square in lower downtown Denver, otherwise known as LoDo. Tamayo had brilliant Mexican food. Tamayo had unusual, delicious cocktails and guacamole that proved there was a God. Tamayo had a gorgeous mural behind the bar and a sun terrace. Tamayo was awesome.
My eyes went to him as I felt Hawk turn to me.
“Don’t,” he ordered softly.
“Don’t what?” I asked.
His hand lifted, fingers curling around the back of my neck and he pulled me to him. “Don’t pollute what came out of your mouth last night.”
Suddenly I realized this was important to him, not a little, a lot and not a lot but a whole lot and I didn’t know what to do with that but something about it scared the freaking shit out of me.
“Hawk –” I whispered and his hand slid from my neck to my jaw but his thumb moved up to press against my lips.
“Don’t,” he repeated.
“Okay,” I whispered against his thumb.
He dropped his hand and unbuckled my belt then he folded out of the car. He was at my door before I could rest one Jimmy Choo clad foot to the pavement. He took my hand, pulled me out of the car, kept hold of my hand and Hawk, me and my Jimmy Choos walked into Tamayo.
Chapter Thirteen
Totally Missed Out
I woke up and heard Hawk’s murmur from what seemed like far away.
He was on the phone.
I opened my eyes.
I was in Hawk’s bed.
I tucked my hands under my cheek and closed my eyes and the night before came sliding into my brain.
All of it. And there was lots.
First up, Tamayo had cocktails called Tamayopolitans. Pineapple infused tequila, cranberry and guava. Delicious. Refreshing. Dangerous.
I was not adverse to drinking outside a cosmo if the cocktail had ‘opolitan’ somewhere in its name so Tamayopolitans it was.
And lots of them. And lots of food. And lots of me talking.
Hawk’s sharing component of the evening was clearly used up during our car ride. The dinner conversation consisted of Hawk asking questions and me answering them. He might have known everything about me but it was clear he wanted to know how I felt about everything about me so he asked me about my Mom and I told him that, as great as Meredith was, Mom taking off sucked, the fact that she could do it and did. He also asked me about my Dad and I told him all about my Dad, all the reasons why I loved him and all the reasons he was a great Dad (kind of one in the same but I still went into detail about both topics). Ditto with Meredith. The opposite with Ginger, though I did share that regardless of the fact that Ginger was Ginger and there wasn’t a lot to love, she was still my sister and I’d never given up hope that she’d pull her shit together eventually. Until now.
He asked about Cam, Leo and Tracy but it was me, me on my fourth Tamayopolitan, who shared about Troy and how I was worried now that his crush was outed he’d disappear from my life and I’d miss him if he went away.
Hawk also laughed with me when I told a joke or a funny story and I laughed with him when he made some comment that was amusing.
And lastly, he was into everything I said. He was concentrating only on me. It was like every word that poured forth out of my mouth was a piece to the puzzle that was the meaning of life and he had some of the pieces but he wanted to make sure he got them all. His relaxed and comfortable yet intent concentration, the fact that not one woman who walked by caught his attention, in fact, nothing but me caught his attention – there was something about it that felt good, as in really good.
It was easy, it was fun, the food great, the drinks plentiful, my company amusing and hot as all get out and I had fabulous shoes.
It was the best date I’d ever had.
It was after Tamayopolitan number six that we left and the second part of the night started.
We were in the Camaro and purring through the streets of Denver, me wondering where the night would take us next and getting a quiver in a private place at where my wonderings were taking me when Hawk’s phone rang. He took the call, said a few words, flipped his phone shut and swung a uey.
“Gotta go to base, babe, there’s a situation I need a brief on. Urgent. Can you hang in my office?”
At his question, I thought, Oh my God! I get to see his base!
And since I was slightly inebriated, I was pretty certain I didn’t hide my excitement even though the word I chose to use was, “Sure,” it came out peppy and eager. I knew this because when I chanced a glance at him he was grinning.
He drove into the basement garage of a high rise office building in upper downtown, guided me to the elevator, taking me up to the fourteenth floor. The elevator opened and there was a vestibule at either side of which there were two hallways. Hawk went right then right again and down the hall where he chose door number two and used a keycard to access it.
I walked in with him and stopped dead.
Instant cool.
Commando Central!
The windows to the view at the back were darkened even against the evening skyline. In front of me in theater style with elevated platforms were three levels, four workstations at each level, all sorts of knobs and buttons and telephones on the consoles of the workstations. Behind me, rows of screens set into the wall, machinery under them with numerical displays, every one of them filled with some action, people, places and things. There were three offices off the theater area to the left, all but the last one on the top level had floor to ceiling windows that clearly showed what the occupant was doing at all times. To the right, more doors, only two, one was a big conference room with more floor to ceiling windows, one a door but no windows.
The room was filled with commandos, some I’d seen, some I hadn’t, some sitting at workstations, some obviously waiting for Hawk to arrive.
One was “Smoke”.
“Hey Smoke,” I called, waving at him.
Commandos looked to their boots and shuffled their feet.
“Hey Gwen,” 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.
“Did not,” I returned.
He stopped the car and I saw we were parked outside Tamayo on Larimer Square in lower downtown Denver, otherwise known as LoDo. Tamayo had brilliant Mexican food. Tamayo had unusual, delicious cocktails and guacamole that proved there was a God. Tamayo had a gorgeous mural behind the bar and a sun terrace. Tamayo was awesome.
My eyes went to him as I felt Hawk turn to me.
“Don’t,” he ordered softly.
“Don’t what?” I asked.
His hand lifted, fingers curling around the back of my neck and he pulled me to him. “Don’t pollute what came out of your mouth last night.”
Suddenly I realized this was important to him, not a little, a lot and not a lot but a whole lot and I didn’t know what to do with that but something about it scared the freaking shit out of me.
“Hawk –” I whispered and his hand slid from my neck to my jaw but his thumb moved up to press against my lips.
“Don’t,” he repeated.
“Okay,” I whispered against his thumb.
He dropped his hand and unbuckled my belt then he folded out of the car. He was at my door before I could rest one Jimmy Choo clad foot to the pavement. He took my hand, pulled me out of the car, kept hold of my hand and Hawk, me and my Jimmy Choos walked into Tamayo.
Chapter Thirteen
Totally Missed Out
I woke up and heard Hawk’s murmur from what seemed like far away.
He was on the phone.
I opened my eyes.
I was in Hawk’s bed.
I tucked my hands under my cheek and closed my eyes and the night before came sliding into my brain.
All of it. And there was lots.
First up, Tamayo had cocktails called Tamayopolitans. Pineapple infused tequila, cranberry and guava. Delicious. Refreshing. Dangerous.
I was not adverse to drinking outside a cosmo if the cocktail had ‘opolitan’ somewhere in its name so Tamayopolitans it was.
And lots of them. And lots of food. And lots of me talking.
Hawk’s sharing component of the evening was clearly used up during our car ride. The dinner conversation consisted of Hawk asking questions and me answering them. He might have known everything about me but it was clear he wanted to know how I felt about everything about me so he asked me about my Mom and I told him that, as great as Meredith was, Mom taking off sucked, the fact that she could do it and did. He also asked me about my Dad and I told him all about my Dad, all the reasons why I loved him and all the reasons he was a great Dad (kind of one in the same but I still went into detail about both topics). Ditto with Meredith. The opposite with Ginger, though I did share that regardless of the fact that Ginger was Ginger and there wasn’t a lot to love, she was still my sister and I’d never given up hope that she’d pull her shit together eventually. Until now.
He asked about Cam, Leo and Tracy but it was me, me on my fourth Tamayopolitan, who shared about Troy and how I was worried now that his crush was outed he’d disappear from my life and I’d miss him if he went away.
Hawk also laughed with me when I told a joke or a funny story and I laughed with him when he made some comment that was amusing.
And lastly, he was into everything I said. He was concentrating only on me. It was like every word that poured forth out of my mouth was a piece to the puzzle that was the meaning of life and he had some of the pieces but he wanted to make sure he got them all. His relaxed and comfortable yet intent concentration, the fact that not one woman who walked by caught his attention, in fact, nothing but me caught his attention – there was something about it that felt good, as in really good.
It was easy, it was fun, the food great, the drinks plentiful, my company amusing and hot as all get out and I had fabulous shoes.
It was the best date I’d ever had.
It was after Tamayopolitan number six that we left and the second part of the night started.
We were in the Camaro and purring through the streets of Denver, me wondering where the night would take us next and getting a quiver in a private place at where my wonderings were taking me when Hawk’s phone rang. He took the call, said a few words, flipped his phone shut and swung a uey.
“Gotta go to base, babe, there’s a situation I need a brief on. Urgent. Can you hang in my office?”
At his question, I thought, Oh my God! I get to see his base!
And since I was slightly inebriated, I was pretty certain I didn’t hide my excitement even though the word I chose to use was, “Sure,” it came out peppy and eager. I knew this because when I chanced a glance at him he was grinning.
He drove into the basement garage of a high rise office building in upper downtown, guided me to the elevator, taking me up to the fourteenth floor. The elevator opened and there was a vestibule at either side of which there were two hallways. Hawk went right then right again and down the hall where he chose door number two and used a keycard to access it.
I walked in with him and stopped dead.
Instant cool.
Commando Central!
The windows to the view at the back were darkened even against the evening skyline. In front of me in theater style with elevated platforms were three levels, four workstations at each level, all sorts of knobs and buttons and telephones on the consoles of the workstations. Behind me, rows of screens set into the wall, machinery under them with numerical displays, every one of them filled with some action, people, places and things. There were three offices off the theater area to the left, all but the last one on the top level had floor to ceiling windows that clearly showed what the occupant was doing at all times. To the right, more doors, only two, one was a big conference room with more floor to ceiling windows, one a door but no windows.
The room was filled with commandos, some I’d seen, some I hadn’t, some sitting at workstations, some obviously waiting for Hawk to arrive.
One was “Smoke”.
“Hey Smoke,” I called, waving at him.
Commandos looked to their boots and shuffled their feet.
“Hey Gwen,” 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.
