Excerpt of Sinful Rewards 4 by Cynthia Sax

Silence stretches. I look upward. A tic of emotion pulses high on Hawke’s cheek, his eyes stormy and his body hard. He wants me to accept his lie, but I can’t believe in a man who has no reason to stay.

“Every time we part, you’ll think I’ve left you, won’t you?” he asks, his voice sinfully deep.

My fingers curl. “Why would you stay?” I counter. Why would anyone stay who had a choice?

Hawke grits his teeth. There’s another long pause. I brace myself for the pain that I know is coming. He’ll tell me I’m too much hassle for a one-night stand. Then he’ll ride out of the city and never return. I shouldn’t care. He’ll leave me eventually, and the timing shouldn’t make a difference. I cross my arms in front of my stomach, hugging my body, trying to protect my foolish heart.

“You’re gloriously stubborn, love.” Hawke sucks air through his teeth, holds the breath for four heart-pounding moments, and exhales. “Come here.” He slides his right hand into the front pocket of his faded blue jeans.

I step closer to him, curious.

“I want you to keep these for me.” Hawke holds out his fist. A silver ball chain is wrapped around his scarred fingers.

I extend my palm. His massive hand hovers above mine.

I wait and wait and wait. Hawke doesn’t release the chain. I survey his savage countenance. His lips are flat. His jaw juts. He doesn’t want to do this.

“This isn’t necessary,” I tell him.

“It is. You need this.” He opens his fist, dropping the ball chain and two dog tags into the palm of my hand, the metal warmed by his skin. Information—a Social Security number, the words “no preference,” USMC, and other letters—is embossed on the oval forms. I don’t recognize the first or last name.

“Are these yours?” I ask. He shared that Hawke wasn’t his first name. Is Masters, the last name he gave me, not real either?

“No, they’re not mine.” Hawke rubs the barbed wire tattoo encircling his right bicep, the vigorous motion reddening his arm.

I tilt my head, studying him. Why would he give me someone else’s dog tags? Our gazes meet and lock and I inhale sharply, reading the answer in his pain-ravaged eyes. “They belonged to Rock, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.”