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.”