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    Sinful Rewards 9: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella
    Sinful Rewards 9: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella
    Sinful Rewards 9: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella
    Ebook132 pages1 hour

    Sinful Rewards 9: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella

    By Cynthia Sax

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    About this ebook

    No longer torn between the billionaire and the biker, Bee has claimed her man, branding his skin with her scent, his soul with her care. He’s her ideal choice, building passion within her she didn’t know existed, supporting her dreams, and willing to do anything for her.

    But is she the ideal choice for him?

    An early-morning surprise attack and the arrival of a beautiful, witty, and regrettably nice rival make Bee question her decision. Does she step aside, forgoing her forever to ensure her man’s survival, or does she risk his life and her heart on love?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMar 17, 2015
    ISBN9780062354266
    Sinful Rewards 9: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella
    Author

    Cynthia Sax

    USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes steamy cyborg, alien and contemporary romances. Her stories have been featured on TV, in Star Magazine, and on numerous best of lists.She lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled monthly newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com

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      Book preview

      Sinful Rewards 9 - Cynthia Sax

      Dedication

      To my dear, wonderful hubby for teaching me that love lasts, to Wylie Snow, Christine d’Abo, J.K. Coi, and Amy Ruttan, four of the most generous and talented writers in Romanceland, for keeping me sane, and to Cris Conquers for always supporting newer writers.

      Contents

      Dedication

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      About the Author

      Also by Cynthia Sax

      An Excerpt from When Good Earls Go Bad by Megan Frampton

      An Excerpt from The Wedding Band by Cara Connelly

      An Excerpt from Riot by Jamie Shaw

      An Excerpt from Only In My Dreams by Darcy Burke

      An Excerpt from Sinful Rewards 1 by Cynthia Sax

      An Excerpt from Tempt the Night by Dixie Lee Brown

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      Chapter One

      DREAMS HAVE ALWAYS been my refuge from the judgmental world. They’re nightly pockets of happiness I anticipate during the day and cling to every morning.

      Tonight is different. Nightmares chase me, my visions gruesome and dark, filled with explosions and flying shrapnel and images of Hawke in increasingly intense levels of pain.

      I try to be a good soldier, putting pressure on his gushing wounds and sewing hunks of skin together, my hands shaking, my mouth dry. My efforts aren’t enough to save him. Hawke dies again and again, each loss tearing at my sanity.

      After I fail to keep him alive for the fourth heartbreaking time, there’s a moment of sorrow-laden silence. I bow my head and grieve for him, for the future we’ll never have.

      Another explosion rocks my imagined world. My eyes burn from the smoke and ash. I blink away my tears, dreading what I’ll see.

      The cloud of concealing gray clears. Hawke writhes on the war-torched ground, his face twisted in agony, his body battered. He reaches bloody fingers out to me, a wordless request for my help.

      My gaze drops. Oh, God. He has no legs, his blue jeans jaggedly torn, sprays of vivid crimson arcing from his severed limbs.

      Hold on, Hawke. I rush to his side, broken glass crunching under my shoes. I’ll save you. I can do this. Francois, my French friend, shared how he saved his friend after one horrific battle. I unbuckle Hawke’s belt and slide the black leather from the loops on his jeans. Shit. There’s only one belt and he needs two tourniquets.

      Hawke moans, the sound pulling at my heart. The puddle of blood encircling him grows larger, coating my ballerina flats.

      My big man fights me as I attempt to encircle both of his thick thighs. Stop moving, I order. The leather slips once, twice, three times, before it finds purchase. I tighten the loop. This doesn’t stem the bleeding.

      With every pulse, every spurt of lost blood, his efforts to escape me lessen. Stay with me. My voice cracks with emotion. Sweat drips down my spine, my shoulders aching. His heartbeat is loud, sound distorted in my dream, and the boom, boom, boom is slowing. Don’t leave me. My fear and panic builds. I have to save him and I don’t know how.

      His heart stops, the stillness terrifying. Hawke, I scream, thumping on his T-shirt-covered chest with my dirty fists, trying to revive him. Hawke.

      I’m here. Rough hands grip my shoulders, plucking me from my nightmare. You’re safe, love. I’m pressed against a wall of warm flesh. I have you. Hawke nuzzles his face in my hair, his breath wafting on my skin.

      I open my eyes and blink, the room brightly lit. You’re here. I scan his broad face, flattened nose, square chin. His pale blue eyes are clear, his scarred skin unbroken. There’s no blood, no signs of trauma. You’re alive.

      I’m alive, Hawke reassures me, his voice soft. In your dream—

      I couldn’t save you. I run my palms over his massive form, searching for fresh injuries, finding old scars and bulging muscle. I couldn’t stop the bleeding.

      I splay my fingers over his pecs. His heart beats strongly against his tattooed skin, the steady rhythm taking the edge off my terror. Hawke lies still as I examine him with my hands and mouth, sprinkling kisses over his rippling abs, tracing his hipbones with my tongue, tasting salt and man. He hardens. I pump him once, twice, casually fondle his balls, and continue my exploration, mouthing over his massive thighs.

      I touch his knees and my fear subsides. You have legs, I murmur, needing to hear the words. It was just a dream.

      It was just a dream. Hawke bends his legs.

      Thank God. I strap my arms around his calves, press my bare breasts against his shins, and lavish all of my attention on his knees, dipping my tongue into each indent, sweeping over every swell, learning the size and shape of his scars, this tested flesh silver against his golden skin.

      He doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, allowing me to touch him. Gradually, I quiet and the fluttering in my stomach eases. I rest my cheek against his knees, his healthy, whole legs.

      Hawke threads his thick fingers through my hair. Tell me about your dream, sweetheart.

      You don’t want to hear about it. I close my eyes, picture him bloody, hurt, dying, the visions appallingly real.

      Try me. His tone is dry.

      I’ll tell him because I need to tell someone and he’ll understand. He’ll know.

      I take a deep breath and the words spill out of my mouth. It was a bombing. I wasn’t hurt, but you were, badly. From your knees down, there was nothing. My shoulders lift higher and higher. You were losing so much blood. It was everywhere. I inhale, remembering the metallic scent. I tried to help you, removing your belt, using it as a tourniquet just like Francois did with his friend, but his friend only lost one leg in battle, you lost two and—

      In battle? Hawke growls, his body stiffening. That damn Frenchman told you about his war stories? He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, taking this proof of his survival away from me. I’ll kill him. My irate former marine presses down on the mattress with his massive fists.

      Don’t leave me. I wrap my arms around his chest and my legs around his waist. I can’t deal with that right now. I shiver, my breasts brushing against his back. I need to touch you, to know you’re alive.

      He covers my hands with his, flattening my palms against his skin. I won’t leave you, love. He sighs, his chest rising and falling. But Francois shouldn’t have shared those memories with you. He rolls his shoulders, his joints cracking. They’re not your burden to carry.

      He doesn’t have to bear that burden alone. I slip into Hawke’s lap, straddling him. Neither do you. I tremble, remembering the horrors Francois related, the death, carnage, agony. I’m here for you.

      I know you are. Hawke runs his hands over my hair, petting, smoothing the strands. Talking about the past won’t change it.

      It’s not the past. If it were ancient history, I wouldn’t be so freaked out. You face the same dangers every day.

      Not every day. He curls a tendril of my hair around his index finger. I rarely take assignments now.

      The assignments you do take are high risk. And it only takes one assignment gone wrong. One to make my nightmares a reality. They’re the missions you don’t trust your men to lead.

      Hawke frowns, his forehead furrowing with thought lines. My men are capable of leading any mission the Organization accepts.

      You don’t believe that, I argue, having learned long ago that actions hold more weight than words. Because, if you trusted your men, you’d step back and allow them to do the job, to lead those dangerous assignments. You should train your men better, Hawke. Ensure their skills match your own.

      "Their skills do match my own. His voice raises. They’re the best damn security professionals on the planet. I trust them with any assignment, with my life, with your life."

      I lift one eyebrow, smelling steaming ripe bullshit. My overprotective military man wouldn’t trust anyone else with my life. He considers my well-being to be his personal responsibility.

      He sighs. You don’t understand.

      I place my hands on his chest, needing

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