Free Sinful Rewards 10 by Cynthia Sax

His lips curl with aggravatingly adorable male smugness. “And that’s certainly not like.” Hawke opens the door. “Think about that while I’m gone.” He strides along the hallway, his tread soundless, his shoulders broad.
    I watch him until he disappears from view because that’s the nice thing to do. It’s certainly not because I love him. I close the door. Love doesn’t happen this quickly.
    I find my cleaning supplies and sweep the main room. Cyndi might believe she’s in love with Cole, and maybe she’s right. But what Hawke and I have is lust paired with liking, which might or might not deepen into more.
    I tidy the condo, this task restoring some of my calm, allowing me to think rationally. Loving a man with a dangerous job would be foolish, and I’m not a foolish woman. I’m careful, cautious, and clearly not in love. At all.
    To prove this to myself, I call Nicolas, my friend and Hawke’s perceived rival. The phone rings twice.
    â€œThis is Nicolas Rainer,” he answers, his tone businesslike.
    â€œThis is Bee Carter.” I mimic his curtness. “Are you busy or can you talk?” I walk toward the window. He’s not sitting in his park. His bench is unoccupied.
    â€œI’m always busy,” the billionaire admits. “But I can talk.” There’s a long pause. “I miss you, Bee.”
    I hear the loneliness in Nicolas’s voice, and my heart twists. “I miss you too.” I’ve grown accustomed to seeing his gorgeous face every day. “You can call or come over anytime,” I impulsively offer, wishing to see him. “Bring ice cream if you do. Hawke’s men finished the last tub yesterday.”
    There’s a clicking sound as though Nicolas is typing on a keyboard. “I have half an hour to spare this evening.” He must have been checking his schedule.
    And he’s blocked a precious half hour for me. I smile. “We can bake chocolate chip cookies.” My phone buzzes. I ignore it, concentrating on Nicolas.
    â€œI enjoy eating chocolate chip cookies,” my sweet-loving billionaire admits. “But baking isn’t a skill this asshole has.”
    â€œI’ll teach you that skill.” I grin. True assholes don’t make self-deprecating jokes. “I learned how to bake from the best,” I boast, thinking of Karl.
    â€œI’d like that.” Nicolas’s voice lilts, my billionaire sounding enchantingly animated. “I’ll call before I come over.” There’s a click and silence. One of these days, I have to train him to say good-bye.
    I could send him an article on phone etiquette. He could practice tonight, when he calls about our date. I lift my chin. And I am treating this as a date. He’s a man. I’m a woman. We’re spending time together. That’s not the action of a woman in love with someone else.
    My feelings for Hawke are manageable, nothing to be concerned about. I ignore my guilt. I’m not in love with him.
    If I say this enough times, I’ll convince myself.
    My phone hums again. I glance at the small screen and I suck in my breath. There’s a message from Friendly, my mysterious texter.
    Friendly: Enter Room 501 North, lie facedown on the massage table, and don’t move. Good girls earn rewards.
    Friendly isn’t Nicolas. I uncovered that shocking truth this morning.
    He isn’t Hawke. I look around my military man’s bare condo, his living space supplied by the Organization, his employer. As much as I wish Hawke was Friendly, the finances simply don’t add up. He can’t afford the rewards Friendly sends me.
    Friendly could be Lona. I nibble on the inside of my cheek. The high-class escort has the money to buy beautiful things. She knows my sizes, having supplied a dress for the ill-fated dinner with Francois and his dad. The suit Friendly sent was Chanel, Lona’s favorite designer.
    The