From the first time Hawk saw her, he knew he wanted to do dirty things to her in his bed.
Hawk, the muscled, tatted, badass Vice President of the Insurgents Motorcycle Club, sees women as bed warmers, nothing more. He never stays with the same woman, and although there are plenty of women who want to be his old lady, he wants none of that.
He doesn’t let chicks ride on the back of his bike.
And that suits him just fine until he meets her whose eyes light a fire in him. Problem is she’s not so easy to get into his bed. Hawk wants her. And when Hawk wants something he takes it.
Cara Minelli doesn’t want to go to the biker bar, but her friend talks her into it. Swearing off men since she caught her fiancé cheating on her right before her wedding, she has buried herself in her career not wanting a man in her life. Until she sees him. He is sexy, rough, crude, and oh so very wrong for her. So why can’t she stop thinking of all the nasty things he’ll do to her if she relents and lets him in her bed?
Then a vicious killer who has been strangling women in the area focuses on Cara. Police think bikers are involved. Can Cara set aside her trust issues and let Hawk into her life?
Hawk sees it as his job to protect what is his…and Cara is very much his even if she doesn’t know it yet. Cara keeps her heart guarded, but when danger comes calling, their lives collide. Hawk will stop at nothing to keep Cara safe and make her “Property of Hawk”.
The Insurgents MC series are standalone romance novels. Hawk’s Property is Book One in the series.
This book contains violence, strong language, and steamy sexual scenes. HEA. No cliffhangers.
The book is intended for readers over the age of 18
Looking at Cara with slightly unfocused eyes, Sherrie turned around on her bar stool, trying to get the bartender’s attention. Cara watched the various patrons as they came up to order their drinks. The majority of them were men, and the few women in the bar were dressed in provocative clothing: short skirts, barely-there tops, skin-tight jeans, and spandex dresses. Her blue jeans and sleeveless, knit black top made her look like the poster woman for prim and proper. Sherrie, dressed in a tight black dress with silver studs and buckles, had told her to “slut it up a bit,” but Cara didn’t feel comfortable wearing anything too revealing in a biker bar. Seeing all the women strutting their stuff, she realized she stuck out like a sore thumb. She jumped when the entrance door slammed, making Sherrie laugh.
“God, you’re nervous.”
“These aren’t the type of people I usually hang with.” Cara looked toward the door and watched a tall guy heading toward the bar. She gasped when he came into full view.
Her first impression was of raw power and sex. He was gorgeous, with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a ponytail. Sporting a nice build—muscular, but not bodybuilder-like—he wore two earrings in his right ear, jeans which fit him snugly around his legs and crotch, and a t-shirt that molded over his sculpted abs. A black leather jacket hung over his broad shoulders and gleaming silver chains hung down from his jeans’ pocket. He was definitely all male.
Cara raised her eyes from his body to his face, and a strange shiver slid up her spine, making her scalp tighten and her hands tingle. His ocean blue eyes stared at her from below perfectly shaped dark brows and above a slightly Roman nose. Full lips twitched in a half-smile, making her lick her own while widening her eyes. Hard, angular planes, a strong jaw, and a five o’clock shadow lent to his blatant sexiness. Swallowing hard, Cara glanced down again at his crotch, transfixed by the big mound against his zipper.
Looking up once again, she met his blue eyes, smoldering with intensity. Her cheeks turned crimson and she glanced away. In the mirror behind the bar, she saw him smirking at her as he leaned against the end of the counter.
“Hey, Hawk, what’s your vice?” the bartender asked him.
“A bottle of Coors.” His deep, smooth voice stroked Cara’s senses like silk. He jerked his head toward her. “Do you know her?”
“She’s a friend of the blonde who’s been coming here for two weeks chasing me. Damn, her friend’s so nervous and outta place. It looks like she’s never been to a biker bar.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t exactly fit in. Fuck, she’s hot, though.”
Cara’s whole body tensed as her face heated, and she crossed her hands on the bar while he flagrantly assessed her. She averted her eyes and stared at the scratched markings on the wooden bar, running her fingers over the grooves, while she wondered if she should be livid at his vulgarity or flattered that he thought she was hot.
Patsy, the bartender, laughed. “I know you’re checking out her big rack.”
“You know me, man. A stacked bitch does it for me every time. I’d love to have my mouth around those soft tits. Her curves aren’t too shabby, either.”
Cara pretended to be engrossed in conversation with an inebriated Sherrie. Her face was turned toward her friend, but her ears were glued to the biker’s conversation. She couldn’t help herself; she was repulsed, yet titillated by his crudeness.
“You horny bastard.” Patsy chuckled.
“No argument there. She’s one sexy woman.”
Her cheeks flushed as the men continued to talk about her. She was tempted to grab her friend’s arm and yank her out of the dive at any second.
“Damn, girl, that guy is really checking you out. He’s totally hot.” Sherrie nudged her, tilting her head in Hawk’s direction.
“He’s being rude, and I’m not flattered.” Unable to resist, Cara glanced at Hawk sideways. Every time she looked at him, he was staring back at her, his gaze lingering on her mouth. His piercing stare made her stomach flutter. These drinks must really be strong. She was ogling a complete stranger decked out in leather and chains, picturing his lips on hers, his tongue probing her mouth. Fanning herself with her hand, she swore not to have another drink.
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