Bonnie ran a comb through her dark-brown curls and checked her makeup. Tonight, she felt wild and reckless. Rebellious. Three adjectives she’d never used to describe herself. A knock on her bedroom door made her turn. As she saw Hawke, her pulse raced. A thrill went down her spine.

Hawke leaned against the doorway, his lips curved downward. Lately, he only seemed to have frowns for her. Now this was how a real man should look like. All rough and tumble. Edgy. Wild. Hawke always wore his dark-brown hair short, his beard trimmed. There were more gray stands in there than brown now. He wore what he usually did, the Fallen Saints MC jacket over a plain white t-shirt that sculpted his massive chest and shoulders. Hawke was also clad in worn jeans and dirty work boots, even in this house.

She wore this provocative little number just so Hawke’s eyes would pop, and it worked. He looked her up and down. Like always, his heated gaze made her shiver. Her nipples tightened under the thin material of the dress. She imagined flinging herself at him. Bonnie was no light-weight, but Hawke was gigantic. He’d easily catch her. It was his mouth she imagined descending on hers in fierce possession, Hawke running his big hands down her curves. If Hawke lifted the hem and touched her there, at her most intimate place—

“Hell will freeze over before I let you out of the house dressed like that,” Hawke said with a growl.

Just like that, her initial elation deflated. Bonnie scoffed. “You’re not my father.” Hawke had been her guardian, her bodyguard, for as long as she could remember. Bonnie knew the best words that could easily wound him. Hawke flinched.

“I’m not,” the former Marine admitted. “But you’re still going to change. Saint will have a heart attack if he sees you. Where did you even get that dress?”

Hawke sounded puzzled. No surprise there. Saint made sure Hawke shadowed her every moment. Hawke had even gone with her when she shopped for her prom dress. This dress had looked ugly and average when Bonnie first tried it on but she knew with a little snip and tuck, she could make it fit her body like a glove.

“Watch me.” They eyed each other like wary opponents on a battlefield. They were the most intense few minutes of her life. Sweat beaded down her back. She silently dared him to do it. To reprimand her. To throw her on the bed and tell her she needed to be disciplined. That she was his woman and she shouldn’t be flaunting her body like this because she was alone for him to possess.

In her dreams maybe.