“You are Wilder Financial,” she roared, standing up on tiptoe to better see him eye to eye. “The building has your name on it, for fuck’s sake!”
Drake watched her chest heave, and nearly tasted the breath pushing past her lips. Biting back a hiss, Drake’s feet lurched forward of their own accord. He stopped himself before he crashed into her. She eyed his lips with dark hunger, and for a sliver of a moment, Drake thought she was going to kiss him.
“Just because Wilder Financial has the deed doesn’t mean I bought your bar,” Drake forced out in a single, tight breath. “It means my corporation bought it.”
He could give it back to her. The thought streamed through his head like a jetliner, and was gone as quickly as it had come. The entire area was in an economic downward spiral. If he gave the bar back to her, it wouldn’t be long before the Knight Owl went bankrupt along with the rest of the small businesses in the area. At least if Wilder’s City Beautification team got their teeth into it, there could be a chance to bring more business to the area, and to her bar.
Looking at the numbers—which is what Drake did best—there was only one way Emelia’s bar was going to survive. Wilder Financial had to keep ownership of it.
“You are an expert at dodging things, aren’t you?” Emelia fired. “You dodge e-mails, phone calls, and probably relationships, too, which would explain why you were in the cellar the night of the party instead of upstairs with everyone else. It doesn’t matter anyway, because you didn’t buy shit, not really.”
“If you leave it alone, and let my company keep ownership, I think you’ll find it’ll help business. We have the backing to improve the building and the surrounding area. We could build the Knight Owl into twenty Knight Owls spread across the city. It could be better for everyone this way.”
“You’ve never sweated and slaved for a piece of something that everyone else saw as worthless, have you? It’s not about making buckets of cash or making the Knight Owl into a chain, it’s about having something that’s mine, something I clawed for, tooth and nail.”
Damn, he admired her tenacity, but she wasn’t getting it. Given the circumstances, the best option was for Wilder Financial to hold the deed. It was the better move, even if she didn’t think it.
“I think you have to sue Tattoo Parlor Guy to get your money back.” Drake could smell the sugar from Emelia’s morning coffee on her breath—two sugars, one hazelnut cream. She’d taste just as sweet without the additives, Drake knew firsthand. “The deed to the Porter Street property that you have in your possession is fake, docu-edited, and worthless. Wilder Financial will hold the true deed in good hands until you’re in a better position to make an offer.”
There. He did it. Laid all the facts on the table.
“I have the deed to my building back at my bar, and believe me, it’s legit.” Disdain darkened Emelia’s eyes to deep-sea blue. She swayed against him as if the ground beneath her feet wobbled, then pulled back. “If you want me to drive across town and get it, just so you can see that it’s the real deal, I can.”
Somehow, the energy crackling between them flipped on a dime. Anger turned to something fiercely sexual, a hunger that clawed its way through him. As the temperature elevated from heated to scorching, Emelia swayed into him once more, nearly pressing against his chest. Drake fought the urge to kiss her, to taste the fire of her words and feel the spark on her skin. If Drake didn’t release some tension soon—either by kissing her or kicking her out of the building—he was liable to spontaneously combust.
Drake didn’t want Emelia to move a single inch, let alone drive across town to retrieve her fake deed. He wanted her to stay right where she was, a breath away from him, lips pouting in annoyance, cheeks flushing in anger. He wanted to piss her off and bottle the outpouring of emotion. She was different from him in every way—passionate where Drake was levelheaded, soft and curvy where he was achingly hard.
The wolf inside Drake shivered and shook, trembling with deep-rooted desire. It demanded to bond with Emelia, to claim what was rightfully his.
Mine.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Emelia’s plump lips quirked.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me.”
Ah, hell.
Now all Drake could think about was how the most intimate part of her body would taste. He went rock hard at the thought of sliding his fingers through her rich cream, then suckling them into his mouth. Drake could sense excitement spreading through Emelia like a blush, as if the shudder rushing through her were his own. He could almost feel her hot, velvety center on his tongue. Impulses to rip the clothes from her body and bend her over the desk shot like liquid fire through his veins.
One kiss would quench the fire burning inside him. They wouldn’t sleep together—he wouldn’t let it get that far. At least not until she knew what he was, and what place she could have in his world. But he couldn’t stand here, enveloped in Emelia’s scent, drunk on the sight of her lips and the smoldering behind her eyes, without sampling a sliver of the forbidden fruit.
One taste wouldn’t hurt anything.
“You’re not Little Red anymore,” Drake said, his voice scratchy and deep, sounding strange to his own ears. “I’ll only eat you if you ask me to.”
Emelia gasped, her sapphire eyes blazing with dark desire. It was all the invitation he needed. He yanked her into his arms and branded a kiss on her mouth. The primal instincts bubbling inside him caught fire from the impact as his tongue darted past her lips and explored the warm, wet recesses of her mouth. He drank her in, sucking the sweetness from her lips.
“Emelia,” he whispered, savoring the chills gathering at the base of his spine. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”
She smiled and nipped at his bottom lip. “About time.”
She crashed into him then, from lips to hips. Looping her arms around his neck, Emelia dug her fingers through Drake’s hair and deepened the kiss, pressing her breasts against his chest until their bodies couldn’t be any closer without joining as one.
Hard rods of lust speared through Drake’s gut, shattering his intentions and sense of duty. He needed to tell her that he was a werewolf, an Alpha, before she got too deeply involved. She should know what could happen if they slept together. But none of that mattered. Not in this moment. Barbs of pure white heat crackled through every vein, throbbed through every muscle, and drew his erection painfully tight.
He hadn’t imagined the spark behind Emelia’s kiss in the cellar, though he tried to convince himself he had. Emelia was a tidal wave of scorching heat, her mouth a heaven that Drake explored with generous sweeps of his tongue.
He needed more of this. Less dry, rational thought. He coiled his arms around her tiny waist and scooped her off her feet. Keeping their lips fused together, Drake spun around and placed Emelia on the edge of his desk. She broke contact, only for a second. Shoved his entire desk spread to the floor. Scooted back and spread her legs. Desperate to touch her, to keep that spark firing in his gut, Drake wedged himself between Emelia’s thighs. Her hair fell around her face and down to her shoulders, creating a golden mane that slipped through his fingers like strands of fine silk.
For a freeze-framed moment, Drake didn’t care about the deed to a building on Porter Street or the fact that if Emelia turned into a werewolf, she’d never be able to have his children. There was only the sound of Emelia’s rapid breathing and the hard pounding of his heart.
With a few swift tugs, Emelia loosened Drake’s tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt. She pulled him down for another kiss, sliding her hips to the edge of the desk to meet him.
He kissed her harder, deeper, plunging his tongue into her mouth. Emelia met him stroke for stroke, and in one hard jerk, shoved his shirt down past his shoulders. On a moan, Drake tugged Emelia against him, her warm center flush against his straining shaft. He had to strip off her clothes and eliminate the cotton-blend barrier between them. He was de
sperate to feel the long spread of her legs wrap around him.
A symphony of knocks rapped on the door.
Brakes.
Emelia gasped, rolling off the desk as Drake backed away, stunned by what he—they—were about to do.
“One minute,” he called out, shrugging into his shirt.
Scrambling to pick up the things she’d swiped to the floor, Emelia whispered something to herself that sounded like “way to go.” After retying his tie and failing to hide his massive erection by pressing down the front of his slacks, Drake crouched and helped gather scattered pens and papers.
“I didn’t plan for this to happen, I should’ve—”
“Sir,” Raul said, pounding on the door twice more. “I’ve got Wilder Air on the phone and neither of your secretaries is out here to take the call. They need to know which jet you’d prefer to take to the Vanguard Gala.”
Damn it. The charity event was this Saturday. He’d nearly forgotten.
He couldn’t leave Emelia alone. Not when they still hadn’t figured out which rogue group her attacker belonged to. He’d never live with himself if he left her behind and something horrible happened.
“Listen,” he said, brushing her hand over a paper tray. “I have this thing going on Saturday night and I usually bring someone from the office along as my guest. Would you like to go with me?”
“I…umm…” Emelia shook her head as if she was in some sort of daze. “I don’t think—”
“Sir, is everything all right?” Raul hollered.
“One minute!” Drake wrapped his fingers around Emelia’s hand. Her skin was warm to the touch, buzzing through his palm. Would the connection between them ever fade? “It’s a business function with a lot of people from the San Francisco office. It’ll probably be a bore, but at least it’ll get you out of Seattle for the weekend. Have you ever been to the city?”
She shook her head, sending blond tendrils of hair tumbling past her shoulders. He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like glammed up. She’d be radiant. Showstopping. On second thought, they’d be in a crowded ballroom with hundreds of men gawking at her. He’d claw out every eyeball that veered her way. Drake clamped down on the possessive surge before it got him in trouble.
“The city’s beautiful; you’d love it.” Thankful his slacks no longer pitched at the groin, Drake stood and helped Emelia to her feet. “Say you’ll come with me.”
Staring as if she couldn’t believe what was happening, Emelia’s lips parted into what Drake read as a “yeah”…but no words came out.
“Is that a yes?”
More knocks. One slow nod.
It was a date…probably the most important one of his life.
Chapter Eight
Emelia was officially the dumbest woman on the planet. She was stupid. Beyond stupid. Mortifyingly, horrifyingly, moronically…stupid.
She stared at the deed she’d bought from Jared “Needles” Branch and fought to keep her mouth from gaping. Even now, five days after she’d realized that it was a fraud and that she’d been taken for a ride, her stomach still soured. She’d been so proud of the damn thing that she’d made a color copy, framed it, and hung it in the back room of the Knight Owl.
Tearing the garbage up and spitting on its pieces—and then in Needles’s ugly, tattooed face—never sounded so good.
Drake had been a gentleman after their meeting on Monday, smiling softly as he whisked in and out of the office, asking her politely to get his coffee or make a few office-supply runs. Even when Emelia had marched into his office, bright and early Tuesday morning, with her deed clutched in her fist, he’d been polite. Talked to her without the snide remarks that existed before.
Finally, he’d given her what she’d wanted all along: common decency.
He’d even brought in someone from the county with commercial plot maps and sale histories, and a banker with the transaction records to back his claim. All Emelia had was a piece of paper and the word of a lying snake.
Queen Stupid, at Drake‘s service.
After her ex ditched her at the altar, Emelia should’ve known better than to trust men. Especially ones who had their eyebrows replaced by arching tribal tattoos. It was that fact alone—that somewhere deep inside, she knew better—that had her apologizing to Drake for her rude comments the next day. He didn’t mock her, laugh in her face, or berate her as she’d expected him to…as she would’ve done in his position. Instead, he’d said, “It was simply a miscommunication. Don’t give it another thought.”
Drake Wilder had a heart after all.
He’d even said he would sell it back to her when she was on her feet, after she sued Needles for her money back. Things were looking up.
As the elevator dinged, indicating someone had reached the top floor, Emelia fed her deed into the shredder, and suddenly remembered all those papers she’d destroyed of Drake’s the first day.
“Shit.” Her gaze shifted to Trixie’s desk. How could she find out what those papers were and replace them? Drake might’ve been content with her for the time being, but when he found out what she did, he’d be livid.
“Your dress came,” Trixie said, barreling around the corner swinging a black garment bag.
“Oh yeah? Bring it here.” Emelia cleared a spot for the dress as Trixie laid it out and waited impatiently for Emelia to give it the unzip.
Emelia had tried to forget about the Vanguard Gala all week, but Drake’s reminder e-mails didn’t help. She felt foolish, and wasn’t looking forward to bathing in uncomfortable silence all weekend. She’d been ridiculous for fighting a point she should’ve known to be false. She’d apologized. Drake had accepted her apology. Still, Emelia’s behavior was inexcusable. She’d shredded his documents, conveniently forgotten to relay messages, and had even started switching his black coffee for decaf, little by little, hoping he would be groggy and unmanageable in front of his business associates.
To make matters worse, Drake had been so damned kind through the whole thing. He’d been disgustingly…understanding.
She had to make it up to him somehow. She would be the best date he’d ever brought to the Vanguard Gala, on her best behavior.
“What are you waiting for?” Trixie asked.
“I don’t know.” Nerves danced in Emelia’s veins, and tingled through her arms. “Maybe I should wait to put it on until I get home.”
“Oh no, you’re not going to deny me this. If you’re not going to be excited about it, I’ll do it for you. Mr. Wilder always picks the attire for this event. Last year he bought me a McLourdes, the most expensive and elegant on the line. It was silver and flowing with diamonds at the collar.” Trixie smiled as if she wore the dress now, and seemed to glow from its memory. It should’ve been a crime for a woman to have brains, sensibility, and beauty that rivaled a model’s. “Aren’t you even a little anxious to see what he got you?”
Emelia hadn’t gotten dressed up for a formal event in years…since prom, probably. While she’d always loved to dress up, she’d never found an excuse, and had never had a boyfriend who would agree to take her somewhere that required it.
“Yeah,” she shrugged, playing down her feelings. “I guess.”
Staring at the long, black bag, Emelia couldn’t squelch the excitement that bubbled in her belly. Drake could afford to buy from the most expensive stores on the planet. They were attending a benefit gala in San Francisco, a place she’d always dreamed of going. There were going to be celebrities at the event, Wilder coworkers from across the country, and Forbes businessmen. It was a black-tie affair, which meant anything could be in the bag: Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana. Emelia shuddered with anticipation as a single name streaked through her thoughts: Vera.
“Well, come on!” Trixie waved her hand impatiently. “Unzip it, or I will.”
“All right.” Emelia unzipped as Trixie peeled apart the bag opening.
“Oh my—” Trixie gasped, hand to mouth, as the zipper hit the bottom of the bag, revea
ling the entire dress.
“It’s”—air wheezed past Emelia’s lips—“pretty?”
The dress was a hodgepodge of cotton and lace, full length, flat black, and full-collared. It was perfect…for a nun in training. A blind nun. Who picked her own clothing. From Walmart.
“This has to be a mistake.” Trixie backed away like the dress was covered in maggots. “I must’ve picked up the wrong bag from the designer.”
Speechless, Emelia checked the tag. No mistake. The garb was hers. She pulled it out by its hanger and held it up, then met Trixie’s mortified gaze. “Is this what women wear to these things?”
“Oh honey.” Trixie’s hand found Emelia’s shoulder as if she were consoling her after a death in Emelia’s family. “What has gotten into that man?”
Things never worked out as Emelia dreamed. She should’ve been used to that by now.
“If this is what Mr. Wilder wants me to wear, I’ll do it.” She owed him at least that much. “It’s just so…”
“Morticia Addams?”
“Uh-huh.”
Gazing far off, Trixie twirled a strand of caramel-colored hair around her finger. “What time is Mr. Wilder picking you up tomorrow?”
“He’s sending the limo to my place at noon. Why?”
“I want to know how much time I have to get Cinderella ready for the ball. Fairy godmothers don’t work well under time crunches, you know.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t mess with it. I mean, this is his event and I’m attending as his date.” The word sent chills racing to her middle. “I wouldn’t want to toss this aside and wear something different. I wouldn’t want to…offend him.”
She’d done enough of that already.
“Oh sweetie,” Trixie exhaled, her full lips quirking into a smile. “If he wants you to wear black, we don’t want to disappoint him. But if you leave everything else to me, I promise you that Mr. Wilder won’t be offended by your new dress. Not one bit.”
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