by Lauren Dawes
And holy hell.
Looking like that should be illegal. He was a beautiful male, his body stacked with muscles. She wondered what his chest would’ve felt like under her fingers or tongue. Lower still, his abdominals were so sharp they threw their own shadows, and she’d had to curl her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palm, to stop herself from reaching for him.
He was dangerous—dangerous for her self-control because she’d never paid too much attention to males and what they could offer, but Drake was…different.
“Neve?”
“Fine,” she croaked. Clearing her throat, she added, “I slept fine. Just fine.”
His mouth curled into a grin. “That was a lot of fines.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s because I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” He cocked his head. “In fact, you’re angry but also…aroused.”
She jerked around to look at him. “I beg your pardon!”
His lids lowered, no doubt picturing exactly what had been running through her head earlier. “Am I wrong?”
Christ, his voice seemed to caress her with invisible fingers. “I’m pissed off.” He smirked, and she wanted to slap it from his face. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“Am I?” he replied in a drawl.
“You’re trying to distract me from my first question.”
“Is it working?”
She didn’t dignify his question with an answer. He was such an asshole.
“Look, I understand why you’re angry.”
“Do you?” she spat. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been placed under house arrest and watched every single minute of the day.”
“No, I haven’t,but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand how you must be feeling. You’re a strong female,” he said with a smokey purr. “You like to do things when you want, how you want, and your father has put some pretty big fucking shackles on your delicate wrists and called them jewelry.”
Oh, she resented that tone, but she resented the truth he spoke even more. Not bothering to give him a reply, she folded her arms and looked out the window.
“It’ll be easier once we get to my compound.”
A compound? She wasn’t sure if that was just another word for jail.
“You’ll have your own room, your own space, and as long as you don’t leave the house without telling me, you can have all the freedom you want.”
“That doesn’t sound like freedom.”
“What does it sound like to you?” he countered.
Turning to face him, she said, “Like I’m swapping one cage for another.”
She tensed when he reached out and touched her knee, causing her heart to pound. She frowned at his hand, like it was solely responsible for her reaction. As if her whole body was on board with sabotaging her, her brain threw out a fantasy, one where Drake kissed her, his mouth devouring her own like he was a starving male.
“What are you thinking about, Neve?” he asked again, his voice thick—low. When she didn’t immediately reply, he squeezed her thigh firmly but not painfully. “What are you thinking about?”
She wasn’t about to tell him where her head really was, because that was so far in the gutter, she’d have to scrub her skin raw afterward. She wasn’t sure what it was about him, but Drake teased emotions and feelings from her that no other male had been able to do. Sure, he was ornery and irritable, but she realized it was just a front. He was playing the tough guy, but underneath all that was a male who obviously cared, because why else would he be taking this situation so personally, why would he be driving her back to his own house to care for her?
Because that’s what your father asked of him, a traitorous voice whispered.
She licked her lips and turned her face to him. “How much further until we get there?”
“Not long. We’re taking the next exit.”
They eventually turned off the highway and continued up a mountain road that wound slowly up, up, up. Drake slowed the car when they got to a set of wrought iron gates, rolling down the window to punch in a code. The gates swung open slowly, and then they were moving again.
Another set of gates-and-keypad combo later, and they rolled up a graveled circular drive where a yellow Ducati motorbike, a red GT, and twin silver Mercedes GLCs were parked out front. She eyed the cars, wondering how many Shadows lived there and who funded them.
“There are five of us,” Drake murmured from beside her. “And shrewd investments in the human stock market keep us well supplied.”
It was like he’d read her thoughts. Either that, or she’d spoken the words out loud without even realizing it.
“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”
Unbuckling her belt, she got out and went around to the trunk to get her bag. But Drake was already there, throwing her duffel over his shoulder like it weighed nothing at all. As she turned around, she stared up at the red-brick mansion that looked better suited in the English countryside rather than the Wyoming wilderness. This was his compound? There was even a formal English rose garden planted on either side of the path, box hedges keeping the lavender from spilling out over the path. Did they have a staff here? The idea that Drake tended to the gardening seemed so ridiculous that she almost laughed.
“That’s Sasha’s pet project,” Drake said, gesturing to the garden beds.
“Sasha?”
“I’ll introduce you later. Come on.”
As she walked up the path, she studied the thick windows, and if they were anything like the door directly in front of her, she suspected bulletproof glass filled the panes. They passed through the door and into a grand foyer that matched the outside façade. Warm honey-colored parquetry floor stretched from wall to wall and into the two adjoining rooms she could see. There was a fainting couch angled in the corner along with a large tapestry that depicted a pride of black jaguars hunting together hanging on the wall above a doorway in the double-height space.
In the center of the foyer was an ornate round table with a tinted glass top. It was bare, but she thought it would look nice with a vase of flowers or maybe a sculpture on there. The round rug beneath it matched the warm tones of the wood, the slightly Greco-Roman pattern near the outer edge disappearing into floral rosettes.
“That’s the rec room,” Drake announced, pointing to the room on the left. She peered inside to find more of the parquetry floors as well as a huge TV and foosball table. With those large banks of windows along two sides of the room, though, she thought it looked like a formal sitting parlor, especially as there was a set of French doors leading out into what looked like another formal garden.
“And the dining room that nobody ever uses,” Drake continued, walking across the foyer to a room with a large boardroom style table in the center. There were a lot of seats set around it. Maybe this was where the meeting her father had attended had happened? As she turned to leave, she glanced out one of the three floor-to-ceiling windows, gaze lingering on the garden. When the flowers were blooming, it would be amazing to see.
“And the guest wing is up here,” he said, gesturing to the grand sweeping staircase in the middle of the foyer. She followed him up, his long, powerful strides taking him up to the landing in only a few seconds. She was still down in the foyer, vacillating between awe and hesitance.
“Are you coming?” His dark voice traveled down to her ears.
“Yeah, just taking everything in,” she replied. Seriously, this was where the Shadows lived?
Putting one foot in front of the other, she padded up the stairs, reaching the landing where Drake was standing. She glanced to her left and right. There were doors going down the hallway with paintings in bulky guilt frames hanging in between them.
“This way,” he told her, leading her toward a room just a little down the blood-red carpet runner. Placing her bag down, he opened the door and gestured for her to go in.
She stepped inside, finding a room that w
as really not prepared for a guest. The bed was a bare mattress placed into the frame of a four-poster bed in the middle of one wall, and that was it. There was no other furniture except for a small mounted TV in the corner. Drake strode toward one of the only other doors in the room and opened it up, stepping inside.
Neve moved closer and realized that was the closet. She was about to go and check it out when Drake reappeared. They stared at each other for a moment before he said, “The bathroom is through here.” He gestured to the other door, and she nodded. “Do you want to have a look?”
“Maybe in a minute,” Neve replied, rubbing her sweaty palms against the tops of her thighs. She was aware that it was just him and her in the room then, like her brain hadn’t gotten the newsflash until now.
Obviously taking her nerves for fear, he said seriously, “You’ll be safe here, Neve. I know you don’t feel like you have a lot of freedom or choice right now, but this is for the best.”
“You sound like my father.”
He couldn’t hide his grimace, like the reminder was unpalatable for some reason. “We both want the same thing, so I’ll take that.” He glanced at the unmade bed. “I’ll go and get some sheets and a quilt.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she replied crisply. “This isn’t a hotel. Just tell me where I can find them.”
“You’re my…guest,” he bit out, and she could’ve sworn he’d wanted to say something else instead. Pain-in-the-ass maybe? “Let me make you comfortable.”
He stalked from the room, leaving Neve to pace for a moment. Drake was such a confusing male. On the one hand, he was prickly and downright mean, but on the other, he showed her father a level of respect that went beyond a pride member and his Leo.
She turned when he reappeared with a bundle of folded sheets in his hands and a down quilt under his arm. She took them from him before he could protest, the need to stay busy driving her insane. Placing the quilt on the ground because there was nowhere else to put it, she snapped out the sheets and settled them on the mattress.
Drake stepped forward to help her, but she stopped him with a glare.
“No,” she barked, then let out a breath. “No, thank you. I don’t need your help with this. You’re already doing enough.”
“I would do anything for you, Neve,” he said so softly, she wasn’t even sure she’d heard him.
She jerked her head up and stared at him. “Anything except let me out of this place, right?”
“I can’t allow you to leave unaccompanied.”
She bit back the urge to scream in frustration. Instead, she folded her arms and said sweetly, “What if I climb out the window when your back is turned? What will you do then?”
It was stupid to bait a male like Drake into anything, but her wounded independence was making her act out in strange ways…or maybe it was just Drake who had a habit of needling her and getting under her skin.
“You wouldn’t get far if you did,” he drawled dangerously.
“Already forgotten how much faster I am than you?” Her voice was practically dripping with honey—a diabetic seizure-inducing amount.
He growled at her. Actually growled. “On four legs, sweetheart. I can beat you on two.”
She huffed and turned around, getting back to making up the bed to keep herself busy.
“Seriously, though, Neve, stay here until I come and get you. It’s not safe for you to wander around out there by yourself.”
Without looking away from her work, she said, “Why? Have you got a serial killer stashed away down there somewhere?”
“Worse. I’ve got a jaguar with very poor impulse control.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and nodded, only to get him off her back. What was that saying? Pick your battles. His heavy footsteps retreated from the room, and she let out a breath. After finishing off making the bed, she wandered into the walk-in closet and unpacked her clothes, hanging them up or tucking them into the drawers.
All that fussing around had only killed twenty minutes. What the hell was she going to do now? She hadn’t checked out the bathroom yet. Easing the door open, she felt her brows rise when she saw how opulent it was. She was expecting something that matched the Georgian styling of the bedroom, but was surprised to see it was wall-to-ceiling cream marble. She glanced down at the floor when the soles of her feet warmed as she stood there. She’d been badgering her dad to get in-floor heating in the bathrooms for years.
Lifting her head, she spied the large walk-in shower, a huge sheet of tinted glass the only thing protecting the bathroom from being completely swamped by water when the dual rain showerheads were working their magic.
Beneath the sinks, she found a supply of toiletries in addition to enough towels to keep a football team going. There was also a small arsenal of painkillers, bandages, and saline wash. She figured the first aid stash was more for the Shadows if they got injured out in the field, and even though Drake had said this was a guest room, she wondered who their regular guests were.
Out of the bathroom, she flopped down onto the bed and tried to relax. She hated being confined, or maybe imprisoned was a better word. Drake had said not to leave, and the order made her skin itch. The only male she listened to was her Leo, but even then she liked to push the boundaries to see how far she could take it. Besides, if she had to stare at the four walls for much longer, she’d be liable to throw open the window and make good on her threats to escape.
Sliding from the bed, she opened up her bedroom door and peered out into the hall. There was parquetry flooring running the length of the hall up here too, but the dark red runner helped dampen her footsteps. She headed toward the stairs, leaning over the railing and scanning the large foyer for any movement. When she didn’t see any, she eased down the stairs, pausing when she heard two voices drifting out of the dining room. Neither of them belonged to Drake, so she turned to the right and poked her head into the rec room, only to find it empty.
She studied the space, taking in the wet bar at one end and the outrageously large flat-screen on the wall. She was backing out when she ran into something hard and unyielding. Spinning around, she tensed for a fight, but relaxed when she saw a red-streaked, blond-haired male standing there. He smiled at her, and her heart suddenly squeezed in her chest. The smile wasn’t friendly—it was predatory, and Drake’s words filtered through her mind.
The male’s nostrils flared as he took in her scent, his violet eyes glowing with knowledge. She backed up a step, feeling like prey caught in the sights of a predator. She looked over his shoulder for an escape route, even as he walked her backward until her ass hit the back of the couch.
Reaching out casually, he picked up some of her dark hair, rubbing it between his fingers. The muscles in his forearms flexed, making the sienna ink marking his skin dance. The swirls were hypnotic.
“Who do you belong to, huh?” he asked with a small frown. “Bringing females back here is forbidden, so I can’t imagine you’re Grayson’s. Jett’s been MIA a lot the last couple of days, so that leaves Sasha. I didn’t think she was into females, but I’m happy she is.”
She let out a breath, then using her best firm voice, the one she’d used on occasion with some of the cats in her pride, she said, “I don’t belong to anyone. Now, I suggest you back off and let me go.”
“I can’t let you wander around this place without an escort.” He stepped closer, pressing his body into hers, his erection prodding at her stomach. “How about you come back to my room with me? I’ll take real good care of you.”
She fought back the shiver as he ran the back of his fingers up and down her bare arm. Showing weakness to a male like this would be disastrous.
“Mateo.” Drake’s voice was as loud as a crack of thunder, and no less deadly.
The corner of Mateo’s mouth curled up in the corner, revealing sharper than human canine teeth. “Don’t worry, Drake. I can share.”
“Do. Not. Touch. Her.”
When Mateo only leaned in to sniff her hair, a low growl soon become an all-out snarl. One second, Mateo was there, and the next, he was gone. There was a crash, and the foosball table was suddenly nothing more than splintered wood, twisted metal rods, and abandoned plastic players. Drake was standing over Mateo, his shoulders heaving with his breaths, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
Neve shuffled closer, and Drake turned his violent stare to her. Marching forward, he grabbed her by the arm and turned toward the doorway. As he walked past a still-stunned Mateo, he hissed, “Mine.”
She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the look of confusion flashing in those lilac eyes of his.
Out in the foyer, he walked her past the round table and the fainting couch, moving into a kitchen that was just beyond an arched door. Once the door was shut, Drake backed her against the wall, covering her body with his and caging her in with his arms.
“Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?” he asked, staring at her intensely, cupping her face in his hands.
She pulled his hands away irritably. She hated being coddled. “I’m fine,” she replied.
Drake’s nostrils flared gently. That was when she noticed his whole body was as tight as a coil. His cat was taking more control, staking a claim on his brain. Even though it killed her, she tilted her head and bared her throat to him. She may have been playing the submissive, but she wasn’t stupid—she kept her eyes on his face.
“I’m fine,” she said in a low, soothing voice. Reaching for his hands, she placed them on her hips and his fingers dug in almost painfully. “I’m fine.”
He blinked, his cat staring out for a long moment before melting back into his mind. Drake sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, his thumbs stroking her skin through her shirt.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice like gravel.
