Gone With the Wolf (7 page)

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 desperate 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, revealing 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.”

Something mischievous sparked behind Trixie’s eyes. Emelia stared at the black burlap sack flattened across her desk, and although she had no idea what Trixie had in mind, it couldn’t be worse than
that
.

“Okay,” Emelia said, with a decisive nod. “What’s the plan?”

As Trixie put an arm over her shoulder and led her to the elevators, Emelia couldn’t help but feel like this moment was a game-changer in a game she never really understood in the first place.

…

Drake’s chest was going to implode. He checked his watch. Again.

One thirty.

When Drake had arrived at Emelia’s apartment at noon, right on time, Emelia had told him she was running late and asked if he wouldn’t mind waiting downstairs for a few minutes.

An hour and a half was more waiting than he could afford. With the ride to the airport, flight time, and the ride to the gala, they were already pushing it. While he hated parties, galas, and benefits where stares and whispers were the norm, he couldn’t be late to this one. The Vanguard Gala had always been special to him, and he needed to get there early to make sure everything was in order, the way he’d arranged it. He’d ordered his top packmates to guard the hall in the case there was another attack. They should’ve been there already, waiting for his orders.

With a huff and one last glance at his watch, Drake pushed off the limo and strode across the sidewalk. And stopped in his tracks when he spotted the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen descend from the stairs ahead of him.

A stunning black dress hugged Emelia’s curves, sucking against her breasts and hips. Layers of soft black fabric flared at the knee like billowing flowers falling to the ground. Her body was covered in stripes of black and beige, although the beige made it look like she was nude beneath stringy black fabric, which made Drake’s stomach tighten with anxiety. As Drake raised his gaze up the floral neckline to Emelia’s shimmering pale lips and dark, smoke-colored eye makeup, he realized the night was definitely not going to go as planned. He stared so long without blinking that his eyes dried and stuck to his lids. He rubbed them quickly and licked his lips to return the moisture.

“Sorry for making you wait,” she said, once she’d reached the sidewalk. She did a little spin, revealing her exposed back and the bunching black fabric that gathered just above her rear. “What do you think?”

Good god.
Her back was tan and smooth, her shoulders rounded with silken muscle dropping to a tiny, sexy waist.

He couldn’t formulate a coherent sentence if he tried, so he nodded and swallowed down the desire to tell her how absolutely exquisite she looked. How he was so proud that she would be on his arm tonight.

“What happened to the other dress?” The one he’d chosen to ensure no other men would get any crazy ideas about stealing his date. Drake swallowed cotton balls. “The, uh, black one.”

Emelia shrugged, her bare shoulders tapping loose tendrils of blond curls that dangled from the coil on the back of her head. “This one’s black, too, in case you didn’t notice.”

He’d noticed every last detail. The way her eyes shone a richer shade of blue, like the Aegean Sea after a drizzling rainstorm. He drank in the lean lines of her body, memorizing every last detail, every subtle curve.

How much longer was he going to be able to hold back from her? He’d planned on telling her everything when the time was right, but it seemed every time they got close, there was something between them—the deed issue, the biker, the questions about her fiancé. Normally, time wouldn’t have been an issue. He could’ve introduced Emelia to his world slowly, so the adjustment period would be smooth and manageable. But the longer Drake waited, the more their connection increased. It was like a magnet had taken up residence in their chests and sucked them together when they were close. He couldn’t take things further until she knew the truth. He couldn’t deceive her that way, yet he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her, either.

And he couldn’t help but think about where their relationship was headed. She was
human.
Even if she found out about their world and accepted it, she would have to know she could never have children and a family. Not if she bonded with him.

He’d always wanted an heir. Had always wanted someone to take over the pack when he was old and out of his prime. But he’d wanted to have a partner in life and love as well. Maybe only having one of those things would be enough…

“You look amazing,” he said, opening the door of the limo. “Who do I have to thank for your last-minute wardrobe change?”

She settled into the seat, Drake beside her, and they were off.

“Trixie thought the occasion called for a bit more flair.”

Drake huffed, hiding the swell in his pants with his tuxedo coat. “I bet she did.”

They drove to the airport, talking the entire way about what to expect for the evening. Emelia needed to know this was business first, pleasure second, and that there would be heightened security measures at the hall. He assured her it was all for precautionary purposes.

She believed every word of it.

The limo pulled into the airport and passed a few guard stations, then stopped in front of a private jet. The stairs had been pulled down and a red carpet had been laid out.

“Hold the phone. We’re taking this?” Emelia asked, peering beneath the doorframe. Her perfume was rich and sweet, smelling like warm honey melted over vanilla, and wafted around Drake as she leaned over to get a better look. “This is intense.”

He’d been thinking the same thing.

“I can guarantee the night will only get more intense from here,” he said, and had no idea how he was going to handle it.