Gone With the Wolf (6 page)

“You should probably see a doctor.” Drake’s entire body stiffened like one of his statues.

“I bruise easy,” she said. “It’s the pale skin.”

Drake responded with a clench of his jaw and a slow nod of his head. Emelia couldn’t explain it, but she got the feeling he wanted to apologize for something. It couldn’t be the apology Emelia hoped for, the one she deserved for putting up with his bullshit about the deed to her building, because he didn’t know the true reason she’d taken the job at his company. He’d obviously screwed so many people out of their small business that he couldn’t remember their names.

Why was he looking at her that way? She needed to get out of his house so she could think without feeling that Drake was studying her every move. Emelia eyed the door, wondering where she’d go when she walked through it. “Where’s my car and all my stuff?”

“Your things are in the closet in the foyer. Your car is at EC’s Tow and Repair. They’ll have the damage fixed by the end of next week.”

“Wonderful,” she said, crossing the marble entry beneath a teardrop-shaped chandelier. Now she had to waste money on a rental, when she should be using it on legal fees to figure out the dilemma with Wilder Financial. As she thought about the possibility of being stuck in a lawsuit with Drake over the true and rightful ownership of her bar, a strange sensation tugged deep within her chest. It wasn’t guilt. Couldn’t be. She pulled her coat, purse, and phone from the closet, then flicked her phone to life and searched for a cab company to get home.

“You’re welcome to drive one of my cars until yours is fixed.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Somewhere in his mansion, Mozart began to play, trickling soft notes into the foyer. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I should go.”

In a flash of movement, Drake blocked the door, outstretching his hand as if he had no intention of letting Emelia leave. She gasped, stopping as his palm brushed over her stomach. Pinpricks of heat bloomed over her skin. His chest was a wall of thickly corded muscle, his eyes a luxurious shade of honey-brown.

“I’d feel better knowing you weren’t taking a cab to and from work,” he said.

What did she care about making him feel better?

“I’ll rent a car.” Emelia covered the hand he’d placed over her stomach, and kneaded her fingers between his. Raw, animalistic hunger flickered across Drake’s expression…until Emelia lifted his hand and returned it to his side. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Emelia?” His gravelly voice laced with hints of pain.

She froze, staring at the notches in the ancient wood door, unable to look at him. The chemistry sparking between them was fierce and palpable, speeding her breathing. She couldn’t afford to feel any of those things, so she stared straight ahead, channeling a faceless, emotionless zombie.

“What?” she said finally, failing miserably at the whole zombie thing.

“I already have a car waiting out front.” He leaned down, his breath warm on her neck. “Considering you’re bruised and just waking up from a long sleep, I think it’s best that I drive you home…for safety reasons.”

As he pulled back, Emelia glared, her lips twisting as annoyance bubbled inside her. She should’ve told him to buzz off, but before she could open her mouth to fight him on the issue, Drake put a finger to her lips, shushing her. The pad of his finger was surprisingly calloused for a guy who pushed papers all day, but the pressure against her skin was soft. Gentle. His finger reminded Emelia of his kiss, the way his lips moved against hers in a sensual caress. He took back his finger like she’d burned him. Then blocked the entire doorway, his arms folded over his chest.

“You’re not leaving this house until you agree to let me drive you home.” Two stalemated beats. “Emelia, say yes.”

Drake may’ve been used to controlling things in the boardroom, but he wouldn’t control her. Not now. Not ever. She stood tall and raised her chin so that she looked down her nose at him. “Make me.”

His nostrils flared as he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed no more than a bag of feathers. She squealed, kicking her feet as he swept through the front door. Despite his speed and strength, Drake seemed oddly aware of where Emelia hurt—not a single hint of pain struck her as he bent her over his shoulder and carried out the door. She was strapped into the passenger seat of a black Mercedes, her stuff flung onto her lap, before she could argue.

For the first time in Emelia’s life, she was struck speechless.

Chapter Seven

Clouds rolled in Monday morning, encasing the entire city in thick plumes of mist and fog. Drake wasn’t in the mood to get down to business quite yet, and the dreary weather wasn’t helping to motivate him. After Raul pulled files on the Knight Owl, the building on Porter Street, and Emelia Hudson’s past, all Drake could think about was cornering Emelia the instant she stepped off the elevator.

They had to talk, to straighten things out regarding the building, and how he came to purchase it. He was certain that’s why she was mad at him. Drake read the e-mails she’d sent. She’d been wrong on all counts regarding her deed and wouldn’t listen to reason. Since she wouldn’t quit with the e-mails, all messages past the first dozen had been sent straight to Raul’s spam folder. He could’ve answered an e-mail or two, but it wouldn’t have mattered legally. The facts were black and white.

Once they hashed things out, once Emelia saw the deed to her building in Drake’s hand, he had questions for her. Questions about something personal that Raul discovered—she’d applied for a marriage license one month before taking the job at Wilder. She’d accepted a proposal of marriage. In Drake’s pack, that meant that she was off-limits. Untouchable.

What happened to her fiancé? Public records didn’t show a marriage and she’d never mentioned it. The whole thing didn’t sit right with him. His coffee tasted bland, though that could’ve been because he came in early and made it himself, and his coat clung to his shoulders too tightly.

As Drake strode around the last corner and spotted Emelia slumped over her keyboard, he cleared his throat. She gasped, nearly jumped out of her chair. “Drake? I—”

“In my office,” he said, shoving open the office door. They needed to get the deed business over with so they could move on to more pressing things. Like when she’d been claimed by another.

“I wasn’t sleeping, I swear,” Emelia said, following his every step. “I was thinking…with my head down.”

“I don’t care.” He strode to the windows and went palms-down on the glass. The cold lancing through his fingers did little to soothe the possessiveness flaring in his gut.

“I should get back out there.”

“Stay,” he commanded and then on second thought, added, “Please.”

“I’m not supposed to leave my desk.” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. “What if someone calls or comes in?”

“Let Trixie take the calls,” Drake spun around, holding his breath as he brushed past her.

“Trixie’s not here. She had to run an errand downstairs.”

“We’re going to straighten out this mess with your bar,” Drake said, laying everything on the table. “And we’re going to do it now.”

Emelia stood in the center of his office, her mouth gaping as if he’d surprised her. She owned the hardworking secretary image with black dress pants that stove-piped to the floor, and a baby-blue sweater with crinkles of extra fabric at the collar. She was a chameleon, Drake gave her that much, able to adapt to the secretary role as easily as she had the bartending one.

“I know I said we should talk in the morning, but maybe we should talk about this later…when you don’t look like you’re about to kill someone.” She took a step toward him, hesitating when he put his hands up to stop her. It was better if she didn’t get too close—he wouldn’t be intoxicated by her sugary sweet scent that way. “There’s more bothering you than you’re saying. What’s going on?”

What
was
going on? Drake’s entire body was drawn tight, a rubber band stretched to the limit. Barely holding on to the thread of composure, Drake strode to his desk and flipped open a manila envelope filled with copies of e-mails between her and Raul. “When do you claim to have bought the building on Porter Street?”

“When do I
claim
to have bought it?” Emelia mocked. She coughed out a laugh. “Good choice of words. Way to rob me of my bar in one fell swoop. I own that building. The Knight Owl is mine.”

“When did you buy it and from whom?”

“Eight years ago, January.” Folding her arms over her chest, Emelia sighed, then set her gaze on his mouth. “I bought it from the guy who owned the tattoo parlor next door. I’d leased from him for years, and one day he dropped in and showed me the deed to the entire building. He said the county rezoned and informed him that he could split off the bar from the tattoo parlor. He asked for fifty grand.”

“Quite the steal, even for a building in that rough neighborhood.” Drake circled his desk and perched on the edge, crossing his feet at the ankles. It staved off the urge to kick something. Barely. “So you just handed it over?”

With a cynical string of laughs, Emelia plopped into the leather seat facing him. He fought to keep his eyes level with hers and off the cleavage revealed from the drooping slouch of her sweater. His heart continued to race, meddling with his logic.

“You forget there are people who work years to make that kind of money.” Emelia paused, and then, “I cut corners where I could, eating ramen and macaroni and cheese for months on end. I pinched pennies, couponed, worked sixteen-hour days, opening up the bar early for karaoke nights or live bands. I advertised. I sweat and bled. I was the owner, the accountant, the janitor, the historian, the hostess…I was everything. When it wasn’t enough, I took side jobs waitressing during the day. It was damn hard, but I still couldn’t save enough. The rest of the balance I put on credit cards.”

Shit, Emelia was in deeper than he thought. “Why not get a loan through a bank so the transaction would be legit?”

“He said he’d dock the sale price ten grand if I kept the banks out of it. He claimed to own the building free and clear, and had the deed to prove it, so why not? I paid him cash, and he handed me my deed. I thought I owned the place…until
you
sent me a notice claiming to have bought the entire building.”

Emelia’s accusations rang loud and clear. She believed that Drake had destroyed everything she’d worked for, everything she’d put her heart into. He remembered how she’d been in the bar—assertive and confident, proud that the place was built on her sweat and tears. She’d taken something that was sheer business and had made it personal. No wonder she hated him.

“We’re going to get a couple things straight.” Drake watched her cheeks redden, and waited for steam to seep from her ears, but the train raced on. “Wilder Financial sent you the notice of purchase, not me. The board holds a meeting, we look at groups of property that are worth more than the sale price, I approve or deny the project, and it goes through. We donate certain properties to the city and rebuild others. We go through banks. We check county records. Everything we do is by the book, all the time. If the scheme between you and Tattoo Parlor Guy didn’t pan out, that has little to do with me or Wilder Financial.”

“You ass.” She stood with the spirit of a fighter—a short, spunky, blue-eyed featherweight who’d pull a muscle before she hurt someone.

If Drake wasn’t drawn so tight, he might’ve laughed at the contrast between the softness of Emelia’s appearance and the feisty show she put on. If she were a wolf, Drake thought, she’d be petite, with lean muscles and a sleek stride. A young wolf who thought she could snarl and growl and raise the fur on the back of her neck to frighten away packmates, even though they could take her down with the strike of a paw.

“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.