Mastered (The Enforcers #1) (13 page)

Justice sighed. Drake had stepped in it this time. Evangeline just wasn't like the other women, and that was going to cause Drake a lot of trouble. Provided he kept her long enough for it to become an issue.

Evangeline kept casting furtive looks in Justice's direction. He didn't turn to face her, not wanting to cause awkwardness. Instead he continued to study her from his periphery. Several times, she inhaled and opened her mouth only to promptly shut it and turn back to the window.

She obviously wanted to ask or say something but was too shy to do so. Why he found that so charming, he had no idea, but at the same time, the thought of her being afraid of him didn't sit well at all. And that thought was even more ludicrous because he, like his brothers, cultivated healthy fear and respect from others. But the idea of Drake's woman being afraid to say something to him? It turned his stomach.

“Evangeline?”

She whirled her head around guiltily and met his gaze a split second before lowering her lashes and nervously fixing her stare on the space between them on the seat.

Impulsively, he reached over and covered her hand with his, feeling her jump beneath his touch. Controlling his frown, he squeezed comfortingly.

“Look at me, Evangeline.”

Though it was a command, his voice was soft and encouraging.

Cautiously she raised her chin so that her deep blue eyes fringed in dark eyelashes met his.

“There something you want to ask me? I don't bite. Well, unless you ask me politely,” he finished with a grin.

She blinked, startled by the teasing remark, and then to his surprise she burst out laughing.

Dear God, in that moment he was so fucking envious of Drake that he was tempted to instruct the driver to take them to his place, and he'd do his best to make her forget all about Drake Donovan. He'd just tell Drake that the lady changed her mind. He mentally smacked himself on the head and shut down that train of thought. Drake was his brother, as were all the men closest to him. But . . . If Drake stayed true to form and this was a short-lived affair, then Justice would be waiting. Although something told him Evangeline was going to be a game changer for Drake. Whether he knew it or not.

“Evangeline?” he prompted when she remained quiet, though her eyes still sparkled with mirth.

“Uh, Mr. . . .”

She looked to him in sudden confusion.

“Justice,” he said gently. “My name is Justice. No Mister. I imagine we'll be seeing one another frequently, so there's no need for formality.”

She seemed to ponder his statement, the laughter fading from her eyes, replaced by unease and confusion. This was a woman who had no idea of her place in Drake's life. Drake had better rectify that soon or she'd be gone in a flash.

“Um, Justice, then, what time will Mr. Donovan, I mean Drake, be home, I mean back to his apartment?”

Her uncertainty was killing him. Damn, but he wanted to hug her just to comfort and reassure her, but if he did that, there was no
guarantee she'd ever get to Drake's apartment and then Drake would kill him. Or try.

He'd always adhered to the creed of a woman never coming between brothers, but at the moment he considered that some women might just be worth it. He mentally shook his head at the rueful thought and promptly stopped dwelling on what would never happen.

“Drake will be home at six and he doesn't want you to worry about dressing for dinner. He plans for the two of you to eat in tonight.”

Panic flared in her eyes and she yanked her hand from him, putting it with her other one, squeezing in agitation. She bit into her bottom lip, her mind obviously going a mile a minute.

“I need to stop at the nearest market,” she blurted. “Please?”

He stared at her, perplexed by the unexpected request and the fact that she was obviously upset about something. He shrugged. His orders had been to make Evangeline happy and allow her what she wanted as long as it was safe and Justice never left her side. He pressed the button to the intercom and instructed the driver to stop at the nearest grocery, and took in Evangeline's relief from the corner of his eye. Who knew what had set her off.

A few minutes later, they pulled to the front of a gourmet grocery store that was popular for its selection of the finest products and a wide variety of ethnic foods. Evangeline immediately popped out of the car before Justice could get out and go around to open her door, and she hurried toward the entrance, leaving Justice striding to catch up with her.

He caught her at the door and she regarded him with a frown.

“It's not necessary for you to go in with me. I'll only be a few minutes. You can wait in the car. I'm sure you've had your fill of shopping for the day.”

Justice frowned back at her, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

“It's necessary.”

She rolled her eyes, clearly disgruntled.

“Whatever,” she muttered as she proceeded inside the market.

She grabbed one of the small baskets to put her groceries in, which he promptly confiscated, eliciting another frown from her. Then, muttering to herself, she hurriedly made her way down each of the aisles, her face a study in intense concentration.

He wondered what the hell had prompted this unexpected grocery shopping expedition, but a quick look at her told him she was about to melt down, and the last thing he wanted on his hands was a hysterical female. So he kept quiet and followed her down the aisles, taking the things she picked and putting them into the basket he carried.

To his surprise, she didn't opt for the less expensive items. She chose the most expensive brand names, comparing them meticulously before making her final selection. At the meat counter, she stared at the offerings, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she pensively chewed her bottom lip.

Finally she opted for fresh fish and after handing him the wrapped fillets, she immediately turned and hurried to the section where wine was sold.

It was here she took the longest, staring and studying, muttering under her breath. Maybe the morning's shopping trip had been too much, because clearly she'd lost her mind.

In the end, she chose two bottles. One, an expensive red wine, the other an equally expensive and excellent-quality white.

After that, he thought she might well have lost her mind because she spent another fifteen minutes in the baking aisle, although he couldn't help peeking at the assortment of ingredients she put into the basket, his mouth watering at the possibilities of the delectable desserts that could be made with the things she'd purchased.

“I'm done,” she said, though a frown creased her brow as she stared at the items in the basket. Almost as if she were trying to think of anything she'd missed.

After a moment she strode toward the checkout, where Justice plopped the basket down. After the clerk rang up the purchases, Justice saw Evangeline's visible wince, and then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of carefully folded twenties. She looked anxiously at the total reflected on the cashier machine and back at the cash in her hand as if worried she wouldn't have enough to cover it. She slowly counted it out and heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the correct amount with one twenty to spare.

He frowned and caught her wrist just before she handed the clerk the cash. He sent her a look of reprimand and then swiped Drake's credit card to complete the purchase.

Evangeline didn't look happy with him, but hell if he was going to be the one to tell Drake that his woman had tried to pay for several hundred dollars' worth of groceries when she was, or rather had been, living in a shit apartment, working a shit job, struggling to make ends meet. He understood pride. All his brothers did. He—and they—respected it. But Drake would be one mean, pissed-off son of a bitch if he knew Evangeline had forked out money she so obviously needed to buy Drake food.

He grabbed the bags, refusing Evangeline's offer to help carry them, and headed to the entrance.

“Hardheaded too,” she muttered. “All these damn rules.”

At the car the driver was there to take the bags from Justice, and Justice turned to her, looking at her in obvious question.

“What are you talking about?”

She blushed as if she'd been caught out. Evidently she hadn't intended him to hear what she'd said.

“I was just adding another requirement to work at Impulse,” she said.

One eyebrow went up. “Oh? What requirements are you referring to?”

“Obviously you have to be hot and a badass to work at Impulse. I mean, there's not a single person working there who isn't beautiful or
a total badass. And just now I realized that there's obviously one more requirement. Hardheadedness.”

Justice threw back his head and laughed. He was still chuckling when he escorted Evangeline around the car so she could get in. He was shaking his head as he slid in next to her.

“Well, there went one of the so-called rules,” she muttered.

“Do I even want to know?” he asked.

“I left out never smiling as a requirement along with being a hot, hardheaded badass, but you just blew that rule, so I guess it's okay to smile occasionally.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Now can we go back to the apartment?” he asked in exasperation.

She sent him a disgruntled look. “If I had time, I'd make you shop for another few hours. Just to watch you suffer.”

He tried to choke back his laughter, but it escaped. He liked this woman, and he respected the hell out of her for remaining cool under pressure. It hadn't escaped him that the day had been an exercise in hell for her. Nor the fact that she was mortified that someone else was paying for her things.

“You'll do, Evangeline,” he said affectionately. “You'll do.”

“Well, thank God for that,” she grumbled. “I'd hate to get on the bad side of a hardheaded hot badass.”

He chuckled again and directed the driver to take them to Drake's apartment. As soon as he issued the order, the lighthearted mood was over and Evangeline became quiet and brooding. And rigid as hell. The entire ride to Drake's apartment, she looked like someone going to her execution.

Drake's car pulled into the alleyway of his apartment building, adjacent to the side entrance, and he quickly got out and strode inside. As he rode the elevator up, he loosened the neck of his buttoned-up shirt and divested himself of his suit coat, throwing it over one arm.

He realized he was restless. He'd been that way all day since leaving Evangeline in his bed this morning. There was an edginess to him that defied explanation. An urge to cement his relationship with Evangeline and outline his expectations so there would be no question of his intentions.

Tonight he would have her. But first, they'd have the discussion that had been brewing in his mind all day, followed by a casual, relaxed dinner, which would give her time to digest all he would say to her. And then he would take her, possess her. He would show her to whom she belonged now.

Fierce satisfaction gripped him, and he realized he hadn't anticipated the company of a woman so much in his life. For that matter, for the first time ever, he wasn't already deciding how long his affair would last. He never began an affair without knowing when it would end, and yet he
hadn't even considered anything beyond securing Evangeline and making sure she didn't go anywhere for a damn long time.

Hell, was he contemplating an actual relationship as opposed to a quick fuck or a fling? Maybe he was losing his goddamn mind. He was certain his men thought so. And maybe he was, because his world had tilted on its axis the moment he'd seen Evangeline walk into his club, and nothing had been the same since.

When the elevator opened, he stepped into his apartment and immediately swung his head toward the kitchen, frowning. A delicious aroma wafted through his nostrils. He checked his watch, certain he wasn't mistaken on the time. He'd left his office so he would arrive sharply at six, as he'd informed Justice. Surely the delivery service wouldn't have made such a mistake and delivered the food before the requested time.

He had the entire evening meticulously planned, and he didn't like interruptions or unexpected twists.

He tossed his suit coat over the coat hanger by the elevator and walked into the kitchen only to pull up abruptly when he saw Evangeline at his stove manning four different skillets. He was a blunt man and not prone to putting much thought into how things were worded. Not when his words were sufficient to get results.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

Evangeline jumped, nearly dropping the spatula she held. She turned her head in his direction, her eyes huge in her face as she gazed anxiously at him. Clear confusion was reflected in her vivid blue eyes, and then she cast him a puzzled look that suggested he was in error for asking what she was doing.

“Justice told me you would be here at six, for me not to dress, and that we were having dinner in. I assumed that meant you wanted me to cook. He did say we were eating in,” she repeated, as though reassuring herself she hadn't misunderstood what Justice had told her.

There was a tremble to her voice and Drake sighed, realizing how
it could well have been misconstrued on her part. The edge of fear and uncertainty in her eyes made his response instinctively gentle. He didn't want to start the evening out on a bad note. Not when so much was riding on it.

“I have no intention of turning you into a domestic slave, nor do I expect you to cook for me. I have a delivery service that brings in the finest meals when I want to eat in. They come in, set the table, and quietly make an exit. I had a delivery scheduled for seven. I had planned for us to talk before we ate.”

“Oh,” Evangeline murmured.

She looked down at the meal she was preparing, color rising in her cheeks, embarrassment dulling her usually brilliant blue eyes. It was like a physical blow to his stomach and made him feel like the worst sort of ass for being so blunt and making his statement sound like a reprimand. As though she had done something wrong. When actually, the fact that she had prepared a home-cooked meal for him touched him absurdly. His own mother, what he could remember of the bitch, certainly hadn't ever cooked him anything.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I can throw it out. I misunderstood. I'm sorry,” she said again.

He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. He in no way wanted to hurt her feelings when she'd obviously gone to great effort to prepare what appeared to be a sumptuous dinner.

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “It smells delicious, and good food should never go to waste. I'll just call the delivery service and cancel our order. How long before dinner will be ready?”

She still wouldn't meet his gaze, and she picked up a large spoon and stirred the ingredients in one of the pans.

“It's ready now. I was just keeping it warm so I could serve it as soon as you got here,” she said softly.

He realized their talk was going to have to wait until after dinner,
but he wasn't about to start out by hurting Evangeline's feelings and give her reason to erect a wall between them. No matter if it tasted like shit, he'd eat it and compliment her on it because he wouldn't humiliate her in any way.

And he reminded himself again that she'd cooked for
him
. It was a simple thing, but no woman had ever offered to cook for him, much less made the effort to have dinner ready as soon as he walked in the door from work.

He walked over to where she stood and slid his arms around her body, molding her back to his chest. He leaned down and brushed his lips over the bare expanse of her neck, smiling when he elicited a shiver from her.

“If it tastes even half as good as it smells, then it will be excellent.”

She relaxed against him, the tension escaping her body.

“Why don't you go change into something more comfortable and I'll get dinner on the table,” she said in a shy voice.

He kissed her neck one more time, this time nibbling at the silky skin before disengaging himself from her and heading to his bedroom. Okay, so the talk would have to come after dinner, but the fact that she'd cooked for him said something. She wasn't fighting, and apparently she hadn't had a change of heart.

He'd fully expected Justice to call him and bitch and moan about playing babysitter today, but to his surprise, all Justice had said after he'd dropped Evangeline back at Drake's apartment was, “You've got a good one, Drake. Don't fuck it up.”

He frowned. He'd already seen Maddox's reaction to her, as well as Thane's. And now Justice had evidently fallen victim to her charm as well. He wasn't at all certain he liked the impact she was having on his men. She'd have them all eating out of her hand, and he had a suspicion that if Evangeline did get cold feet and bail, one or all three of the men would make a play for her.

Like
hell
that was going to happen.

After changing into a pair of comfortable jeans and a T-shirt, he returned to the kitchen to find Evangeline arranging the plates on the dining room table. When she heard him, she turned, a grimace on her lips.

“I wasn't certain of your preference in wine, so I bought red and white.”

“I like both, so I'll have whatever you're having,” he said.

She opened a bottle and poured two glasses, then stood nervously, watching him as if unsure what to do next.

“Sit,” he said. “We don't want the food to get cold.”

He pulled back the chair for her and she slid into it, and then he took the one across from her so he could watch her and see into her eyes. He hadn't even paid attention to what she'd been cooking, but now that he examined the artfully arranged plate before him, he realized she'd blackened a fish fillet with a sauce drizzled over it. There was a baked potato and two side dishes he didn't recognize. But it looked—and smelled—good.

The presentation was worthy of any restaurant he frequented. He was accustomed to fine dining, an indulgence he didn't deny himself now that he had the means to do so. Growing up dirt-poor and always hungry had a way of carving a man's soul. He'd made a vow on his mother's grave when he was eleven years old that her life would not be his. That he would do and have more. And above all, he'd sworn he'd never be hungry again.

While he was miserly with his fortune when it came to business matters, causing his partners to poke fun at his tight purse strings, he had no qualms about indulging in personal luxuries, fine dining being uppermost. So he knew a professional presentation when he saw one. And Evangeline's dish looked every bit as skillful and masterful as those served in his favorite and most exclusive restaurants. It remained to be seen whether the taste matched the appearance, but so far he was
impressed. His angel was full of surprises, it would seem. Suddenly he was eager to ferret out her secrets, what made her tick, what lay beneath the veil of sweet innocence and a shine that was impossible to go unnoticed by any living, breathing person within a hundred yards of her.

She fiddled with her fork, peeking up at him from underneath her eyelashes. He dug into the fish and took a bite and then halted. He chewed and then quickly took another bite, not believing what he'd just experienced.

Now motivated to taste the other offerings, he forked into the two unknown sides and then leaned back with a groan. She looked apprehensive, and he noticed she hadn't taken a single bite of her own meal.

“This is amazing, Evangeline. It tastes magnificent.
You
cooked this? Are you sure you haven't pulled one over on me and ordered in?” he teased.

Her face colored but her eyes shone with delight at his compliment, and she ducked her head self-consciously, then nodded.

“I love to cook,” she said softly. Then she lifted her head so their gazes met and her cheeks went pink all over again. “I'm pretty good at it, actually. I did all the cooking when I lived back home, and I cook for my roommates to save money so we don't eat out all the time. When I was young, I would go to the library and check out cookbooks and copy the recipes. We couldn't afford cable or satellite television, so I couldn't watch cooking channels, so I learned by trial and error. It's amazing the wonderful-tasting meals you can make with inexpensive ingredients. The secret is in the seasoning. Eating out was a luxury we couldn't afford. Not even fast food, and, well, when I got better at cooking, to be honest, I much preferred my own cooking over greasy takeout food.”

He barely managed to stifle the frown forming. When had Evangeline ever had time to live her own life? To have a life of her own, for that matter? From the bits and pieces he'd been able to put together, she'd sacrificed everything for her family, even leaving home so she could make
more money, but lived in squalor in order to support her parents. And he still had no idea why her parents couldn't do for themselves. She'd told him her father had been injured on the job and workman's comp found a way out of paying, but what was the mother's story? It made him angry that a beautiful young girl on the cusp of womanhood had put everything on hold to work herself to the bone, setting aside her own wants and desires for others. But then it also made her special. Head and shoulders above others for her sheer generosity and selflessness.

“How old were you when you started teaching yourself to cook?” he asked, already knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

“Nine,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Mom helped as much as she could, but it was more important for her to be with Dad, so I took over the kitchen, and they pretended not to notice when smoke filled the kitchen and I ran through the house opening all the doors and windows,” she finished with a laugh.

But Drake wasn't laughing. He was furious.
Nine.
She'd been nine years old when she'd assumed the role of primary caregiver for her adult parents. He had to put his hands down below the table so she didn't see the tight fists that formed. And her attitude said it all. She didn't see anything abnormal about a mere child being forced into adulthood and taking on a mountain of responsibility. Never having a childhood. Much like himself, though their circumstances were vastly different. She, at least, had food to eat and she hadn't voiced a single complaint about the way her parents treated her. In fact, every time she spoke of her family, her face softened and her eyes went warm with love.

But it didn't change the fact that she'd been cheated of things most children took for granted. Did she ever plan to live her own life? To do something solely for herself?

Hell yes. He would see to that. He couldn't change the past for either of them, but he could damn sure change Evangeline's future, and her days of putting her own needs aside for the people she loved were over. He
couldn't make her many promises, but he could at least make her that one. Never again would she be in servitude, willingly or not, to others.

They continued to eat in silence as he pondered the puzzle that was Evangeline Hawthorn. And more and more, he came to the realization that she was unlike any other woman he'd ever known, and he wasn't sure what to do with that. Or with her. He was finding himself in a predicament he'd never before experienced.