Chapter 25
Drake
I decide right then that I hate leather.
I especially hate leather on Harlow.
She stands, trying to get comfortable. I think her underwear is riding up her butt. This should not be sexy, but it is. She waggles her ass…and what an ass it is.
Holy fuck.
My dick takes instant note.
Yep, I hate leather; it’s official.
Hate the way it clings to her hips and thighs, accentuating every damned part of her. Hate how the tank top hugs her lush-as-fuck breasts. Those boots make her legs look like they go on forever.
My gaze moves up and up, tracing each and every curve. Then my eyes lock on hers, and her cheeks flush. Her mouth parts a little. My eyes stay on hers for what feels like a long while before I look away.
Shit! Busted. She caught me staring at her ass…more than just her ass. I’m sure that my thoughts were written all over my face.
My cock throbs, pressing against the front of my leather pants.
Not helping.
I shift my position, trying to ease the discomfort without being obvious about it. This is exactly why I wanted Harlow on that plane yesterday.
Because this? This attraction that hits me every time I look at her? It’s a complication I don’t need.
I’m not going to throw away everything because I can’t control my dick around my new rider.
The PA position? Fuck that. No way am I having her work in close proximity to me more than is absolutely necessary. I’m on the brink of hiring someone else. Someone who doesn’t make my blood run hot just by existing in the same space.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harlow finally sit back down. She crosses those long legs of hers, and even that simple movement sends a jolt of heat through me.
Why does she have to be my rider?
Why?
Why couldn’t my dragon have chosen someone else…anyone else?
“So,” Harlow says, and I can hear the slight tension in her voice. “We’re supposed to get to know each other, right? That’s what Scar said. Build our partnership.”
No. Absolutely not. The last thing I need is to learn more about her. I need to keep it distant and strictly professional.
“We’re supposed to practice breathing exercises too,” I tell her, my voice unexpectedly rough. “You should work on that first.”
There’s a pause, and when I risk a glance at her, she’s studying my face.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “I can do that.”
She shifts her position, straightening her spine. Then she closes her eyes and begins the breathing techniques they teach at the Academy.
Deep inhale.
Hold.
Slow exhale.
I watch, even though I really shouldn’t, my eyes tracking the rise and fall of her chest. The leather of her tank top pulls tight across her breasts with each breath. Fuck. I’m a pervert.
Another deep inhale. Her lips part slightly as she holds her breath. Her head tilts back just a fraction, exposing the long column of her throat.
The exhale is slow, controlled, and for a split second, I imagine that’s how she’d sound underneath me. Those same measured breaths turning ragged and desperate as I—
No.
Stop it.
My cock is fully erect now. Ready for something that is never going to happen. He really needs to get the memo.
She takes another deep breath, and I nearly groan out loud at the flush creeping across her cheeks. The sound she makes as she pulls in another heavy breath has my balls clenching.
“Enough,” I growl, and she jumps, her eyes flying open. “You know how to do that just fine. You should meditate for a while. Clear your mind. We can sit and enjoy the silence.”
She blinks at me, a look of confusion appearing on her face.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “You’re sure I’m doing it properly? I should be really filling my lungs.”
“You’re doing it properly.” I nod a few times. “Your lungs fill just fine.” That’s the problem.
She nods once and then closes her eyes again, but this time she stays still. Her breathing evens out, becoming slower and deeper as she settles into meditation.
Thank fuck.
I focus on the trees again, on the distant sounds of the other riders and their bonded dragons scattered across the field.
The minutes tick by slowly.
I run through the information I have on the remaining Tributes.
I’ve studied all of their files. All of their particulars and medical history, as well as all reports on them since they arrived at Draig Island.
There is nothing untoward about any of them.
I did the same with all staff and personnel at the flight school.
I need to keep my eyes and ears open for potential spies.
There are taps on all phones and computers, and all conversations are being monitored.
I would normally have had Amelia help me with something like this, but I will be tackling it alone going forward.
There is no one I trust with the task. I can run this place with one hand tied behind my back, and my Councilor duties have been pared back.
That leaves me with plenty of time for what I would consider to be my most important assignment right now.
“Those are very pretty birds,” Harlow says.
I realize that I am staring at a tree with a small flock of pretty, red-tailed birds playing in it.
“You should be concentrating,” I tell her.
“I’ve been meditating for long enough,” she tells me.
I glance at my watch and then at her. “It’s only been fifteen minutes.”
“Exactly.” She shifts her position, uncrossing her legs. “That’s plenty. We should talk now. Get to know each other, like Scar said.”
“You need to learn to meditate for longer,” I tell her, keeping my voice flat. “If you’re going to ride me…my dragon…” I correct, hating how that sounded, “you need to be able to clear your mind completely. To stay calm under pressure. That takes plenty of practice.”
“I get that,” she says, and there’s a stubborn set to her jaw that I’m starting to recognize.
“But we were told that we need to build up to a longer meditation over time. At first, I could barely make five minutes. Now I’m managing fifteen.
These things take time and practice. Besides,” she looks at me strangely, even cocking her head, her eyes narrowing, “it’s not fair. ”
I frown. “What’s not fair?”
“You know so much about me,” she says, gesturing between us. “You’ve read my file. You know where I’m from, what I did for work, probably my whole life story. But I know almost nothing about you.” She tilts her head. “So, tell me something. Anything.”
I should refuse. Should tell her that we don’t need to be friends, just partners. But something in her expression stops me.
“Fine,” I push out. “I like my steak medium rare,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “Very funny. I meant something real. Something personal.”
Personal. Right.
I pull in a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I like doing crossword puzzles. How’s that?”
She cracks a smile that makes me feel…something.
“Better. Much better, but not quite there yet. I want to know something that matters,” she says quietly. “Something that helps me understand who you are. Not just…surface details.”
I rub a hand over my chin, feeling the stubble catch. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“Something personal. My parents also passed away,” I finally say in a rush, surprising myself. I hadn’t meant to tell her that. “Both of them. I don’t have any siblings either.” I meet her eyes. “We have that in common as well.”
A look of sorrow passes over her face.
“I’m sorry. I know exactly how that feels.” She pauses. “What happened to them?”
The memory rises up unbidden. “Both of them were killed in combat against the Reds when I was nineteen.” I swallow hard. “It was only after their deaths that rules changed, forbidding family members to fly in the same units.”
“Drake,” Harlow pushes out, her eyes filled with pity. “I’m so sorry. That must have been tough. You were younger than I was.”
I shrug, trying to brush it off, even though talking about it still hurts.
“It happened a long time ago.” I look at her. “I guess it doesn’t really get easier.”
“No, it doesn’t. You just get better at dealing with the pain. I’m getting to the point where I can think of really great memories we had as a family as opposed to just the grief and heartache of missing them.” She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“What happened to your parents?” I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it. I find that I want to know. “Your file just states that they are deceased.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers picking at the grass beside her. When she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion.
“You could say that my dad died of old age. My parents tried for years to have a baby,” she says.
“They only met in their thirties, married a year later, and started trying almost immediately.” A sad smile crosses her face.
“After trying for a year or two with no luck, they got fertility help from a specialist. They eventually tried IVF. It was treatment after treatment. They spent all their savings. Even with intervention, my mom didn’t get pregnant until she was forty-five. ”
“Wow! They must have really wanted you,” I say.
“They did. I was their miracle baby,” Harlow continues, and now there are tears welling in her eyes.
“They told me that all the time. How much they wanted me, how long they waited for me.” Her voice cracks.
“They gave me the best life and loved me with everything they had. They often felt guilty for being older parents, but it never bugged me. Then, three years ago, my dad died. He was only seventy-one. Heart attack. Just…gone. It was devastating.”
She brushes tears from her eyes with the tips of her fingers.
“My mom was destroyed. She was a shell of her former self after that. About six months later, she had to go in for a minor procedure. Gallbladder removal. Something routine.” Harlow’s tears spill over some more. “She never woke up. Died on the table.”
“Harlow,” I say softly, wanting to reach out to her but not letting myself.