6. Drake #2
Her shadow eclipsed the wall-to-wall window behind the desk. I sucked in a breath, holding it in my chest until it burned as I watched her like an apparition from the past.
A curtain of sleek, wavy honey-brown hair fell over her shoulder and obscured her face as she leaned over the corner of her desk. My fingers twitched, recalling the feel of those locks running through them.
She dressed better now, wearing a professional, but no less glamorous, cream dress with sheer hose.
If I’d wanted to rip off her frumpy sweaters back then, I wanted to tear off her tight frame hugging dress with my teeth now.
Past intimate knowledge of her body made it all too easy to imagine the smooth skin and supple curves beneath the delicate fabric.
And the longer I watched her, the more I imagined. She commanded my attention. She always had.
“—I don’t care if he told you he’d have the money by next week. That fucking weasel has already accrued a four-million-dollar interest.” A pause followed as she listened to someone on the phone speak. “Then shoot him in the leg. He’ll get our fucking money or lose his head.”
Her voice—her words—sent a thrill through me. A lovelier fire-breathing dragon simply didn’t exist. She was hellfire and brimstone wrapped in an angelic package.
Little Monty. I sighed, rubbing at the ache in my chest.
The phone beeped, ending the call before she tossed it on the desk. She straightened up, smoothing her delicate hands over nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. I watched her graceful movements as she sank into the chair behind her desk and took a sip of her coffee.
Now or never. Sucking in a breath, I rapped my knuckles on the door. I didn’t give her a chance to respond before pushing the door in and sauntering into her office. The blossoming shock on her face, the widening eyes, parting lips, and color climbing up her neck made the glint of anger worth it.
Helen stood so abruptly that her chair slammed into the wall of windows behind her. “Drake,” she said, her voice escaping as a panicked rush of breath. She walked around her desk to stand in front of me, arms crossed over her chest and grimacing as if my very presence offended her sensibilities.
“Monty,” I started.
“Stop.” She cut me off, slicing her hand through the air as if blocking a physical blow. Her eyes clenched shut, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
“How did you get up here?”
“I have permission from your parents.” I smirked, and she bristled like a cornered kitten.
“Why are you here?”
“To talk. You got my email, after all.”
“Fine,” she snapped, spitting venom in that singular word. She harshly gestured at a plush chair across from her desk and returned to her seat. Her jaw clenched, and she impatiently tapped her nails on the edge of her desk.
Everything from our past sat heavy between us, a lead weight dragging down our future potential.
I’d practiced an apology a million times since that night, and a thousand more since last week.
All those words built up in my chest, clawing at the back of my throat.
I opened my mouth, teetering on the brink of speaking them into existence.
She must have seen something in my eyes, on my face, reading me as I used to read her.
Her entire body tensed in the way a warrior preparing for battles might.
Those sharp blue eyes cut me to the bone, and she dived right in as if I were any other business meeting, pulling folders from her desk drawer and clearing her throat.
“Immediately following the incident 16 days ago, I put feelers in the water. Information has been trickling in for the past two weeks, though nothing substantial… until this past weekend.” She flipped through documents, not daring to look across the desk at me.
“One of my contacts found a mask manufacturer who works with the same material as our assailants’ masks.
I have someone tracking the movements of the mask maker. ”
Impressed and stunned, I sat there in momentary silence. I just wanted to take her in, witness her brilliance, and absorb how quickly she got that lead. I wouldn’t have investigated the person supplying the masks. A grin stretched across my face before I could rein it in.
Part of me wanted to sit there and listen to her explain every detail. I wanted to know what that brilliant mind had deduced or discovered since the night we were attacked. God, she was a veritable genius. So smart and gorgeous it heated my blood.
An awakening twitch in my trousers alerted me to cool down before my mind raced away from me.
“That’s a good lead, but that’s not the only reason why I’m here.”
She blinked owlishly. “What else would you be here for?”
“Because we’re getting married,” I replied coolly. And I had so many things to say to her before that happened. Regardless of our joint mission to find the attackers, we had a lifelong commitment between our families to face.
Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She slammed her hands on the desk and a few sheets of paper fluttered to the ground. “Like hell we are! I’m going to solve the case behind the masked men, and we can absolve the need for any union.” Her voice wavered, brittle and thin.
A fist wrapped around my heart and squeezed.
But of course, the reason she’d be investigating the case so intensely wasn’t just a matter of family safety.
She wanted to tear down any potential rising enemy, so she didn’t have to deal with me.
That vicious woman would take a battering ram and crush any threats to avoid being tied to me for the rest of her life.
I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t. But, lo-and-behold, I was a selfish man. She sat across from me with the light of the rising dawn highlighting her like an angel, a herald of everything I ever wanted. And I couldn’t lose a second chance.
“Too bad it’s not your decision. You’re stuck with me, Monty.”
Her soft gasp echoed with the tension of our past. “Stop… don’t call me that.”
Silence stretched, heavy and leaden, between us. I wouldn’t apologize for saying it, though she clearly wanted me to. A quiet battle of wills ensued. There was so much that sat there, a raw wound never given the chance to heal, festering.
Those fierce, expressive blue eyes glistened. “I hate you.”
You should, I wanted to tell her. I held my tongue, content enough to breathe in her fury if it was the only thing she’d allow me.
“Why did you agree? What do you even get out of this arrangement?” she demanded.
“If you don’t know, then I have nothing to say.” I curled my hands into fists to control their tremor. She chewed on her lip, only giving herself a moment to consider my statement.
“Leave me alone. That’s what you’re good at, after all,” she countered, practically hissing.
A physical blow would have done less damage. It ached, burning worse than the healing stab wound on my side. Her anger was as lovely as she was, but it hurt all the same. And it was a pain I deserved.
“We’re expected to work this assignment together. I follow orders,” I bit back.
“Always daddy’s little soldier boy,” Helen muttered. She jerked her head down, lips pursed, as she bent forward to scoop up her escaped papers.
God, she was divine, and her warranted anger only heated my blood further. The front of my slacks grew tighter with each second that passed since I’d watched her through the door. No matter the time apart, my body remembered her. How good she felt, how sweet she tasted?—
In her bent position, with my eyes sealed to her every move, I caught the moment one of the pearl buttons on the front of her dress strained against her chest and swiftly popped loose.
The cream material flew apart, revealing an expanse of skin, the upper swells of her breasts nearly spilling out of the sheer violet lace cups of her bra.
I longed to run my tongue across that soft flesh and reacquaint myself with her smell, her taste, the warmth of her pressed against me.
My cock throbbed against my zipper, and a flood of shame coursed through me. Not the time, I warned myself.
Monty covered her chest with the papers, head snapping up to me. Her cheeks flushed with the prettiest shade of pink. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and her breath sawed out of her as she prepared a barrage against me.
Chair legs grated against the floor as I shoved out of my seat. I adjusted the button of my suit jacket, trying to hide the pitch in my trousers. Luckily for me, she didn’t glance down. I angled myself toward the door, preparing to leave and handle my situation.
“Please excuse me. We’ll have to discuss this at another time.”
“That’s right, leave. Just like you did before,” she whispered, pain lacing her voice. She didn’t intend for me to hear those words, but they erupted like an explosion between us.
Remorse doused me, cooling any heated arousal I felt. A cold blanket sitting heavy on my shoulders as I left her office, saying none of the things I should have.