14. Helen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My heels clicked rapidly over the floor as I paced in front of my office window.
Back and forth, while chewing on my thumb nail regardless of my recent manicure.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Eight. I counted each step, pivoted and marched the other way.
My heart thumped harder and faster than my movements, galloping away behind my ribs.
Each breath sawed out of me, and anxious energy prickled under my skin.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Time slowed, moving past me like a sticky, weighted sludge.
Heightened awareness diverted my attention to every minor noise; the ticking clock, the soft chime of an email from my laptop, the trill of my phone as I missed another call, the soft clink of ice melting in my glass, and the red bottoms of my heels clack clack clacking on the floor.
Every few turns I stopped and glanced at the busy streets of New York City so far down that all the people appeared to be mindless, swarming ants.
Had any of them followed me? How had they found me? Who leaked the information that led to the morning’s… excitement?
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Breathe, Helen, bordel de merde!
Look at it logically. Alright. I was pacing as adrenaline flushed through my body. I needed to turn over the past half hour in my head and examine it rationally. Though every time I combed through my thoughts, the memories slipped through my fingers like sand in an hourglass.
Everything in between blurred together. I ghosted through the parking garage, up the elevator directly to my floor, and slipped into my office. Gizmo left me with several worried glances over his shoulder. But someone needed to tell my mother what happened, and I was barely present in my body.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Details. Details. I needed to appraise the details. Three masked men. Attacked in the morning, too close to broad daylight. They attacked me at home. My fucking home. They invaded my safe space, my sanctuary. And however the information leaked, it was a betrayal.
“Merde!” My palm smacked into the cool glass, and I dropped my head on the window, watching my rapid breaths fog my view.
The thoughts in my head leapfrogged one over the next, jumping and twirling into a dizzying array.
They spiraled and tangled into knots with my frantic state, extending my panic-stricken condition.
My office door whisked open, and prickly alarm burned me up from within. I whirled around, pressing my back to the windows.
“Sorry I’m late. Dad had me on assignment late into the night.
Then the line at the cafe was—” Drake stopped short, noting my body trying to merge with the glass and the color blanching from my face.
That analytical chestnut gaze darted from my wide eyes, heaving chest, panicked stance, and back up to the bruise blossoming on my jaw and the blood drying on my split lip.
The drink carrier and coffee cups crashed to the floor. He moved in such a rapid blur I missed it entirely. One second he stood in front of my office door, and the next he’d rounded my desk to tower over me.
First instinct bade me to flinch from him, and I barely managed to rein it in.
But my breath audibly hitched, drawing his alluring cologne into my nose as his body heat rolled over me.
A shiver rippled through me, and I unconsciously peeled myself from the window a fraction to lean into his heat, seeking a warmth to chase away the ice in my bones.
“Who did this to you?” he growled, gently cupping my face in his large, powerful hands. Hands that were undeniably stained by blood and spoiled by violence. Yet I trusted them as he cradled me as one might a delicate glass doll.
A distant, younger voice in my head broke through the jitters and dizziness, telling me that the person leaning into me was a source of comfort.
Someone to rely on in a moment of stress or danger.
It was a memory of a time long past, but in that frozen second, that voice was the only thing that got me moving, seeking protection through my stress response.
His breath stuttered when my hands smoothed up his chest, relishing the expensive fabric of his dark blue suit on my palms. My eyes closed, and I melted into his embrace despite a smaller voice telling me not to seek relief with an enemy.
“Monty.” His voice broke when he swiped a thumb carefully over my bottom lip. “Helen, fucking hell, what happened? Who did this to you?”
“Masked men attacked me as I left home this morning.” Reciting information came easily.
Stating facts was preferential compared to analyzing why I found solace in him, of all people.
The words came rapidly after that. “I fought off the first attacker, who reached me. Banjo and Gizmo took the others down. Quite efficiently, really. Being attacked at my home isn’t exactly ideal, but here we are. ”
“Helen, look at me,” he pleaded. The fluttering touch on my face and the gentle command of his voice tugged my eyelids open.
Like looking through a pane of frosted glass, he was there, inches from my face and assessing me with bared concern.
“That’s not good. Really not good. Something’s wrong with you. ”
“I seem to be experiencing a panic attack in the wake of the adrenaline rush.” With my heightened senses and restlessness writhing under my skin, it made Drake’s presence larger than life.
“Fuck, Mon—Helen, what do you need me to do?”
Memories of Drake’s touch coursed through me like a bad drug, preying on my past weakness. Even if temporary, I knew the relapse would feel good, drifting into him and succumbing. And I knew it would provide ample distraction despite the awaiting consequences.
“Kiss me.”
“Helen.” Drake’s hoarse voice sent shivers down my spine. His eyes met mine, brown locking with blue. Despite the plea in my gaze, he held back, tense as he battled his restraint. And it was wonderful to think that some part of him perhaps still wanted me.
“Please.” No sooner had the word dripped from my tongue than his mouth tentatively, cautiously met mine. A delicate press of lips with questions muffled by the lamenting groan deep in his chest.
Distractions were tempting, though not the healthiest way to divert a panic attack.
Logically I knew that, but the moment his hot, wanting mouth pressed firmer, all logic flew out of my ears.
The erratic pace of my heart sped up, racing fast in the back of my throat in time with my rapid breathing.
Sparks of electric desire shot through my veins, jerking me into action until I was gripping Drake and backing him into my desk.
His legs hit my desk, forcing him to half sit on the edge.
He twisted one hand in the back of my hair, moaning into my mouth as he maneuvered my head to deepen the kiss.
I sucked in a gasp, and he darted his tongue over my bottom lip, wary of the split at the corner.
Tossing one arm over his shoulder, I sank my fingers into his short, dark hair and relished the warmth of his skin. It wasn’t enough.
Both arms over his neck, I wiggled closer until I straddled his thigh. Thank God for the short hem of my black skirt. It rose up, allowing me to find friction on his delicious, muscled thigh.
Drake cupped the back of my head and dropped his other hand on my hip, twisting his fist in the Mulberry silk of my dress.
He kissed me greedily, as if trying to inhale all of my being into his lungs.
Nothing held the intoxicating sway of his mouth, the taste of his tongue, the clash of his teeth, the heat of his body under my roaming hands, or the natural male musk of his scent mixed with his cologne.
All such a heady combination, I sought relief from one panic response to the next—I needed a release.
“Is this a dream?” he shuddered out, mouth trailing ardent kisses along my jaw.
“More,” I demanded. He readily obliged.
Drake dug his fingers into my hip, directing my movement.
He encouraged me to shift higher and roll my hips against his thigh.
My core ground against hard muscle and something growing beneath his slacks.
The sensation sent me hurtling back in time to memories of frantic dry humping in dark supply closets.
In my frenzied state, I couldn’t untangle the past and present.
All I knew was that I needed some sort of release and the man holding me had the knowledge to give it.
It didn’t matter whether we were in my office grinding into one another as adults, or foolish hormonal teens groping one another in empty classrooms. The louder part of my brain told me he knew how to give me exactly what I needed because he was an expert in the language of my body.
Drake groaned and shoved his tongue into my mouth.
The wet glide of our tongues and intermingled moans elicited a delicious warmth that dripped through me and pooled in my core.
I throbbed between my thighs and rocked harder against him, desperate for friction and pleasure.
His hard cock twitched, trapped against his leg beneath his pants.
I rotated my hips to grind into his length and whimpered from the flare of bliss that rocked through me.
He made a strangled, surprised sound and his hips reflexively jumped to meet me.
“Touch me,” I sighed against his lips.
“Fuck, Helen.” He struggled to catch his breath. “I want… I want… Are you sure?”
I’d already freed one hand from his hair to tug my skirt higher, bunching it around my waist. He looked down, eyes flaring and pupils dilating as he spotted my thigh-high stockings, black lace thong, and the obvious wet spot I’d left on his pants leg.