Chapter 13 #2
"Heart attack." The words come out flat, drained of the emotion I've spent years trying to bury. "I found him in his study, surrounded by betting slips and loan documents. He was already gone. And three days later, Victor Kedrov showed up at our door. I was the only one home at the time. He promised to keep the debt between us if he could double the interest rate.” I shrug. “At the time I didn't care what he did as long as he didn’t add more weight to my mother’s shoulders.”
Drake's jaw tightens. "Did he hurt you that day?"
"He wanted to make sure we understood the situation.
" I trace my finger along the edge of the takeout container, unable to meet Drake's eyes.
"He grabbed me by the hair and threw me against the wall.
When I tried to fight him, he..." I shake my head.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that he made it very clear what would happen if I didn't pay. I've been paying ever since."
The rage in Drake’s eyes is heartstopping. I can practically see the gears in his head turning with ideas of retribution.
"Not anymore, Katriana. He’ll never touch you again."
The finality in his voice makes my chest ache with hope I'm afraid to feel.
"Tell me about you," I say, desperate to shift the attention away from my wounds. "How did you end up here? Running an empire and granting wishes for desperate women who wander into your nightclub?"
Drake's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I started at the docks. Sixteen years old, lying about my age to get work unloading cargo. My father wasn't around much and my mother was sick. Someone had to keep the lights on."
"You took care of your family."
"I did what was necessary. It’s something we share in common."
“Agreed,” I add with a smile.
He picks up his chopsticks and pushes a piece of fish around his container. "The docks taught me how the world really works. Who has power and who doesn't. How money flows through a city like blood through veins. I learned which palms to grease and which threats to take seriously."
"And Rafael?"
"We met when I was in my twenties. He was building something, and he needed people he could trust. People who understood loyalty." Drake's expression softens with memory. "He gave me a purpose beyond survival. A family beyond blood. Everything I have, I owe to him."
"But you're not his employee."
"No." He meets my eyes with an intensity that steals my breath. "I'm his brother. In every way that matters."
The intimacy of the moment wraps around us like silk, binding us together in ways I didn't anticipate.
I'm learning more about Drake Moses in one dinner than I ever learned about Jonah in a year of dating, and the comparison makes my chest ache with regret for the time I wasted on the wrong brother.
"Come on." Drake rises from his chair and extends his hand. "Let's get out of here. I know a great place for a nightcap and something sweet."
I blink up at him. "Where are we going?"
"You should see the city." His mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flip. "Not just the cage I've put you in."
My face scrunches up with confusion. “Um. I am from here, you know.”
“Yes, but you haven’t seen the city with me.”
I take his outstretched hand. “I can’t argue with that.”
The car ride is its own form of exquisite torture.
Drake sits close enough that his thigh presses against mine, the heat of him bleeding through the thin fabric of my skirt. His hand settles on the gear shift of the spicy sports car and with every down shift, the back of his knuckles graze my lower thigh.
My senses are hitting overdrive before we’ve made it five blocks from Redthorne Holdings.
Every time the car turns, my body sways toward him.
Every time we stop, his hand finds my knee to steady me.
His palm is warm and impossibly distracting.
He traces idle patterns on my leg with his thumb, small circles that seem innocent but send sparks racing up my thigh and settling between my legs.
I'm hyper-aware of everything. The leather scent of the car interior. The soft jazz playing through the speakers. The way the city lights paint shadows across Drake's face as we drive. The cedar and whiskey notes of his cologne wrapping around me like an embrace.
By the time we pull up to the restaurant, my nerves are raw and exposed.
Drake exits first and turns to offer me his hand. I take it, and he helps me from the car with a grace that speaks of old-world manners and careful attention. The moment my heels hit the pavement, his hand settles on my lower back, warm and possessive through the silk of my blouse.
The touch grounds me even as it sets me on fire.
The restaurant rises before us like a temple to excess, all soaring glass walls and soft golden light spilling onto the sidewalk.
Through the windows, I can see elegant patrons in designer clothes, candlelit tables draped in white linen, servers moving between them like dancers in a choreographed ballet.
Drake guides me toward the entrance, his hand never leaving the small of my back. The warmth of his palm sears through my blouse like a brand, and I feel the pressure of each individual finger against my spine.
The ma?tre d' greets Drake by name and I watch heads turn as we're escorted through the dining room. Women in couture dresses track our progress with hungry eyes. Men in expensive suits pause mid-conversation to assess the silver fox commanding attention with every step.
But it's the way people look at us together that makes my breath catch.
They see a power couple. A matched set. A man who belongs in places like this and the woman he chose to bring with him.
At least that is how my imagination wants to play this out. It’s fun to pretend for an evening.
Drake walks with his shoulders squared and his chin lifted, pride radiating from every line of his body. His hand presses more firmly against my back, pulling me closer to his side as we navigate between tables. The gesture screams mine to anyone watching.
This is new. This sensation of being claimed. Of being shown off rather than hidden away.
Jonah never looked proud to have me at his side. He walked ahead of me at events, barely acknowledging my presence until he needed someone to impress. He introduced me as an afterthought, his attention always drifting to the next beautiful woman who caught his eye.
But Drake touches me like I'm precious. Displays me like I'm a prize he won and can't quite believe belongs to him. The possession in his grip burns through my senses until I can barely remember my own name.
We reach our table, a private booth in the back with a view of the Chicago River through floor-to-ceiling windows. The water glitters with reflected city lights, and candles flicker in crystal holders, casting dancing shadows across the white linen.
Drake slides into the booth beside me rather than across from me, his thigh pressing against mine beneath the table. The contact sends electricity racing across my skin, and I have to focus on breathing normally as the waiter recites the evening's specials.
We order wine. Appetizers. Something for dessert that I'm certain I won't be able to eat after everything we enjoyed back at the office. The waiter disappears, and we're alone again in our little bubble of candlelight and tension.
"You're nervous." Drake's voice is low, meant only for my ears.
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
The word should offend me. Instead, it makes heat pool between my thighs.
His hand finds my leg beneath the table. Casual. Possessive. His palm presses warm against my thigh through the thin fabric of my skirt, and my breath catches in my throat.
"You're thinking about last night." He leans close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he speaks. "About what you saw through our connecting door."
My heart wants to shrivel up and fall to the floor dead one second and then decide that isn’t nearly as dramatic as hammering so hard against my ribs I see white dots. I clear my throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar twice over." The word is a caress, rough and knowing. "I heard you, Katriana. Heard your breath catch when I said your name. Felt you watching me in the darkness."
For a moment all I can hear are our mingled breaths. My gaze drops and I spy the shadowed bulge of his arousal. I inhale softly and let the scent of him work through me. My eyes flick back to his and I find him watching me intently. Hungrily.
“Drake…” I don’t know what I want to say. Please fuck me. Please tear down this wall I’ve built and can’t get past that is keeping me a virgin. Please just make me yours…
All the above.
“Katriana,” he murmurs in the sexiest roughened voice I’ve heard. His fingers trace higher, and my thighs part slightly of their own accord. I should stop him. We're in public. Anyone could see. The lighting is dimmed and we are in a booth, but still.
And yet I find myself leaning into him. I wrap my fingers around his wrist. Not to push him away. But to anchor myself as the world tilts beneath me.
"That's it, baby girl." His voice is sin against my ear. "Let me touch you."
I'm breathing heavily now, my chest rising and falling with each desperate inhale. His fingers trace patterns on my inner thigh, maddeningly close to where I ache for him but never quite reaching. And then I'm guiding his hand higher, up under my skirt to the very edge of my panties.
His sharp intake of breath tells me he wasn't expecting that.
Good. Let him be the one caught off guard for once.
His fingers brush against the delicate silk, and a moan threatens to escape my throat. I bite down on my lip to contain it, tasting blood and desperation.
"We should leave." Drake's voice has gone rough, strained with desire.
I trace a finger over the sharp edge of his stubbled chin. "We haven't had that dessert you mentioned." I’m only kidding, but the flash of lust in his eyes tells me he’s had a change of plans.
"YOU are the dessert."